by Ali Parker
I grabbed my ample breasts and fluffed them. “Yes, yes I am. I suppose that’s why I’ve got tits. My name is Alex.”
He sighed, pushing the hat up. “Alex, I made straight lines.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, you didn’t.”
The guy was nice enough, but in the words of my granddaddy, I didn’t think his elevator went all the way to the top floor. Oliver had hired the man to act as his manager or foreman over the farm’s operations. I didn’t know who he owed a favor to, but hiring Deke was too big a favor for anyone. Deke was not foreman material. He’d probably be okay as a hand, but he was never going to be able to run the farm.
I was the one that was going to have to break that to Oliver.
“I’ll do better next time,” he promised.
“Deke, you can’t keep plowing the same field. At some point, it has to get planted.”
“But it’s all just dirt,” he insisted.
I smiled. He was a simple man. “All right, let’s not worry about the field. What’s done is done. Let’s talk about that feed order.”
“I did good, right? I ordered plenty to last all month.”
I prayed for patience. “Deke, you ordered enough to last six months.”
He grinned. “Oh, good.”
I slowly shook my head. “No, not good. Part of running the farm means you need to pay attention to the expenses. Buying six months’ worth of feed is not wise. Mice and raccoons and god knows what else are going to get into it before the horses will ever eat it.”
He looked confused. “Oh. Well, can’t we just shoo the vermin away?”
If only that were possible. “I see Oliver pulling up. I need to talk with him. Can you take care of filling up those troughs?”
He nodded, the same goofy smile on his face. “I sure can, Alexandria.”
I ignored the Alexandria part and walked across the wide dirt parking area in front of the barn. The old house was the typical ranch home. It was white, two-story, with a covered porch that wrapped around three sides. The house had been modestly updated but nothing extravagant. The first time I had met with Oliver, I knew I wanted to work for him. He was the real deal. He was a salt of the earth kind of man.
My work as a fixer had allowed me to meet a lot of people. Some I liked, some I didn’t. Oliver, I liked. He got out of his old Ford pickup and waved. He was moving slower than he had a month ago.
“You’re back,” I called.
He smiled. “I can’t be away from this place for long.”
He opened the front door and gestured for me to go inside. Another one of the many traits I liked about him was that he was a perfect gentleman. “I’ll get you some tea,” I told him.
He chuckled. “You’re the guest. Aren’t I supposed to be getting you the tea?”
“I’m not a guest. You pay me, which means I am your employee.”
He took a seat at the old, scarred, wood dining table. I poured two glasses of iced tea from the pitcher and carried them to the table. Oliver was staring out the window, watching Deke fumble around.
“How’s he doing?” he asked.
I laughed. “Oliver, you and I both know that kid is not cut out to be a farm manager. I’m not sure what he’s cut out for, but this isn’t it.”
We both watched as he picked up a feed bucket and pulled it on over his head, laughing at himself. He ambled out to the pasture, presumably to fill the water trough like I had asked. One could never be sure with him.
“I suppose he isn’t. I told his daddy I’d give him a shot, but this just isn’t going to work.”
I slowly shook my head. “No, it isn’t. Do you want me to do some checking around town?”
He looked lost in thought. “No, I’ll take care of it.”
“How was your flight?” I asked him, noticing he looked tired. He looked wiped out really.
He sighed. “I hate flying.”
I laughed. “I don’t know a lot of people that actually enjoy it.”
“It isn’t natural,” he complained.
I watched as he sipped his tea, still staring out the window. I turned to look out the window as well. I didn’t see Deke. There was nothing but the sprawling pasture that stretched on as far as the eyes could see. The flat land looked like it reached all the way to Square Butte, but it was a trick of the eye. Oliver’s farm wasn’t quite that expansive.
“I’ve talked with Deke and we’ll get that alfalfa planted within the next couple of days.”
“How’s the wheat?” he asked.
I smiled. “Beautiful. It will be ready to harvest next week as scheduled. The crop looks great. I don’t think you’ll have any problems with selling it for top dollar.”
“You’ve got those hands coming in to take care of the harvest?”
I nodded. “I do. I’ll be overseeing the process.”
“If time allows, I’ll be able to run the combine,” he said, sounding almost defeated.
“That would be great,” I told him, thinking of the time that could be saved with an experienced man like himself running the harvester.
He sighed, pulling his gaze from the window and turning the steely-blue eyes on me. “There was a time I would do this all myself with the help of one or two guys.”
I laughed. “Your farm is huge, and it has got to be one of the hardest I’ve worked. You have a lot going on.”
“It used to be a lot more than what it is. I sold off the north hundred acres or so about ten years ago. I realized I didn’t need so much. A buddy’s grandson was looking to start in the farming business. I figured I’d give him a hand and let him buy that land from me for a real steal. I hear he’s built himself a small house on the land.”
“That was nice of you,” I told him. “Most farmers I’ve met hold on to their land until their last dying breath.”
He smirked. “I suppose we do, but the two-hundred acres I have is plenty. I’m an old man. I don’t need to make a killing in the wheat business.”
“I wish others could be as easygoing as you are. Hell, I wish I could be that easygoing.”
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s taken me seventy-two years to get to this point. A man realizes somewhere along the way that life is too short to be uptight. We’re all here for a short time, as long as the good Lord allows, and that’s it. We have no control over any of it. It’s arrogant to believe otherwise.”
I smiled. “But it’s human nature to try.”
“I suppose it is.”
“Alex, I’ll get someone in to take over this operation. Promise me you’ll stick around until I can make that happen.”
“Of course, Oliver. I’m not going anywhere. I came here to help get things tidied up. I’m not done yet.”
He nodded, looking me directly in the eye. His stare was intense. It always made me feel like he was looking right into my soul. “Promise me that no matter what happens, you will make sure this farm is functioning. I don’t want it to be auctioned off to the highest bidder because it has fallen in the red or the disrepair is beyond fixing.”
His concern was real. “Oliver, your farm isn’t in bad shape. It’s hard but that’s not a bad thing. You need the right person in here that will devote the time, energy, and most importantly love for the art of farming to this place. There are plenty of folks who would love the chance to do that. It’s going to be okay.”
He didn’t look convinced. “I think I’m going to lay down for a minute. I’ll be out later to take a walk around.”
I nodded and reached out to rest my hand on his arm. “Are you feeling okay?”
I knew it was risky to ask a tough guy like Oliver if he was feeling all right, but he didn’t seem quite himself. I had worked his farm for about a month and had come to know him pretty well. I was fond of him, and even though I was hired to take care of the management of the farm, I wanted to take care of the man as well. I didn’t have a lot of maternal or nurturing instincts, but just then, I did.
“
I’m fine. The traveling wiped me out. I need a few minutes. Then I’ll be right as rain.”
I smiled. “Okay. I’ll go track down Deke and see what he’s up to now. One never knows with that guy. He means well, but I just don’t know what he is thinking half the time.”
“I’ll take care of that situation later today,” he assured me.
“Why don’t you rest, and I’ll handle it? I’ll let him down easy. Honestly, I don’t think he’ll be all that upset to be given his walking papers. He’s been telling me he wants to follow the rodeo.”
Oliver groaned. “I suppose he could be a clown. I hope like hell he doesn’t plan on trying to ride.”
“You never know. That could be his niche.”
He chuckled and walked over the original hardwood floors of the seventy-year-old house as he slowly made his way to his bedroom. I watched him go, noticed he was moving slowly. He looked like he was in pain. I thought about offering him some aspirin but remembered he was a tough old coot, and old coots hated to be coddled.
I carried the glasses to the old farm sink, emptied them, and put them in the dishwasher before heading out in search of Deke. He was a lot like a toddler—you didn’t dare leave them alone for long. He’d been quiet for too long, which was always alarming.
“Deke?” I hollered, shielding my eyes with my hand as I surveyed the pasture and the wheat field looking for his ridiculous cowboy hat.
“In here,” he called out.
I groaned. He was in the barn. There was so much he could get into in there. I quickly walked across the dirt and gravel, dust collecting on my old work boots and the cuffs of my faded jeans as I moved. Most people didn’t see me as the farmer type. I’d been told I was too pretty to be a farmer. It was about the dumbest thing I had ever heard. And a little insulting to all the other farmers. Like there was a certain standard of beauty that determined who was good at farming and who wasn’t.
I never worked out, I never watched what I ate, and I never really cared much about putting on makeup. I usually wore boots, jeans, and a dirty old hoodie with a plain T-shirt underneath. I kept my hair short in a blunt-cut bob to keep it from getting in my way. There were times I liked to get dressed up but not often.
I wasn’t the average woman and I didn’t care to be. I liked what I did. I liked who I was, and I didn’t give two shits about fitting into someone else’s standard about what a twenty-seven-year-old woman should be doing.
Chapter 3
Damion
I walked into the school, smiled at the receptionist, and joined the other parents there to pick up kids. I waited until Oliver’s teacher had a free moment and approached her. I liked to check in with her at least once a week if time allowed.
“Hello,” I greeted.
“Ah, Mr. Whittle,” she said with a smile.
“Damion, please,” I insisted. “How’s he doing?” It was the same question I asked every time I saw her.
The start to my five-year-old’s school career had been rocky. I was assured kindergarten was hard on a lot of kids. It was a big change, and some struggled a bit more than others. My son wasn’t struggling with the learning but with being in a new environment with kids he didn’t know.
“He is a bright young man and a pleasure to have in class,” she answered.
“But?” I asked, knowing there was something she wasn’t saying.
She smiled. “He’s had a difficult week. The class has been doing group projects, and Oliver is so far advanced, he either does all the work or doesn’t do any of it. He would much prefer to work alone. Because he’s so much more advanced, he gets done early, and instead of using the time to play a game with the other kids, he reads.”
I chuckled. “That can’t really be a bad thing, right?”
“Absolutely not, but I think it would be easier for Oliver if he could make a couple of friends. He’s a very quiet boy.”
I nodded, looking over to the corner of the room that was set up as a reading nook. He was only in kindergarten but was reading books meant for second and third graders. I was proud as hell.
“He takes a while to warm up, but he’ll get there,” I told her.
“I’m sure he will. With the school year over in another month, I’m not sure he’ll have time to make friends this year. Hopefully, next year will be easier for him.”
“I’m confident he will find a friend,” I told her.
I waved my hand, getting his attention. He put the book he’d been reading back on the shelf, grabbed his backpack from the hook, and made his way to me. “Can we go now?” he asked.
“Yep. Say goodbye to your teacher.”
I ushered him out the door after saying his goodbye, got him tucked into the backseat of my small Nissan, and pulled out of the school parking area. He was staring out the window, a pensive look on his face. He was a thinker. I couldn’t see anything wrong with being a thinker. He was going to be a well-read adult. Reading broadened the mind. I was an avid reader myself and liked to believe he inherited the habit from me.
I could not get myself to care nearly as much as his teacher did about his lack of being a social butterfly. He wasn’t completely withdrawn—he was selective about who he talked to. I was the same way.
“Did you have a good day?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “It was all right.”
“What did you do today?”
“We worked on the letter Z and wrote sentences. I already know Z. It’s an easy one, but there are not a lot of words that start with Z.”
I laughed. “No, there aren’t. Did you play with anyone at recess?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
I took another approach. “Do you like the other kids in your class?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you tell me the names of some of the kids?” I asked, hoping to get him to open up.
He looked thoughtful. “There are a lot of kids, Dad. I don’t know them. I sometimes play with Jason, but he likes to play basketball a lot. I don’t like basketball.”
“Maybe you can play on the playground or play tag,” I suggested.
“He doesn’t like to do that.”
“Maybe one of the other kids does.”
“I like to read my book. Sometimes, I like to look for bugs.”
I grinned. “That sounds like fun to me. Maybe I’ll call Timmy’s parents and see if we can have a playdate.”
I glanced in the mirror to gauge his reaction. He looked less than thrilled. “Do we have to?”
“Timmy is a good kid. You guys live in the same building. It’s good for you to have friends close by.”
“Timmy likes to pick his nose,” he complained. “It’s gross.”
I cringed at the thought of boogers running amuck. “It is a bad habit, but other than that, I think you two had fun the last time you played together.”
“I’d rather not,” he said, sounding like an adult version of himself.
I chuckled. “All right, we’ll talk about it again later. What should we do this weekend? Do you want to go see a movie? Maybe go to a museum?”
The moment I made the suggestions, I thought about what my grandfather had said. He was right. Oliver and I spent very little time outdoors. We didn’t go fishing or hunting like I had done with my own father at his age. We did go to the park now and again, but we never really got out and really dirty. I looked at him in the mirror again. He was my spitting image but softer.
I had grown up on a farm. I had a tan that started in spring and carried over until late fall from all my time outside. I had worked hard on the farm, helping feed the horses and chickens. When I had gotten older, I used to ride alongside my grandpa in the front seat of his old beat-up truck to fix fences. The fences always needed fixing, it seemed.
“I want to go to the museum,” he answered after carefully thinking it over.
“Sounds like a plan. We’ll do the museum, have lun
ch, and then go to the park for some playtime.”
“Okay,” he said, turning to look back out the window.
I drove to our apartment, tucked the car into the cramped parking area, and headed inside. We lived in a nice building with a doorman. I felt relatively safe on the eighth floor. Our two-bedroom was modest, but a lot bigger than most.
“I’m going to get dinner started. You can watch TV for a bit if you’d like.”
“I’m going to play on my iPad,” he answered.
I put his backpack next to the door and went into the small kitchen to start dinner. I had never imagined myself living the life I had. When I was young and on the farm, I’d always pictured myself coming in from a hard day’s work to a hot dinner and a hotter wife. I had known I wanted children from an early age. I loved kids. It just turned out the woman I had fallen in love with wasn’t meant to bear children.
There was still a little pang of guilt that assaulted my thoughts time and again when I thought about Ann’s death. She had died in childbirth. Technically, she’d been gone when Oliver was delivered. One day, she’d been fine, a little swollen but nothing to worry about. So we had been told. A week later, she had a stroke.
If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, she would still be with me. I loved Oliver with all my heart and soul and knew Ann would have willingly given her life for our son, but some days, I just felt guilty. I felt guilty Oliver didn’t have a mom. I felt guilty Ann was dead and I was alive and well.
Was I doing enough for our son? After my grandfather’s visit, I had been questioning my parenting technique. I’d been questioning everything. Was the city the right place to raise him?
I worked too much. That, I knew for sure, but it wasn’t like I was independently wealthy. I had to work for my money. My job required long hours sometimes. It was part of life. I wasn’t the only single parent working long hours.
I dumped spaghetti noodles in the pot of boiling water and opened the jar of sauce. It was a quick and easy dinner. I opened the freezer to grab the frozen bread when I heard my phone ringing. It was likely someone from work. I was able to leave early enough to pick up Oliver from school, but I still had to be on standby for my staff that remained at the office.