“No, it’s not. Leave Tommy up to me. I’ll get you more time.”
“James. We just established that you have high blood pressure from stress. I don’t need you taking on even more.”
“Okay, then you can help me in another area to make up for it.”
I widen my eyes suggestively. “Now you’re propositioning me?! I’m so proud. Yes, James, I’ll be your lady of the night.”
He smiles in a way that has me wishing hewaspropositioning me. “Can you be ready Tuesday morning by six?”
“That’s early for sex but okay.”
“Madison.”
“I’ll be ready.”
James walks me to the back door, where I shove my socked feet into my thong sandals, giving them the wedgie of a lifetime, but also unwilling to take off the socks yet. When I’m almost down the back steps, I pause and look back at him. “Hey. I’m sorry you’ve been so stressed,” I tell him. “And that you’ve felt like you had to manage it alone.”
“I didn’t say I had to manage it alone.”
“But you have been. Because Tommy has never helped and your parents can’t and Noah is busy a lot now. So . . . I guess I’m saying, if the late-night cigarettes or the cinnamon toast aren’t doing it for you, I’m here to talk. Hurricane Madison at your disposal.”
The corners of his mouth tug up. “Noted.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
James
It’s threeP.M. when I finish spreading fertilizer on the tomato crop and check my phone for the tenth time. I called Tommy last night right after Madison left. He, of course, didn’t answer and hasn’t called me back. I even texted,It’s important.But it’s Tommy so I could have texted,My limb is dangling off and I need you to come reattach it,and it probably still wouldn’t be enough to warrant an immediate call back. I’d have to say something like,Quick, there’s a model wandering the property looking lost and lonely, what should I do?That would get an immediate ring.
Actually, should I text him that?
I stare at my phone a little too long before remembering my morality and deciding against it.
“Hey, boss,” says Archie, meeting me in the middle of the row with his comically tight Wranglers and cowboy hat. He’s only nineteen and essentially inherited this job from his dad—just like I did mine. I think every day he wakes up and hopes this place magicallyturns into a ranch that lets him live out his dreams of being a cowboy. Instead, he gets to wash and package the baby turnips.
“What can I do for you, Archie?”
He lifts his hat and pushes his hand through his sweaty hair. “I was wondering if I could leave a little early today.”
“You sick?”
“No.” His face reddens. “I, uh—my girlfriend is coming back into town from college for the night only. But she’s getting in a little early so I was hoping to get to spend as much time with her as possible.”
“I see,” I say, but what I mean is,Must be nice.
Nice to have someone waiting for you. Nice to have a night off. Nice to have a life that doesn’t revolve around crops and weather and the price of fuel.
I want to say no. God, Ineedto say no. But I see the nervous way he’s rubbing the back of his neck, the way he keeps glancing toward the barn like he might bolt if I give him half a chance.
My dad wouldn’t hesitate to say yes and give him the day off. But when my dad ran this farm, he had double the crew that I have now. Working on a farm doesn’t pay like it used to. Because back then local farms still mattered. People walked into stores and asked where their tomatoes came from.
A guilt-ridden thought strikes me. If I were to take the contract with AFD, I’d be able to hire more help again. I wouldn’t have to contemplate whether my day can absorb more work to compensate for Archie’s absence. But I’d also be part of the problem. Just another farm cranking out mediocre produce to hit our target quantity in time.
Even though Dr. Macky’s voice rings in my ear, reminding me I need to cut down on my work and prioritize rest, I say, “Yeah. Go ahead.”
He grins, thanks me, and jogs off toward his truck. Just like that—gone.
And I’m still here.
