Page 18 of Homesick

“Enough! Give me ten minutes to get changed.”

* * *

I should’ve shut my mouth and played the weak, helpless girl card. My legs wobble a little as I steady myself on the back of the hay wagon. We’ve only done a few rows and I’m sweating in places I didn’t even know a lady could sweat.

A bead of sweat drops down my face as my dad gets ready to head down a new row. I inch my way toward the front of the wagon to start pulling the square bales off the baler, but we stop all of a sudden. I almost fall right off the side but catch myself just in time. I look up to see why we’re stopped and feel a whole new wave of heat brush over me.

Blake’s truck is parked on the side of the field where he waves my dad down.

“Oh nice! I didn’t think he’d get off in time,” I hear my brother say from behind me.

I throw my head back dramatically to the sky and think, dear god, why me? I take a deep breath through my brief diva moment and hop down from the wagon to grab my water out of the tractor. “What is he doing here?” I ask my brother.

“Please be nice. He’s going to help so Dad can take a break.”

“You just want to drive the tractor, asshole,” I grumble and narrow my eyes at him. He’s a genius, but I would never admit that. Granted, I did know how to drive the tractor and I could’ve totally taken Dad’s place. However, they’ve never trusted me behind the wheel after I about ran over the neighbor’s dog and maybe the neighbor’s kid, too.

I direct my attention back to my real issue with this whole situation. The man is wearing a pair of tight Wranglers and an old t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Any other guy, I wouldn’t even give a second glance, but damn, it was like those jeans were made for him.

With every movement, my eyes snap to a different body part. There is no denying that he’s a good looking guy. Thank God my face is already red because I can feel a blush creeping up my neck.

I splash some of the cold water on my face and will my hormones to calm down. It’s like I’m a kid again, just learning what that tingle deep within me really means.

He finally reaches us, and Chris doesn’t waste any time. “Okay, I’m going to take over for Dad and Blake is going to take over for me.”

Chris pauses before heading to the cab of the tractor. “Please don’t push him off the wagon, Wren.”

I scoff at the accusation and turn around to follow Blake back onto the wagon. He hoists himself up effortlessly and like the asshole he is, he turns around and offers his hand to me.

His very strong and calloused hand . . . I snap out of my daze and reject his hand as I push myself up onto the platform.

He laughs a little and just shakes his head. “Still stubborn as ever I see.”

* * *

“Ugh,” I wince before plopping down on the soft, plush grass. “I did not miss this,” I confess. We just finished putting the hay into one of the lofts and I’m exhausted. All I want to do is take a cold shower and rot in my bed for the rest of the night.

Chris kicks my boot and says, “just as I predicted. Still soft.”

“A thank you would be nice, ya know,” I grunt before propping myself up on my elbows.

“Thank you so much, sis. What would we do without you?” he says sarcastically.

Chris starts walking toward the barn and yells out, “I’m heading home for the night before I get in trouble for missing dinner again. Blake’s finishing up in the hay loft. Can you see if he needs any help?”

Great. I push myself off the ground and head toward the barn. I’m about to head up to the loft as I see denim-clad legs already coming down the ladder. “I’m all finished up already.”

“Uhh okay. Well . . . thanks for your help,” I say, practically having to choke it out. “Chris is already on his way home.”

There’s an awkward pause as we study each other in the dusty, dim light of the barn. It’s still daylight, but the sun is slowly drooping its head.

“Let’s go for a dip in the pond out back,” Blake says before he turns and heads out of the barn. Wait, what?

I stand in place for a moment and think back to all the times we would jump in the pond after a long day of chores. It was a key memory of my childhood and unfortunately, Blake will always be a part of that.

He pokes his head around the corner and says, “are you coming?” He must notice the confused expression so clearly stuck on my face because he continues, “come on, Wren. It’s tradition.”

This is probably a bad idea.

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