“You too, Grey.”
He turns and walks out of the office and I finish up the report, taking one last glimpse around before leaving. Thiscould be mine one day. If so, I’m a man on the brink of changes he didn’t choose, but might fall into anyway—just like Old Man Calhoun said.
Chapter 9
Carli
When I play footsie, I play to win.
~ Unknown
“It's beenthree days since my interview,” I practically whine to McKenna through the phone. “Three. Long. Silent. Days.” I’m on a drive into town and she’s enduring my mental spiral while curled up in her cottage on the Lawson property.
“Bureaucracy, sweetie,” McKenna says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the government is slow. Even local county government. No. Especially that. Someone’s cow gets stuck in the mud? Meetings are cancelled and everyone leaves their desks to go pull poor old Clarabelle out of the muck.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not the hold up.” I pull into the lot of Waterford Hay & Feed. “At this point, I just want an answer. The not knowing is driving me batty.”
“What are you doing tonight?” McKenna asks.
“Dinner with the family. Why?”
“Let’s hang out after dinner.”
“Okay. Sounds good. I don’t know if I’ll be the best company.”
“You’re my favorite kind of company,” McKenna says.
“Thanks. You’re mine too.”
The feed store sits on a property between downtown and our ranches. Trucks outnumber cars nine to one in the parking lot. The distinct sweet-tangy alfalfa scent hits me as soon as I walk through the sliding glass doors. A good number of the customers are trudging down the aisles in boots, having come straight from our farms to the store. The clunk of heels on concrete fills the store and echoes off the rafters.
I fill my basket with things we need with farrowing coming up: heat-lamp bulbs, colostrum replacer, new gloves and a few emergency bags of lactation feed. At the back of the store, I approach Audra, the store manager.
“Hey, Carli!” Audra says. Eyeing my basket she says, “Farrowing season?”
“Nearly.”
“Any word on the inspector job?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
“You’ll be a shoo-in,” she assures me.
I wish I were so sure. “I’m here about the feed order my brother called in last week.”
“Let me check.” Audra steps behind the counter reserved for bulk delivery orders and toggles a mouse, bringing her computer to life. “Yep. Gotcha here for ten tons of lactation feed.”
“Okay. Great. I don’t want to be short.”
“We’ve got you covered.”
We say goodbye and I head up to the front of the store to check out, stopping four times to chat with people I know on my way to the registers. Each of them mentions the inspectorposition—each saying they’re sure I’ll get it. And each time, I feel less and less certain they’re right.
I step out of the store into the cool late-winter air. My jaw flexes and my heart pounds like I just jogged through the store instead of making my way out by way of neighborly pit stops.
