“What does he have to know?”
Pops claps for the last competitor, leaning over to answer my question, raising his voice over the cheersfrom the crowd. “A driver has to be able to feel what’s going on with the tractor. They need to find that sweet spot between maximizing power without spinning out. It looks like they’re just hitting the gas and pulling, but they aren’t. Each second of the pull they’re feeling the tension between their tractor and the dirt under the wheels. He has to know what the tractor is capable of and not burn it out right at the start, while also taking it to its limits toward the end.”
“Wow…” I exhale. I wouldn’t have guessed any of that from what I’ve already seen.
“Grayson puts his heart into everything he loves,” his grandpa says, and when I look back up at him, there’s a sparkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Once he cares about something, he’s all in, he’s a good man.”
I don’t know if his message is one of kindness, or a slight warning. But either way, I smile up at him and bring a hand up to rest on his shoulder. “He’s agreatman. I could tell that from the first night we met.” I’ve noticed how he cares for things too. From his older home that he’s fixing up, to the truck that many would say needs to be replaced. These things might be older, aged, yes, but he takes such good care of them it doesn’t matter.
He nods at that, and his hand falls to my knee. His wrinkled fingers rest atop mine and I tangle them together. “Grayson’s next.”
My heart stalls, and a swallow catches in my throat as I see Grayson at the start. The moderator announces his name, his weight class, and the crowd moves to the edge of their seats. This isn’t just Grayson to them, this is the man who set a local record when he was just a teenager. Someone who was likely victorious at tractor pulls each year only to suddenly stop and dedicate his time to the family farm. It would’ve sounded silly to me a month ago, even yesterday, but after talking to his family and learning from his grandpa, my insides begin to twist with nervous energy.
Grayson doesn’t exude that same nervous tension. His face is flat, his composure intact as he backs up. Staff attach the sled, and he pulls to the start line. The horn blares, and he starts. He’s slow, calculated, just like his grandpa said. I watch his steady grip on the wheel with one hand feeling the long rod that extends atop the engine. He lets it gently brush against his palm, and I wonder if he can sense the slightest change in tension. A change that might indicate he needs to increase the power or decrease if he’s giving too much too fast.
He’s halfway down the track, and I can’t tell if much is happening. Grayson’s face doesn’t give anything away, and the crowd continues to watch on bated breath. The front of the tractor bounces just a hair, and the front wheels lift off the ground a few inches before slamming down again.
I must gasp because Grayson’s grandpa chuckles, squeezing my hand a bit tighter.
Grayson’s tractor passes us, and he must have made it further than the last two who pulled, but I can’t quite tell. The second the tractor seems to slow, he veers just a little to the left and his big back wheels start to spin. It all happens so fast, the back wheels spin and the front end bounces off the ground once, then twice, before a red flag is waved, signaling the end of the run.
The crowd is cheering, and I let go of my death grip on his grandpa’s hand to clap. “Did he do good?” I ask, raising my voice so he can hear me over the crowd.
He nods, pointing to the monitor that reads: three hundred and sixteen. “A full pull is three hundred and thirty feet, he made it three hundred and sixteen. As it stands right now, Grayson is in first place.”
Chapter Nineteen
Grayson
“So, tell me, Grayson Hart,” Holly says with her hand curled into a fist like a makeshift microphone in front of my face. “When you woke up today, did you know that you’d be the reigning defending champion at the Copper Ridge tractor pulls?”
I chuckle, playfully pushing away her microphone and wrapping my arm around her waist to pull her to me. “I’m not the defending champion, baby, I didn’t pull last year.”
“Well…” She crinkles her nose. “You’re still the champion. You’re still the man going home with this trophy, which I am absolutely going to force you to display in your house.” She pulls the miniature trophy from her purse, which looks like something you’d give a kid for participating in a bowling birthday party. I have a box full of them somewhere, but I won’t tell her that. Lord knows she would make me display them all in my house.
Because this woman can get me to nearly do anything.
“Not gonna lie, baby, it felt good being out there again.” I forgot what the rush feels like to have the adrenaline coursing through my veins as each second ticks by. It looks like nothing to the outside, just a man on his tractor. A pull only lasts about ten seconds if you make it close to a full pull, but that ten seconds feels like a lifetime when you’re in it, counting down while the finish line feels like a mile away.
What felt even better was seeing Holly in the stands surrounded by my entire family. Except for Lukas, who had parked himself at the makeshift bar most of the day. Seeing her holding hands with Pops during my pull, jumping up and down when they announced me as the first place winner. Then she ran to me after I stepped down from the tractor and jumped into my arms, kissing me in front of everyone. Now that … that felt like the real win. A woman like her, spending her days out in the country with a guy like me doesn’t happen every day.
Holly rests her head on my shoulder with one hand clasped in mine as we stroll through the market. Main Street has been closed down for the weekend. Vendors line each side of the street, selling everything from homemade pot holders and whittled figurines to decorative painted windows and fresh-baked goods.
Theo made it to the stands for my second run, and now he’s with the rest of the firefighters at the park, setting up for their event. It seems a little silly, having a group of grown men team up for ladder races or tug of war, but the town—women, mostly—go wild for it.
“Are you gonna compete again next year?” Holly asks, tugging on my hand to pull me toward an ice cream booth. I fish out my wallet as she orders a cone, handing over a few dollars for Holly’s double chocolate swirl while pondering my answer.
“I don’t know. I guess I feel like if I had any free time, I should be putting my energy back into the farm, not wasting it out here.”
“I don’t consider anything that I saw today a waste. I wouldn’t call something that makes you happy a waste of time, would you?” She pauses our walk, turning to face me and offers up her ice cream cone. I take a long lick, starting from the base of the cone, and Holly tugs her bottom lip in between her teeth as she watches. We stare at one another, and the heat between us is so powerful it could melt the cone right out of her hand.
“Ummm…” she stammers. “What was I saying?”
A pretty blush crawls up her chest to her jaw, and I reach a hand up, swiping away a drip of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. I bring my thumb to my ownmouth, sucking off the ice cream. “You were saying I should do what makes me happy.”
She pulls the cone back, swirling her own long lick from base to tip, right over mine, and I nearly groan. “Right,” she says, all breathlessly. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
I sling an arm around her neck, pulling her to my side and brushing my lips across her temple. “So, how long do we have to stick around? We could head home early, unless you’re dying to get yourself a pair of crocheted oven mitts.”
