I’m shirtless within an hour. Sweat drips down the sides of my head as I slam a haybale on top of another. There aren’t many bales or we’d be using the tractor. But we’ve mingled moving bales with lifting fence beams.
Muscles in my back, shoulders, and arms tremble from the exertion. It’s peaceful, it’s home. I’ve been out here with my dad since he married Mom, and I never plan to stop. The movement, routine, the challenge, is perfect.
“So.” Dad says in a gasp as he wipes his forehead. “Gotta say I’m glad you wised up and hired the girl.”
I strip the dirty leather gloves off my hands and shove them in my back pocket. “She was the best choice.”
“That all?”
I study his face, trying to break apart what he means.
He steps a little closer. “I’m asking if her skill set is the only thing you’re thinking about. How are you doing?”
I flick my middle fingers and meet his eyes. “It’s easy.”
“Why do you say it like that’s the worst thing?”
Because it terrifies me. I don’t say all that, merely, “The risk.”
My dad nods, understanding. “The hurt?”
“I don’t want to feel anything like it again.”
He grips my shoulder, giving a good amount of pressure to his squeeze. “If I can give you some advice, it’s good to be cautious, but don’t close off to what you feel right here.” He gently pounds a fist over my heart. “One afternoon, and I already see glimpses of the old Ryder.”
“What does that mean?” I understand he’s trying to say I’ve changed somehow, but I can’t see it.
“I mean you seem relaxed. You’re smiling more than you aren’t. That’s how my son used to be.”
These conversations are difficult. I’m one person with a few sides, but I can never read if he prefers one version over the other. “You wish I was like I used to be?”
He tightens his grip, smiling. “No. I want you exactly as you are; I’m saying when I see you happy, it makes me happy too. You’re happier than you were last month, last year, the last decade. It’s something to think about.”
If he knew how much I do think about it he’d be shocked.
Ava comes around the tall, wooden shed. She’s wearing rubber boots, a wide-brimmed hat on her head, and she’s carrying a bucket. When she catches my gaze, she stumbles. “Oh. Nope. I draw the line at no shirt.”
I scan my bare chest. “It’s hot.”
“Oh, that it is, sir. In more than one way,” she says. “But if you can do this, then you’ll need to be cool if I take off my shirt. You know, see how you like it.”
Dad chuckles, but I’m positive my face erupted into flames. “No. I’m not good with that. At least, not in front of my dad.”
“Ryder.” Now Ava flushes. “Did you crack a joke?”
I feel as if I’ve won the day that she caught my sarcasm, and attempt to push it a little more. “I might be joking. I might be totally serious. Guess we’ll find out when he goes inside.”
“Oh my . . . stop.” Ava drops her bucket and hops onto one of the fence beams beside me. She was never shy around me, and it seems like some habits will never change. Ava takes hold of my left arm and squeezes. She moans.
I wish she wouldn’t because my mind did not stay out of the hypothetical gutter. Not at all.
“Seriously? You should be in a museum. Feel this.”
“I feel my own biceps every day. They’re literally attached to my body.”
“Lucky.” She gives my arm a squeeze again. “Well, I forgot why I came out here now since your basketball arms distracted me.”
“Ah, girl, I’ve missed you,” my dad mutters.
