He whistled, then looked at Jojo. “You the new hand?”
Jojo startled, then nodded, hugging the clipboard closer. “Just started this week.”
The owner’s gaze softened a little, and I saw Jojo relax in response.
“We’ll take this one,” I said, tapping the sturdiest-looking stove. “And the fridge with the glass shelves.”
The owner jotted it down, then peeled off to help another customer with chicken wire. I scanned the next section—animal feed, salt licks, and a stack of wormers. I flagged him back down. “You got layer feed in stock?”
“Twenty tons in the back. You running chickens?”
“Not yet,” I said, “but I want to get ready.”
He nodded, scrawled on his pad, and promised to set aside a half-pallet for me.
While he hustled off, I turned to look for Jojo—and found him squatting in front of a wire pen, eyes huge, staring at a mess of baby chicks huddled under a red heat lamp. The pen was crowded with yellow fluff and the chorus of chirping was near deafening.
He was frozen, fingers curved over the rim of the mesh, shoulders hunched to hide his excitement. But the change in his scent was unmistakable: the nervous tang gone, replaced by something sweet and clean and alive.
I’d never seen him look so happy.
I watched a moment, then made my way over. “You want to grab a dozen?” I asked, voice pitched low.
He turned, startled. “What?”
I jerked my chin at the chicks. “Every farm needs chickens. You know how to care for them?”
His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. “Yeah. My grandparents kept a whole flock when I was a kid. I used to help collect eggs. Feed them. Even cleaned the coop.” His words tumbled over each other, the energy so bright I could feel it radiate off him.
“Pick out twelve and the supplies,” I said. “We’ll take them today.”
He lit up so hard it made my chest ache. “Are you sure?”
“Long as you’ll keep ’em alive,” I said, trying for a gruffness I didn’t feel.
“I can! I really can. And we’ll need a brooder box. And shavings. And feed, of course, and grit—”
I caught the attention of the owner, who grinned wider and started assembling a take-home kit from behind the counter.
Jojo was all business now, scanning the chicks for healthy ones, giving each a careful once-over before selecting it. He lined them up in the carrier, careful to match sizes, then draped the cardboard lid with a reverence I’d only ever seen him use for the sourdough starter.
Back at the register, I squared the whole order. The total was high, but not obscene. The owner loaded us up with extra feed and a bonus mineral block for the horses.
Jojo held the carrier in both hands like it was full of gold, beaming so hard the old lady at the end of the counter asked if we were running a day care for birds.
I shook my head, but felt a laugh catch in my throat. “First livestock for the new operation.”
The woman peered at Jojo, then back at me. “He looks like he’ll spoil them.”
“Count on it,” I said.
We hustled the chicks out to the truck, and Jojo set the carrier on his lap for the drive home. He didn’t stop watching them, not even when I cranked the radio or took the long way around the feed elevator to avoid Main Street.
At a stoplight, he caught me watching him in the rearview.
“Thank you,” he said, voice soft.
“Nothing to thank me for,” I said, but I knew it was a lie.
