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Thaddeus grumbled something under his breath and returned his attention to his breakfast, ignoring both his wife and son. But no matter how tough the old man tried to act, Coop knew his dad was one of the softest individuals he’d ever meet.
As Loren seated herself and started her own breakfast of oatmeal, Coop chewed silently, watching his parents.
He’d been an oops child, born when they were both in their forties after they thought they were finished having children. His two sisters were so much older than him; they’d already moved out and started their own lives. Brendel and Stacia were both married with five kids between them, and Brendel’s oldest son trailed Coop by only six months.
He’d grown up instinctively knowing he’d someday be the one to care for these two when they grew too old to care for themselves. It made him protective of them.
Realizing his father really would do his work for him if he didn’t do it this morning, Coop sighed and revised his plans. Jo Ellen probably wouldn’t be awake yet anyway. She would need to recuperate from her hangover. Then she’d have to contact Untermeyer and break it off with him. Cooper was being too anxious wanting to see her this early; that was all.
So, as soon as he cleared his plate, he pushed his chair back, put his dirty dishes in the washer, and paused to plant a loud, smacking kiss to the crown of his mom’s head before he grabbed his hat and was out the door.
He rushed, making sloppy work of the field. His dad would probably complain when he saw how much hay Cooper left lying in the field, but Coop was too eager and antsy to see Jo Ellen, he didn’t even care. He’d go over it again tomorrow…if his dad didn’t get to it first.
He finished baling by late morning. His mom would have lunch on the table in under an hour. As Coop stored the tractor back in the barn and paused to unhook the baler, he debated with himself if he should wait until after lunch or head over to the Rawlings’ house now.
He’d have less time to visit Jo Ellen if he left now, but he’d get to see her sooner if he didn’t wait until later. Then again, if he showed up over there so close to dinnertime, maybe the Rawlings would invite him to eat with them, in which case he’d have the rest of the day to spend with her.
Mind made up, Cooper hopped into the shower as soon as he made it back to the house. Afterward, he tugged on some fresh clothes, his Sunday best. Finally clean and impatient, he started toward the big mansion.
He couldn’t say guilt bothered him about being the reason Jo Ellen was going to break up with Untermeyer. He gained a spiteful satisfaction from it, actually. But vengeance wasn’t the consuming thought tumbling around in his head as he pulled into the Rawlings drive and lumbered his old rattletrap down the long path to their front door. No, the most intense thought, overshadowing all else, was the fact he was about to see her again. His blood warmed just thinking about it.
Anxious for even a glimpse, he strained in his seat, keeping an eye on the front door as he parked. It wasn’t as if he expected her to burst from the house and charge toward him; she didn’t even know he was coming. Though he had to admit it’d be a nice sight if she did do that.
Scrubbing his suddenly damp palms on the top of his thighs, he blew out a breath and pushed open his door. He was so intent about his mission to reach the front porch; he didn’t even notice others outside until he heard a shout.
“Hey! Hold it steady.”
Cooper glanced over to spot the two Rawlings sons grappling with a fifty-five-gallon oil drum and trying to load it into the back of a tailgate.
“I’m trying,” Caine Rawlings muttered, his face going from bright red to purple as he heaved. Being only thirteen, he couldn’t pull as much weight as twenty-year-old Grady, and the entire barrel tilted his way, splaying a nasty glop of black liquid over the side.
Changing directions, Coop jogged toward the two and immediately leant his weight to Caine’s end, helping the little guy lift his load. When Caine looked over his shoulder and saw Cooper, his shoulders sagged. He immediately stepped back, letting Coop take on his half of the work.
Not prepared for the added weight, Coop grunted and the cask slanted even further his way, threatening to tip over completely. Slimy oil spilled over the side and sp
rayed his temple and shoulder, running down his front and back and soaking his button-up western shirt.
“Caine!” Grady scolded, struggling to help straighten the drum.
“What? Coop’s like three times bigger than I am. I figured he could handle it.”
“I got it,” Coop muttered, closing one eye so oil wouldn’t drip in it. “I just didn’t think you’d let go so fast.” Or at all.
“Oh,” Caine said, realizing his mistake. He cringed. “My bad.”
Both Cooper and Grady ignored him as they lifted the barrel in unison and perched it on the edge of the tailgate.
“Caine,” Grady snapped again. “Since you’re just standing around doing nothing, hop up there and drag it back deeper into the bed of the truck, will you.”
“Sure thing.” Eager to comply, Caine scrambled onto the tailgate. But in his haste, he jostled the container and more oil splashed out, drenching both Cooper and Grady.
Coop gritted his teeth and bit his tongue, but Grady cursed a blue streak. Finally, Caine grasped the container and managed to tug it onto a stable surface. Cooper shook oil off his arm before he wiped at his face with the clean side of his sleeve.
Great. Jo Ellen was going to take one look at him and laugh in his face.
“Christ, Coop, I’m sorry.” Grady handed him a rag and managed to look genuinely grateful as he added, “But I appreciate the help. We needed it.”
“No problem.” Though actually it was a problem. He’d taken special care to look nice for Jo Ellen, and now all she was going to see was an oil-drenched farm boy. He had four times as much oil on him as Grady did.
