Their skin glistens with sweat, muscles clenched tight with every movement. Dust swirls around their boots as the hay lands with dull thuds.
Billy’s jaw looks locked, eyes set forward like he’s daring the world to give him one more thing to handle today.
I climb the last fence rail and step into the field. The smell of hay mixes with the sharp bite of cut grass, settling uneasily in my chest.
“What’re you doing?” I call out.
Billy drops the bale mid-lift and looks right at me. His shoulders rise and fall once, slow enough that it seems like he is trying to temper something inside himself. “Working.”
“You’re supposed to be getting dressed.”
“I don’t do funerals.”
The response hits me harder than I expect. Heat surges up the back of my neck. “Are you kidding me?” I say, forcing the words out even though frustration pulses behind my ribs.
He plants his hands on his hips, sweat dripping down the side of his neck. His stare sharpens.
“I already said goodbye to the old man. I’m not going. Half the town’s going to be there, and I’m not doing a spectacle. I’ll take flowers out tomorrow.”
My tongue presses against the back of my teeth as I fight down the first dozen retorts that rise up. “Is this about the crowd or avoiding Sedona?”
Billy’s jaw clenches hard enough that the muscle twitches. A sound leaves him that is just short of a growl.
Jasper steps a foot away to give us space.
The house door opens behind me, and Seth walks out, wearing a too-tight charcoal suit. He holds a steaming mug in one hand and squints toward us like he’s already exhausted by whatever argument he walked into.
His curls are damp, probably from the world’s fastest shower. His shoulders look broader than the last time he wore that suit, which makes the jacket strain at the seams.
“I’m ready to go,” Seth says before taking a drink.
I exhale slowly and look at him. “You look nice.”
He glances down at himself and snorts. “I’m outgrowing this thing. Need to order a new one.”
Billy picks up another bale and tosses it into the back of the truck with a grunt, refusing to look at us. “You need to get going, or you’ll miss the service.”
I want to argue, but there’s no point. A fight never reaches him when he gets like this, all stone and stubbornness. I turn to Seth instead.
“Let’s get going.”
He grabs the truck keys from the porch hook, and we climb in, the leather seat creaking under us as the engine rumbles to life. We pull down the long dirt drive, passing the wooden gate that marks our ranch boundary.
The sign swings slightly on its chain as we go by, the name COPPER CREEK RANCH carved deep into the grain.
“I don’t understand how he’s skipping the funeral,” I say, wiping my palms on my slacks.
Seth keeps his eyes on the road. “You don’t understand because you never saw how broken he got after Sedona left.”
I look at my brother sideways, my heart pumping hot and strange against my ribs. “He never talks about it.”
“That’s because there isn’t much to say.” Seth swallows, his throat bobbing. “She left overnight. No warning. No fight. Nothing but a letter and the engagement ring on the kitchen table. Billy couldn’t believe she was gone. He walked around like someone pulled the ground out from under him. Six months of that.”
I rub a hand over my face, fingers digging into my scalp. “Do you know what happened?”
“To be honest,” he says, voice low, “I don’t think anyone knows.”
Wind rushes through the open window, carrying the smell of cedar and distant campfire smoke from the Fall Festival stands set up on Main Street. We drive past a cluster of parked food trucks and a few families hauling bags of kettle corn.
