My brother tilts his head. “You okay, Sutt? Looks like a ghost spooked your ass.”
I manage to pull myself together enough to form a mumbled response. “Something like that.”
8
Grady
Happy something #41: Uninhibited bouts of laughter. I never hear that enough.
Itoss the wrench into my toolbox and slam the tractor hood shut with a resounding bang. The afternoon sun is relentless, immediately searing my skin once I step out of the shade. Motor oil is a thick layer on my hands and shirt, evidence of the several dirty jobs I’ve done. There’s only one answer to give when Barry Olsen asks if I can spare a few hours to fix some shit around his farm. I could never refuse the man who practically raised me. That responsibility doubled after my own dad was locked up.
The old log bench along the barn calls my name. I park my ass on the sturdy wood, reaching for the filthy rag tucked in my pocket. It takes a good five minutes to dig the grit out from beneath my nails. Not sure why I even fucking bother. I lift my ballcap and drag a hand over my matted hair. There’s a damn laundry list of shit waiting for me at home. The only thing I want to do is sleep. But talking to a certain blue-eyed girl holds an inflated level of appeal. A nap is more plausible, but still highly unlikely. I grunt at my shitty choices.
My dry throat aches for something cool to ease the burn. A cold beer has never sounded better. Lucky for me, Barry keeps a fridge stocked in one of the sheds. I get to my feet with a groan and wander that way. Freshly cut hay and sawdust cling to the humid air, making the temperature even more sticky. The property is quiet. It’s almost startling how calm and still the farm is. I’m sure everyone is enjoying a lazy Saturday as it’s meant to be.
I adjust the hat on my head, tucking the brim low to shield the harsh rays. This summer is already proving to be hot as fuck. This weather might call for the voyage dive off my dock. I’ve been stupid to hold out. It’s not like anyone else will join me. Not that I’d want her to. My boots stumble to a stop on their own accord. No fucking way. That is absolutely not happening. I roll my shoulders and shake that shit off. The happy something she whispered to me almost a decade ago is ancient history.
I duck into the building with a sigh, heading straight for the back wall. A breeze passes through the open doors. That slight wind is enough to ease the sizzle from outside. I grab a beer and pop the top, dropping my ass into one of the open camping chairs. Weariness seeps into my bones. Every inch of me is weighed down with a heaviness beyond normal limits. A moment of rest won’t kill me. I tip the bottle to my lips and guzzle the final drops of cool relief.
Just as I’m letting my eyes fall shut, the shuffle of footsteps jolts me wide awake. Barry strides toward me with a wide grin stretching his weathered face.
“Hey, son. Didn’t think you’d still be here.”
I scrub a hand across the coarse bristles on my jaw. “Just finished. That orange Ford should be running the best a thirty-year-old model can. I also fixed the leak in the Deere.”
“You’re saving my hide. I can’t keep up with it all anymore.” Barry settles into the chair beside me, relaxing deep into the seat.
“It’s not a problem.”
“I’m sure you’ve got business to complete elsewhere.”
That’s very much the case, but being here isn’t a burden. “It doesn’t put me out. I have all evening to finish stuff at home.”
Barry crosses his arms. “It might be time to consider hiring a ranch hand of sorts.”
“Yeah? Or rope Jace into more. He can get the next round.”
He snorts at that. “I won’t hold my breath.”
Me either, but that doesn’t need to be said. Jace does plenty to help out. Mechanics aren’t one of his talents. “More for me, then. I don’t mind.”
“You’ve always been a good kid, Grady. I’m grateful to have you around.”
I tug the ballcap lower and avert my gaze. “I appreciate that, sir.”
Barry toys with his own hat, the brim fraying and splitting apart. “None of that formal crap.”
“Old habits and all.” I knew plenty about that. Hell, we both did.
He presses a finger to his lips and releases a slow exhale. “How’s your mama?”
I almost cringe at the question. She’s not a topic I’d ever choose to discuss. I can’t force myself to give her much thought. If I did, a lot of other dark shit would swoop in. But Barry has his reasons. They grew up together in Silo Springs. He watched the start of her downfall far before I was born. I flare my nostrils and shove out a breath. “Alive.”
That earns me a raised brow. He gets a shrug in return. A lot of men don’t talk about emotions and feelings, me very much included. Barry is the opposite. I can’t count the number of conversations he’s had with me on the subject. But I won’t open up on this, even for him.
“I get it, son. Sorry to pry.” He points to my empty bottle. “Want another?”
“Nah, one is enough. I should be going soon.” I rub at a stain on my jeans, trying to force off the grime covering me. Just more evidence of how filthy I am.
