If he'd had a little sister, it might've worked.
But he'd had West, and younger brothers used their fists instead of tears to try and get their way.
Younger brothers left.
He slammed the tailgate on the last load of fertilizer and on the thoughts of his brother. Their relationship was a fracture that was never going to mend.
The winter sky was already darkening. He hated this time of year, working out in the dark. Or being stuck in the house with Grandma Mackie. Except Grandma wasn't there anymore. Just the memories.
He returned the wheelbarrow to the barn. As he parked it, he accidentally kicked over a bale of hay, knocking it from a pile. The hay bale split open at his feet. And left uncovered a barn cat and five mewling kittens. Newborns, judging by their closed eyes and tiny size.
No.
Just... no.
He couldn't handle one more mouth—or six—to care for.
No.
He hightailed it out of the barn. Got in his pickup and turned over the engine. He was going to take this load up to the pasture and spread the fertilizer and then turn in.
Molly, whoever she was, had better be a memory by the time he got there.
