Page 10 of Show Me

“Hey.” Lindsey steps closer as I move past her. Too close.

I angle around her without breaking stride. “I’ve got to finish this.”

She hesitates, then falls back a step. I move to the next station, resetting the weight, settling back into something I can control. Reps. Breath. Movement. In. Out. Done.

By the time I finish, Lindsey has drifted off toward the mirrors, talking to someone else. Finally. I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder as I stride for the exit.

Ruby remains at the front desk, head down, pen moving across the schedule like she’s got something better to do than worry about what I’m doing.

Which is exactly what I should be.

I slow for half a second anyway. Long enough to consider…. What? Saying something? Explaining something that doesn’t need explaining? I don’t. I keep moving.

The cooler air hits my face, clearing some of the noise out of my head. I walk toward my truck, keys already in my hand. This is what works. Clear lines. Defined edges. No room for confusion.

That goes for both Lindsey and Ruby.

Chapter Five

Ruby

The gravel crunches under my tires before I even cut the engine. Home. Not mine anymore, not really, but it's where I grew up, and the feeling of home remains in my bones whether I stay or not.

Dad’s truck is already parked crooked beside the barn, one wheel barely off the packed dirt like he was in a hurry when he pulled up. The barn doors are open, light spilling out across the yard, catching in the dust and the slow drift of hay.

I grab my keys and roll my eyes. No one is going to steal my car in the middle of nowhere. My father owns the land in all directions, and there’s only one way in and one way out, down his long gravel driveway.

After dropping my keys back into the cupholder, I step out, the air hitting different out here, cleaner, colder, edged with that mix of feed and earth that never quite leaves you once you’ve grown up in it.

A low grunt carries from inside the barn. Followed by Dad’s voice. “Easy, girl. Easy.”

The barn is warm, the kind of heat that comes from bodies and work instead of vents and thermostats. Straw crunches under my boots as I step around a feed bucket and slide inside the half-latched gate.

Dad is crouched beside a younger sow, one hand steady on her side, the other braced against his knee.

“You’re late.” He hooks two fingers beneath the brim of his faded cap, tipping it back just enough to study me before settling it into place again.

“I have a job.”

He smirks, “So do I.”

I step closer, taking in the space around him. The sow is shifting, restless, and the boar is hovering nearby like he’s personally responsible for the situation. And he likely is the culprit for why we’re here.

“How long?”

“Started about ten minutes before I called you,” Dad says. “Figured you’d want to be here.” He says it like I still belong in the middle of this.

I set my bag down without thinking and crouch beside him, my hand moving to her shoulder, fingers finding the spot that calms her.

“Hey, girl,” I murmur. “You’ve got this.” Her breathing steadies under my palm.

Dad watches me, then looks back to the sow. “Vet is on the way.”

“Dr. Carter?” I don’t know her well, as she only moved to town a couple of years ago.

“Who else?” He clears his throat while straightening the water bucket with his knee. Nothing around him stays crooked for long. “She was closest.”

The sow moves again, a low sound rumbling through her chest. I adjust my position for better access to the sow. “You’ve done this without me before.”