| Romance Fiction posted October 28, 2025 | Chapters: |
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Rewrite
A chapter in the book After The Storm
Mending The Heart Chap 3A
by Begin Again
Marla woke to the weight at her feet and a warm nose on the quilt. The golden retriever lay curled in the corner of the bed, exactly where he'd settled in the night. When she sat up, he lifted his head, blinking sleep out of his eyes. His fur was warm against her jeans.
"Well," she said, "you're still here."
He stretched and yawned, his tail giving a few lazy thumps before sliding off the bed.
The house was cool. She pulled on her jacket and went to the kitchen. She started the coffee and opened the back door. He stepped onto the porch, hopped down, and nosed around the steps. He picked up a short stick, sat under the oak, and looked back at her with the kind of hopeful face she'd seen before.
A picture formed in her thoughts — her father raking leaves into a pile, and a honey-colored pup barking and jumping into them before trotting off with a stolen stick like he'd invented the trick. She'd called him Rudy because her grandfather had had a dog with the same name once. He'd slept on the kitchen mat for years. Every morning and afternoon, he'd wait at the bus stop. The porch felt empty the week her dad came home from the vet without him. She'd told herself then she would never do that to herself again.
The dog under the oak tilted his head and wagged once.
"Don't start," she said, but the word that came out next surprised her. "Rudy."
His ears lifted. He stood and took two quiet steps closer, stick still in his mouth.
"It's just a name," she told him. "Doesn't mean you're staying."
He dropped the stick at the bottom step and sat as if he knew she'd pick it up.
For the first time, she scratched behind his ears and ruffled his hair. A warm ache settled in her chest. She knelt beside him, looked into his eyes, and whispered, "Do you want to be Rudy for a few days?"
He pressed his wet nose against her cheek and followed it with a quick lick.
"I guess that means yes. So, for a few days, that's who you'll be." She stood and scratched his ear once again. "My name is Marla."
She turned to walk toward the house, then stopped and looked at him, waiting under the tree. "That still doesn't mean you're staying. But for now, we can be friends."
Inside, she poured coffee, broke a corner off the last muffin, and set it on the threshold. "Breakfast, Rudy." He leaned in, careful as ever, and took it.
"After I get through this list, we'll see about real food," she said, adding dog food, staples, gloves, call roofer to the envelope.
She stepped onto the porch. Rudy followed her with his eyes, then with his feet.
"Ground rules stand," she said, more to herself than to him. "Stay out of the mud. No barking unless something is really wrong. And when I go, you go."
He thumped his tail.
The sun lit the barn roof. Someone had nailed down the loose sheet of tin. The fence line was straight all the way to the back corner. Jonah had finished what he started sometime before dawn.
"Early riser," she said under her breath. "And persistent."
At the barn, the hinges groaned. Inside smelled like hay, oil, and time. Her father's tools still hung on the wall, handles worn smooth. Coffee cans of nails and staples lined the bench. In one corner, the ladder leaned--wood, gray from weather, rungs worn by years of hands and boots.
"Light and air, that's what they need," he'd say. "Just give them lots of light and fresh air and they'll grow big and strong."
She touched the ladder, then noticed a short coil of fresh wire by the door that hadn't been there yesterday. She set it back, pocketed the list, and looked at Rudy. "Town run."
"Well," she said, "you're still here."
He stretched and yawned, his tail giving a few lazy thumps before sliding off the bed.
The house was cool. She pulled on her jacket and went to the kitchen. She started the coffee and opened the back door. He stepped onto the porch, hopped down, and nosed around the steps. He picked up a short stick, sat under the oak, and looked back at her with the kind of hopeful face she'd seen before.
A picture formed in her thoughts — her father raking leaves into a pile, and a honey-colored pup barking and jumping into them before trotting off with a stolen stick like he'd invented the trick. She'd called him Rudy because her grandfather had had a dog with the same name once. He'd slept on the kitchen mat for years. Every morning and afternoon, he'd wait at the bus stop. The porch felt empty the week her dad came home from the vet without him. She'd told herself then she would never do that to herself again.
The dog under the oak tilted his head and wagged once.
"Don't start," she said, but the word that came out next surprised her. "Rudy."
His ears lifted. He stood and took two quiet steps closer, stick still in his mouth.
"It's just a name," she told him. "Doesn't mean you're staying."
He dropped the stick at the bottom step and sat as if he knew she'd pick it up.
For the first time, she scratched behind his ears and ruffled his hair. A warm ache settled in her chest. She knelt beside him, looked into his eyes, and whispered, "Do you want to be Rudy for a few days?"
He pressed his wet nose against her cheek and followed it with a quick lick.
"I guess that means yes. So, for a few days, that's who you'll be." She stood and scratched his ear once again. "My name is Marla."
She turned to walk toward the house, then stopped and looked at him, waiting under the tree. "That still doesn't mean you're staying. But for now, we can be friends."
Inside, she poured coffee, broke a corner off the last muffin, and set it on the threshold. "Breakfast, Rudy." He leaned in, careful as ever, and took it.
"After I get through this list, we'll see about real food," she said, adding dog food, staples, gloves, call roofer to the envelope.
She stepped onto the porch. Rudy followed her with his eyes, then with his feet.
"Ground rules stand," she said, more to herself than to him. "Stay out of the mud. No barking unless something is really wrong. And when I go, you go."
He thumped his tail.
The sun lit the barn roof. Someone had nailed down the loose sheet of tin. The fence line was straight all the way to the back corner. Jonah had finished what he started sometime before dawn.
"Early riser," she said under her breath. "And persistent."
At the barn, the hinges groaned. Inside smelled like hay, oil, and time. Her father's tools still hung on the wall, handles worn smooth. Coffee cans of nails and staples lined the bench. In one corner, the ladder leaned--wood, gray from weather, rungs worn by years of hands and boots.
"Light and air, that's what they need," he'd say. "Just give them lots of light and fresh air and they'll grow big and strong."
She touched the ladder, then noticed a short coil of fresh wire by the door that hadn't been there yesterday. She set it back, pocketed the list, and looked at Rudy. "Town run."
*****
He put both paws on the truck's floorboard and waited. She patted the seat. "Okay. Sit nice." He climbed in carefully and sat.
He put both paws on the truck's floorboard and waited. She patted the seat. "Okay. Sit nice." He climbed in carefully and sat.
*****
The bell over Harper's door rang twice. Mr. Harper nodded without looking up. "See, you picked up a friend." His gaze shifted to the truck parked at the curb.
Marla nodded. "More like he picked me up."
She took a basket — gloves, light staples, heavy staples, trash bags. She was checking the rope when a voice came from behind her, confident and just a little too loud.
"Well, will you look at that — guess who decided to mosey back home. The big city girl herself."
She turned. Ty Harrigan stood at the end of the aisle — same grin, same swagger. The last time she'd seen that grin, they'd said things neither of them could take back.
He was the past, and she wanted it to stay that way. She turned away.
"What — too fancy to talk to an old friend?" he said, stepping in.
She muttered through clenched teeth, "Hello, Ty."
He spread his hands, as if the name proved a point. "The one and only."
"I'm busy," she said and moved to pass.
He shifted half a step and was in her way. Not touching — just close enough to make a point.
"Busy doing what? Playing farmer for a weekend?" His eyes dropped to her basket. "Heavy staples. That creek corner still pulling? Roof still chattering on the north?" His smile sharpened. "Place like yours eats time. And cash."
"I'll manage."
He didn't move. "That's not what I remember. I remember you hating wasted Saturdays."
"That was then."
"And this is now." He leaned a shoulder on the end-cap, easy like he owned the aisle. "You're a long way from coffee shops and smooth sidewalks."
She looked at his shoulder, not his eyes. "Move, Ty."
He held her a beat longer, then stepped aside like it was his idea. "Sure."
She went to the counter. Mr. Harper rang up the gloves, the staples, and the trash bags. She paid for the items and headed for the door. Ty's boots followed.
"Dog food's behind the counter," Mr. Harper said.
"I'll take the small bag," Marla answered.
He handed it to her. "First bag's on the house." He opened the door for her. "You have a good day, Marla."
She stepped into the street by the time Ty moved around Mr. Harper, who had remained standing in the doorway.
"You brought company," Ty said, flicking a glance toward the truck.
"A dog."
He rounded the truck and walked with her to the driver's door. "Hold up." He reached first and caught the handle.
The retriever had his paws on the passenger armrest, watching the door. His ears pricked when he saw Ty. A low growl rose and stayed there.
Ty heard it. He gave a half-laugh that wasn't happy. "Loyal mutt, that's for sure."
"Good judgment," she said.
He let the door swing open a few inches, kept a hand on it, and lowered his voice. "You came back to sell, didn't you? Makes sense. I can make it painless. Keep strangers from carving it up. You get the money and your weekends back."
"I said I'll manage."
"That's what your dad said too, and, unfortunately, it didn't work out so well for him."
Marla yanked the door open and, with as much control as she could manage, said, "I said I'll manage."
"You always were stubborn when you were scared."
Her face went still. "Move."
For a second, he didn't. The growl from the truck dropped a note. Ty stepped back half a pace.
"Fine," he said. He lifted a manila envelope from his pocket. "This is from last year. Your dad ordered beams. I fronted the lumber. Paperwork's all here — liens, balances, dates." He slid it into the crook of her arm. "We'll square it when you're ready."
Mr. Harper appeared outside with a leash and collar. "Thought you might need one of these." He glared at Ty, and then his kind eyes settled on Marla. "Far as I heard, they found the ladder on the ground at the scene," he said, as if discussing the weather — just a fact. "It was an accident, nothing more."
Ty watched her face, then softened his tone. "I am sorry about your dad. Bad night to be up there. Storm. Tin lifting. He set a ladder. Foot went wrong." He met her eyes. "You know how slick that edge gets."
"He didn't like heights."
"Men do what they have to," he said too quickly. "Especially if they've had a few." He rolled his wrist like the rest didn't matter and shrugged. "Can't blame the old man, though, trying to manage all by himself."
Her anger flared. "Shut up, Ty. You don't have any right to talk about my father." She dropped her gaze for a second and added, "Besides, he quit years ago."
"People slip. Nights get long." Then lighter, as if none of it mattered. "Think about selling. This place will bleed you dry, city girl. I'll keep it from doing that."
"Get out of my way."
He looked at Mr. Harper, then back at Marla, smiling. "Be seeing you again, I'm sure." He stepped aside.
Rudy pressed his nose to her wrist like he was checking in. She scratched his head once, got in, and set the envelope on the seat.
She started the engine and pulled away from the curb, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.
The bell over Harper's door rang twice. Mr. Harper nodded without looking up. "See, you picked up a friend." His gaze shifted to the truck parked at the curb.
Marla nodded. "More like he picked me up."
She took a basket — gloves, light staples, heavy staples, trash bags. She was checking the rope when a voice came from behind her, confident and just a little too loud.
"Well, will you look at that — guess who decided to mosey back home. The big city girl herself."
She turned. Ty Harrigan stood at the end of the aisle — same grin, same swagger. The last time she'd seen that grin, they'd said things neither of them could take back.
He was the past, and she wanted it to stay that way. She turned away.
"What — too fancy to talk to an old friend?" he said, stepping in.
She muttered through clenched teeth, "Hello, Ty."
He spread his hands, as if the name proved a point. "The one and only."
"I'm busy," she said and moved to pass.
He shifted half a step and was in her way. Not touching — just close enough to make a point.
"Busy doing what? Playing farmer for a weekend?" His eyes dropped to her basket. "Heavy staples. That creek corner still pulling? Roof still chattering on the north?" His smile sharpened. "Place like yours eats time. And cash."
"I'll manage."
He didn't move. "That's not what I remember. I remember you hating wasted Saturdays."
"That was then."
"And this is now." He leaned a shoulder on the end-cap, easy like he owned the aisle. "You're a long way from coffee shops and smooth sidewalks."
She looked at his shoulder, not his eyes. "Move, Ty."
He held her a beat longer, then stepped aside like it was his idea. "Sure."
She went to the counter. Mr. Harper rang up the gloves, the staples, and the trash bags. She paid for the items and headed for the door. Ty's boots followed.
"Dog food's behind the counter," Mr. Harper said.
"I'll take the small bag," Marla answered.
He handed it to her. "First bag's on the house." He opened the door for her. "You have a good day, Marla."
She stepped into the street by the time Ty moved around Mr. Harper, who had remained standing in the doorway.
"You brought company," Ty said, flicking a glance toward the truck.
"A dog."
He rounded the truck and walked with her to the driver's door. "Hold up." He reached first and caught the handle.
The retriever had his paws on the passenger armrest, watching the door. His ears pricked when he saw Ty. A low growl rose and stayed there.
Ty heard it. He gave a half-laugh that wasn't happy. "Loyal mutt, that's for sure."
"Good judgment," she said.
He let the door swing open a few inches, kept a hand on it, and lowered his voice. "You came back to sell, didn't you? Makes sense. I can make it painless. Keep strangers from carving it up. You get the money and your weekends back."
"I said I'll manage."
"That's what your dad said too, and, unfortunately, it didn't work out so well for him."
Marla yanked the door open and, with as much control as she could manage, said, "I said I'll manage."
"You always were stubborn when you were scared."
Her face went still. "Move."
For a second, he didn't. The growl from the truck dropped a note. Ty stepped back half a pace.
"Fine," he said. He lifted a manila envelope from his pocket. "This is from last year. Your dad ordered beams. I fronted the lumber. Paperwork's all here — liens, balances, dates." He slid it into the crook of her arm. "We'll square it when you're ready."
Mr. Harper appeared outside with a leash and collar. "Thought you might need one of these." He glared at Ty, and then his kind eyes settled on Marla. "Far as I heard, they found the ladder on the ground at the scene," he said, as if discussing the weather — just a fact. "It was an accident, nothing more."
Ty watched her face, then softened his tone. "I am sorry about your dad. Bad night to be up there. Storm. Tin lifting. He set a ladder. Foot went wrong." He met her eyes. "You know how slick that edge gets."
"He didn't like heights."
"Men do what they have to," he said too quickly. "Especially if they've had a few." He rolled his wrist like the rest didn't matter and shrugged. "Can't blame the old man, though, trying to manage all by himself."
Her anger flared. "Shut up, Ty. You don't have any right to talk about my father." She dropped her gaze for a second and added, "Besides, he quit years ago."
"People slip. Nights get long." Then lighter, as if none of it mattered. "Think about selling. This place will bleed you dry, city girl. I'll keep it from doing that."
"Get out of my way."
He looked at Mr. Harper, then back at Marla, smiling. "Be seeing you again, I'm sure." He stepped aside.
Rudy pressed his nose to her wrist like he was checking in. She scratched his head once, got in, and set the envelope on the seat.
She started the engine and pulled away from the curb, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.
*****
As she turned down the gravel road, she stopped and sat, staring at the orchard and the barn. She'd believed her dad had been working in the orchard and had a heart attack. No one had mentioned the barn and, while blaming herself for not being around more, she hadn't thought to ask for details.
She shook her head. "Well, it's too late to say I'm sorry now, Dad. But I refuse to believe Ty. I know how important sobriety was to you—a promise you made when Mom died. He must be wrong."
She climbed out of the truck and shoved the envelope into the bag, then looked at Rudy, who sat patiently in the passenger seat. "Come on. Can't get any work done sitting there."
He barked once and jumped out of the truck, following her into the house.
She set the dog food down and filled a bowl. He checked her face once, then ate. She left him on the porch and carried the staples to the barn.
The door complained in the same key. Light fell in clean bars. She set the sacks on the bench and looked at the ladder in the corner--a steady pressure built behind her ribs.
She slid the wooden ladder out and carried it to the north eave. The rails were gray with age; the rungs were smooth from years of use. She set the feet square, leaned the top, and stepped back.
It didn't reach. Not close. Two rungs shy of the gutter line, even if you were careless. She shifted left, then right. The roof stayed too high.
She stood under the eave and checked for signs--any fresh scrape or dent where a ladder might have slipped. The old paint showed no marks. A fine spider line stretched from a nailhead to the corner, unbroken.
A soft huff came from behind her.
"I know," she breathed. "Me too."
She lowered the ladder and laid it flat in the grass. Running her hand along the side rail, she found a rough patch — two small staple holes and a brittle corner of orange tape still stuck under a strip of cloudy transparent film. The tape was faded, but a few ghosted letters bled through: SHE — a smear — a crooked R.
The sheriff's mark. On this ladder. Too short to reach the roof.
Marla looked up at the eaves, then down at the ladder again. Her throat tightened. "This doesn't make sense," she said, barely above a whisper. "Dad didn't like heights. He would've hired someone. Did he know Jonah?"
She stood there as the question settled. Another followed it, heavier.
Why did I think it was in the orchard?
Because that's what she'd pictured back then—her father in a tree, not the barn.
She wiped her palms on her jeans. "I need the report," she said to the quiet that surrounded her. "All of it."
Rudy's tail brushed her calf. She set the ladder back in its corner and closed the barn door. The latch clicked into place.
It was time she visited the Sheriff's Office and got the actual story — not the one polished and handed to her at the time of his death.
As she turned down the gravel road, she stopped and sat, staring at the orchard and the barn. She'd believed her dad had been working in the orchard and had a heart attack. No one had mentioned the barn and, while blaming herself for not being around more, she hadn't thought to ask for details.
She shook her head. "Well, it's too late to say I'm sorry now, Dad. But I refuse to believe Ty. I know how important sobriety was to you—a promise you made when Mom died. He must be wrong."
She climbed out of the truck and shoved the envelope into the bag, then looked at Rudy, who sat patiently in the passenger seat. "Come on. Can't get any work done sitting there."
He barked once and jumped out of the truck, following her into the house.
She set the dog food down and filled a bowl. He checked her face once, then ate. She left him on the porch and carried the staples to the barn.
The door complained in the same key. Light fell in clean bars. She set the sacks on the bench and looked at the ladder in the corner--a steady pressure built behind her ribs.
She slid the wooden ladder out and carried it to the north eave. The rails were gray with age; the rungs were smooth from years of use. She set the feet square, leaned the top, and stepped back.
It didn't reach. Not close. Two rungs shy of the gutter line, even if you were careless. She shifted left, then right. The roof stayed too high.
She stood under the eave and checked for signs--any fresh scrape or dent where a ladder might have slipped. The old paint showed no marks. A fine spider line stretched from a nailhead to the corner, unbroken.
A soft huff came from behind her.
"I know," she breathed. "Me too."
She lowered the ladder and laid it flat in the grass. Running her hand along the side rail, she found a rough patch — two small staple holes and a brittle corner of orange tape still stuck under a strip of cloudy transparent film. The tape was faded, but a few ghosted letters bled through: SHE — a smear — a crooked R.
The sheriff's mark. On this ladder. Too short to reach the roof.
Marla looked up at the eaves, then down at the ladder again. Her throat tightened. "This doesn't make sense," she said, barely above a whisper. "Dad didn't like heights. He would've hired someone. Did he know Jonah?"
She stood there as the question settled. Another followed it, heavier.
Why did I think it was in the orchard?
Because that's what she'd pictured back then—her father in a tree, not the barn.
She wiped her palms on her jeans. "I need the report," she said to the quiet that surrounded her. "All of it."
Rudy's tail brushed her calf. She set the ladder back in its corner and closed the barn door. The latch clicked into place.
It was time she visited the Sheriff's Office and got the actual story — not the one polished and handed to her at the time of his death.
 Recognized |
Sorry for the rewrite of chapter 3.... My brain short-circuited for a few days, and nothing was right. Hope this one comes off better. Please feel free to point out if I still don't have things straight. Thanks!
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