Page 85 of We Drank the Dawn

“Here.” Cooper put a pitchfork in my hand. “Take this.”

My hands, stiff with blisters, resisted wrapping around the aged handle. Unable to hide my pain, I hissed a breath as the wood mercilessly scraped my palm.

He chuckled. “Don’t callous much using a keyboard, huh?”

I stifled the giant sigh building in my throat. Cooper was such an asshole, and every minute I spent in Texas with him made me regret my decision to stay. Ignoring his jab about my occupation, I gritted my teeth and asked, “Are there some gloves I could use or something?”

“Nope. We don’t have shit like that around here.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why would a ranch not have work gloves?”

“Cause we only hire men.”

Pressing my lips into a thin line, I fought against all the retorts flying into my head. Forcing my fingers to grip the handle, I drove my teeth into my tongue, distracting my brain from the way fluid slicked my palms. I’d busted a blister and would probably get staph out here. Not that Cooper or anyone else would care.

He launched into an explanation. “These stalls all have wood chips in them. And the chips kinda clump together when they’re wet. “What you’ll do is drag the end of the pitch fork through the chips.” A light metal scraping sound filled the air as he demonstrated how to do it. “I would just take it in a straight line all the way to the opposite wall, and then, you’ll dump whatever you have in your fork into the wheelbarrow.”

“Okay.” I grumbled.

Without more instructions, Cooper got to work, his fork sifting through wood chips. Clenching my jaw, I stuck the prongs of the pitchfork through the layer, all the way to the ground below. Then, per Cooper’s instructions, I pushed it. Once my fork hit the wall, I lifted the heavy scoop of woodchips.

“Okay, where’s the wheelbarrow?”

But instead of answering me, he said, “No. You can’t do it like that.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve got a huge scoop of chips.”

Denying my urge to throttle him, I awaited more instruction.

“You have to bounce the chips around a little.”

“Huh?”

He sighed like I was the dumbest human to walk planet earth. “You gotta shake the fork so that only the manure and clumped chips stay on and the clean chips fall through. What you’ve got is just a scoop of clean chips. And we can’t just throw chips away—they’re cedar and cost a good bit.”

I set my jaw, trying my best to temper my tone. “Well, in case you forgot, I can’t tell if they are clean or dirty.”

He groaned. “Holy hell, you are so annoying. Trust me”—his tone was dramatic and sarcastic— “no one on this ranch has forgotten that poor Peter is blind.”

“Well, you seem to think I can tell the difference, so I have to double check that we’re on the same page.”

“You can tell the difference. Shake it around a little and figure out what you have.”

What I hated more than anything was people acting like they knew what I could and couldn’t do while blind. Everyone said things like “it’s easy” and “you can do it.” Suddenly, I wanted to whack Cooper in the face with the prongs.

I gave the fork a purposeful, jerky pulse, and chips spilled over the side, raining onto the ground and the tops of my tennis shoes. “Yep. Still don’t know if they’re clean or dirty.”

“Alright, smart ass.” He stomped closer to me and the scent of cigarettes and peppermint invaded my personal space. “Since you’re being a child, let’s hold hands this time.” He yanked the fork away, and the pain almost sent me to my knees. “Grab it and don’t let go.”

I hesitated until he poked me in the stomach with the handle. I oofed out a breath.

“Grab…it.” He demanded.

Slowly, I reached out, taking the handle again. Cooper leaned forward, holding the handle closer to the ground. With four hands on the pitchfork, Cooper struck the prongs back in, but not as deeply as I had the first time. “As you go, stop and shake the fork.” He pushed forward a couple feet then stopped, lifting the fork out and shaking it. Sure enough, I heard the gentle plinking of woodchips hitting the ground and a muted vibration traveled up the stem of the pitchfork and into the palms of my hands. It felt like something solid was jumping around on the prongs.

“Feel that?” He asked.