“H-hi.” He stuttered. He was at a loss for words seeing her in a dress. Her legs were much too long and tan to be out in the open like this.
“Is Jayce here?” Maizie asked and his head shot up.
Christian blinked and cleared his thoughts. “No. Grandma sent him to get something from Richfield.”
“Shoot.” Maizie pinched the bridge of her nose. “My dad needs someone to get supplies from the feed-store, but I don’t have time because I’ve got an awards ceremony tonight.”
“I can do it,” Christian offered. Maizie wasn’t one to ask for help. And from what he’d seen, Eric was lacking some good help on the farm and obviously couldn’t do everything himself.
She looked up at him with those piercing green eyes. “Really? That would be so great. I’m late already.”
“Sure. Just tell me what you need and where it is.” Christian stuffed his earbuds back into his pocket.
“Okay. You might want to write it down in your phone so you don’t forget,” Maizie warned, and for once, Christian obeyed.
“The farm store is south on Main Street, just past the old gas station and the only bar in town. You can’t miss it. Tell them you need to pick up some stuff for Eric Jensen, and they will put it on his tab.”
He nodded while typing what he needed to remember.Past the bar. Put it on the tab.
“So we need some gluten-free feed for the cow behind the shed, milk dye number 47, and a two-udder milker.”
Christian nodded and finished writing it out, still wondering what a two-udder milker was. He hadn’t been back to the barn since the first incident, but he’d probably learn soon enough.
“Is that it?”
Maizie bit her fingernail and nodded. “I think so. If you have any problems, call my dad.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
Her eyes glowed, and she looked at him like he hadn’t waged a war between them. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as he’d made her out to be. Maybe they could actually be friends this summer.
“Thanks.” She waved before running to her truck and driving off.
He turned around and went back inside to get the keys for Grandpa’s truck, wishing for the fiftieth time that he’d brought his own vehicle to the farm.
The radio in the truck was permanently set to some old station, which he learned by the time he’d made it the ten miles to town was for polka dancing.
How anyone danced to that kind of music was beyond him.
The feed store was a little easier to miss than Maizie had led him to believe. In fact, he did miss it. Twice, before realizing the entrance was around the back.
He walked in, and the smell hit him first, something fermented and grassy.
He looked at his list again. Gluten-free feed. He didn’t know cows could be gluten intolerant, but his mom and sister were, so he didn’t doubt it was a possibility.
He headed to the large label over the feed section and perused the options. Cattle feed. Oats, barley, and corn.Is that gluten-free?Whenever he shopped for his mom he just looked for the gluten-free mark across the front.
A store worker walked by, and he flagged him down.
“Excuse me. Which one of these is gluten-free?”
The man—well, boy—looked at him with something akin to confusion.
“Gluten-free feed?” His eyebrows rose into his long brown bangs. “Uh . . . ” The kid studied the racks Christian was looking at. “Does it matter?”
Christian shrugged. “I don’t know. Eric Jensen sent me up here. I’m just picking up what he asked for.”
The boy studied the racks again. “I guess I could go ask my dad.”
