Now
Raine
Getting up each morning and accomplishing the farm chores is like riding a bike for me. The memories from my childhood are still fresh of what all I need to do. However, today has been a different story.
I’m covered in chicken poop. I have dirt all over my dress. A fresh bump is throbbing on my forehead, and mud is caked on my knees from where I tripped over Buck, the goat, who yet again escaped the fence.
I also smell, thanks to Buck peeing on my boots when I wasn’t looking. When I did notice, he spat at me and lifted his upper lip, clearly happy with himself. I’m very close to turning him into dinner.
I’m kidding of course…kind of.
I shoo Buck away, shaking my head as he spits and kicks his legs as he runs off. I wipe the sweat from my brows before bending over to pick up a bag of chicken feed. I heave it over my shoulder, and as I take a step backward, my leg hits something furry, causing me to lose my grip on the bag and sending my body plummeting toward the ground.
The chicken feed rains down all around me as I try to regain my focus. Before I have a moment to scold Daisy for knocking me over, the sound of scattering feet fills the air. I turn and see the chickens running at me with their wings flapping and beaks ready to peck their breakfast.
“Ah! No! Shoo!” I swat away the tiny dinosaurs and wince at the throbbing ache in my backside. I thrust myself up from the hard ground and rub against the bruise I know is already forming. How did my grandparents do this every day?
And without complaining?
I hear a husky laugh and see Ryland walking through the gate with the biggest smirk across his face. I feel heat rise up my neck and settle into my cheeks. I exhale loudly, annoyed that he caught my morning of epic failure.
“You’re here early,” I state and bend over to try to save the rest of the feed.
“Yeah. I decided I’d like a head start on that master bedroom today. Totally glad I did.” His smirk deepens as he makes his way over to me. “Are you alright?”
He wipes away the dirt and feed dust from me, his thumb doing a circle around the bump on my forehead, making me hiss in pain. “Those chickens really came at you,” he says, fighting against a grin.
“Yeah, like the raptors inJurassic Park. I won’t be able to watch the movie without traumatic flashbacks now.”
He chuckles and I shove against his shoulder, fighting against a grin myself.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” he says, dusting my shoulders. As soon as the chickens hear the sound of the seeds hitting the ground, they’re quick to peck around our feet.
“Nope. I have completely blocked that embarrassing moment from my memories,” I lie and shoo the chickens away.
“You were terrified of that tiny rooster.”
Ryland doubles over, laughing at the memory. His laughter is contagious, and I can’t help but join in. I remember that dayvery clearly—the look on Ryland’s face when I slammed into him, what he was wearing, the way his eyes did something to me that I had never felt before. How do they still have that effect on me fourteen years later?
I busy myself to avoid looking at him. I bend down, removing one of the hens who managed to get herself inside of the feed bag and I roll the top down so it doesn’t happen again. “I remember that you, too, were scared of Lucy.”
“And I owe so much to that tiny rooster. I had never been so happy to be covered in eggs,” he adds. I can hear the sound of his hands running through his beard. “Would you like some help?”
Before I can argue, he takes the bag from my hands and carries it over to the feeder. I dare a look at him, tryingnotto notice the shape of his biceps or how they grow as he pours the chicken feed into each feeder. I stand and watch as he rubs his hands against his pants and removes his hat to wipe his arm across his forehead.
I catch the gleam of light that reflects off his sweat-damp hair, sticking up every which way. He places his hat back onbackward, a faded-black snapback, and I watch as it slides into place over the red mark it left behind across his forehead. I stare at it as he looks at me with lowered lashes, a sheepish look taking over his face.
“I can see that your chore skills are the same,” he points out, the barest hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. I swallow hard, a lick of heat dripping down my spine.
“I’m just a little rusty this morning,” I proclaim before walking into the coop, mainly to get away from his stare but also to grab my empty baskets. I can’t ignore what his stare does to my insides. I really like the way Ryland looks at me, especially when he thinks I’m not paying attention. There’s a softness he tries to hide. A special look that I've realized is only for me.
As I walk out of the coop with a basket of eggs, I almost runinto him.Again.Just like the first day we met. It’s like a weird sense of nostalgia. Ryland reaches up and steadies me with his hand on my upper arm, keeping me from hitting him. A knowing look washes over his face.
It’s short-lived once we stand there for a moment, our eyes searching each other for the truths we’re too scared to reveal out loud—or even to ourselves. He clears his throat, taking a step away from me, before adding, “You have chicken poop in your hair.”
Way to ruin the moment, Ryland.
I reach up and touch my hair, gasping as I feel the stickiness. I blow out a frustrated breath, ready to give up for the day. The farm is out to get me. And so is my heart.
