There it fucking is.
As if I’m fucking clueless. As if the sight of twelve red heifers on the wrong side of the fence hasn’t already clued me in on the issue.
Keeping my eyes on the herd, I clap to keep them moving as Finn and Hollis help corral them. “They’ll be back across in a minute. Don’t you worry.”
“Oh, sure,” he says. “Not a problem. It’s just, legally speakin’, once they’re over here, it can open folks up to liability. Fence is yours, after all. The county is pretty clear about that, as you know.”
I angle my body toward the cattle, not him. Time’s bleeding out while he talks. Every word like another nail in my patience. My jaw tightens as I nod, knowing if I give him anything more than that, it’ll turn into a never-ending fucking conversation.
He takes a step closer, and I grind my teeth.Goddamnit.
“Not that I mind,” he goes on. I’ve never met anybody who lacks more social awareness than Bob fucking Christensen. “Just thought I oughta mention it, in case something were to happen.”
Nothin’ happened. They’re standing there chewing while you talk my fuckin’ ear off.
“We’ll fix the fence,” Finn bites out, his dislike for our chatty neighbor maybe even stronger than my own.
“Well, good.” He smiles wider and tips his hat. “Wouldn’t want any hard feelings. Property lines and liabilities can be touchy for some folks.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t leave us alone. He keeps fucking talking. The weather, the county, he even throws in the story about his cousin’s bull like he hasn’t already told us about it a hundred other times over the last fifteen years. We nod when we’re supposed to, but don’t stop working.
Finally, the last cow crosses back through the gate. I swing it shut harder than necessary.
“Fence’ll need reinforcing,” Christensen says, helpful as all hell. “Hate to see this become a reoccurring thing.”
“Won’t,” I mutter, already walking away.
I don’t look back. I’ve had enough neighbors for one day.
Back at the barn, I task Hollis and August with fixing the fence. After I put a few things away, I head inside my house in search of Lukas and Tripp. When I find it empty, I walk around, trying to see if they’re up here. It’s entirely possible Tripp took him to August’s cabin toward the back of the property.
Pulling out my phone, I find Tripp’s number and hit call, bringing it up to my ear. It only rings twice.
“Hey, Mr. Moore,” he greets, as if I haven’t told him a million times to just call me Gentry.
“Are y’all at the cabin?”
“I am, but Lukas wanted to stay at your place after we ate lunch.”
“My house?” I ask sharply. “You sayin’ he was at my house when you went back to the cabin?”
“Uh, yes?”
“Goddamnit,” I hiss. My feet are already moving before my mind has a chance to catch up.
“Is that not okay? You said he was fine by himself.”
“He’s not at the house. I checked before callin’ you.”
“What about Finn’s place?” he suggests. “Could be there hanging out with Tucker.”
“I gotta go,” I mutter, ending the call in favor of dialing Ash.
My heart pounds a violent beat as I wait for the line to connect.
“Hey, Gen?—”
“Is Lukas with you?”
