Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“You damn sure will,” my father gritted. “But that windshield will need to be fixed in the next few days if Phil is going to drive it in the parade.” He looked at Mr. Swanson. “Arnold at the repair shop will fit you in,” he told Mr. Swanson. “I’ll pay for it, and Tuck here will pay me back. I’m sorry about my foolhardy son, Phil. This never should have happened.”
I’m sorry about my foolhardy son. My dad’s temper could flare at a moment’s notice, and he’d said hurtful things to me before, but that one really hurt. Even if it was based on a lie I’d told about myself. My mother put her hand on my father’s arm again, and this time he didn’t shrug her off. In fact, he put his hand over hers, giving her a small nod. My mother had a special knack for calming my father down when his anger began ramping up. She knew how to do it with a look, or a touch, or a word or two. “There we go, then. A perfect solution,” she said. “Tuck, please apologize to Mr. Swanson for the carelessness that resulted in damage to his car.”
I put my hands in my pockets but met Mr. Swanson’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He gave me a nod, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I accept your apology.”
My father looked at me, jerking his head to the left. “You can get started paying me back tonight, mucking out the horse stalls. And don’t let me catch you near the old stables again. There are sharp, rusted tools in there. It’s dangerous and I don’t want you fooling around.”
“It sounds like it was just an accident, Rand—”
“Even so,” my father said to Mr. Swanson. “Tuck needs to take responsibility for his actions. I’d offer to take the Thunderbird to Arnold myself tomorrow, but it sounds like it might be safest to have it towed.”
Phil nodded. “I need to drop Em off at the bus for music camp early tomorrow morning. I’ll call Arnold when I get back.”
I shot a look at Emily, still staring at me, eyes wide. I looked away. My dad tipped his chin. “Go on and get started, so you won’t be up all night,” he said, his tone softer.
“Yes, sir.” I looked at Mr. Swanson again. “Sorry again, sir.”
“Thank you for your apology, son. That shows a man of principle.”
Principle.
My mother caught my eye, giving me an encouraging nod. I didn’t glance at Emily again before I turned and walked away.
three
Tuck
I hefted the pitchfork, dropping the pile of dirty, urine-drenched hay into the wheelbarrow, and spearing another. It was hot in the stable, the quiet chuffs of the horses in the other stalls mixing with the distant buzz of the crickets outside.
Soft footsteps sounded near the entrance, but I didn’t turn until Emily was right next to me. I gave her a quick glance, not halting my work, lifting another pile and dropping it in the half-filled wheelbarrow.
She retrieved another pitchfork from against the wall, and without a word, walked to the other side of me and began collecting forkfuls of dirty hay and dumping them on top of the pile I’d started.
When the first load was full, I wheeled it outside and grabbed a second wheelbarrow. I’d bring both out to the garden in the morning where it would be used as mulch. If you ran a farm well, nothing needed to go to waste.
We worked in silence until all four empty stalls were cleared out. Our horses were settled for the night, so in the morning, when they headed out to the pasture, I’d clean out the remaining stalls. Emily set her pitchfork against the wall and then turned to me. She was dirty and sweaty and had pieces of hay sticking out of her hair. I swiped my forearm across my own damp forehead. “You better get to bed since you’re leaving early,” I said.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked. “Why’d you cover for me?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t have anything going on this weekend. And I don’t mind the work.” What I didn’t say—what I didn’t know how to say—was that after hearing her sing, it had seemed wrong in some massive way that she should miss out on her music camp. On developing her talent or whatever my mom had said about the program. And so, I’d lied. I hadn’t even really thought about it; I’d just acted. I couldn’t exactly explain my split-second decision, but I also couldn’t seem to regret it, even standing there smelling like sweat and horseshit, and knowing I was facing down a long weekend of back-to-back chores under the grueling sun. Not to mention my dad’s anger and disappointment.
Emily’s gaze moved over my features for a moment, confusion clear in her expression and the tilt of her head. Then she took a step closer, my breath halting as she leaned in. My heart skipped a beat as she came closer, closer, her eyes closing. For several breathless moments, time stilled, the background fading so that it was only her and nothing else. Velvety skin. Flushed cheeks. Lips that looked as soft as a rose petal. A strange prickle of panic jumped inside my chest as though I had only this one chance, only now, to memorize the details of her before she moved away. As though she’d sensed my sudden turmoil, her eyes fluttered open just as her lips grazed mine and for two heartbeats…three, they lingered there, our gazes locked. And when her lips left mine, I felt a groan of disappointment move up my throat but swallowed it down. Don’t stop.