Andrew shoots me a look of exasperation."That's your brilliant idea?"
"Yes," I say defiantly."That is my brilliant idea.What is your brilliant idea?Please, do go on."
A long silence stretches out between us as we walk.The breeze moves through the corn rows.A red-tailed hawk circles lazily overhead.
"You don't have one, do you?"I arch an eyebrow at him.
"An idea on how to fix an absolutely impossible, insane situation?"he snorts."No, I do not."
"Well then.Looks like we're stuck together for the next couple of months.My uncle and I will be coming out here every day, walking through the fields.You need to come up with reasons that I need to spend time with you.
He scowls."After you work on the fields in the morning, I can take you on a tour of the property on the pretext of having you look for more pest damage in our other crops, our apple orchards, whatever."
We keep strolling.
"You're walking too close," I say.
He shoots me a narrow-eyed look of annoyance."I'm walking next to you."
"Well, how about you walk next to me over there," I scowl, and point to a spot about twenty feet away.
He snorts in contempt."You're breathing too much."
"Excuse you?"
"Well, how about you breathe a little less.”
We walk in silence for a moment, then we both burst into laughter.
The laugh comes out of nowhere and lands before I can stop it, and for about three seconds we are just two people finding the same thing funny.Then I see his expression shift — the same realization landing on him — and we both look away at the same time.
I carefully step a few feet to the right.His earthy, primal scent is driving me insane.
We're halfway down the third row when I almost step on it.A tiny brown heap tucked against the base of a corn stalk, barely bigger than my fist.
"Oh—" I stop dead.
It's a baby rabbit.Eyes still sealed shut, sides heaving with fast, panicked breaths.
Andrew crouches down first.He looks at it for a second, then he picks it up, both big hands cupped together, and holds it out to me.
Our fingers brush when I take it.
The hum that lives under my skin — the one I've kept carefully pointed at root systems and soil pH all morning — swings around like a compass needle finding north.Heat races up my arm and spreads, and for one traitorous second every nerve ending I own is acutely, overwhelmingly aware of Andrew Ward.I go very still.The rabbit trembles against my palms.
"I'll find its nest," Andrew says, and steps back.
Good.Step back.Keep stepping.
I stand there watching him work.He scents the air, turns slightly, moves to the far end of the row with his head tilted.He's quiet when he moves — all that size and he barely disturbs the corn.He kneels down, parts the stalks with careful hands, peers at the ground.Then he stands, and walks back to me, and I very carefully transfer the tiny creature back to him.No touching this time.I make sure of it.
He tucks the kit back into the nest with the same focused attention he probably gives pack paperwork.No commentary.No performance.Just — done.
I could make a scornful remark about how the big bad wolf is just a big softie underneath it all.
My throat tightens.I can’t speak.My voice will shake.I refuse to show weakness in the face of the enemy.
I look away, back down the long green row, at the pale shoots and the dark earth.
