Page 44 of Sunday Morning

Not a minor.

Not a virgin.

“Why do you say that?”

He dropped the rope and scuffed his boots through the dirt toward me. “Do you love my little brother?”

I nodded. It was the truth. But just because I loved him, it didn’t mean I wanted to marry him.

“Then why would you say that?” Isaac asked, leaning against the post and inspecting his fingernails.

“Because I want to play your guitar.”

“At what cost?” he asked, keeping his head bowed.

“I don’t know yet because you haven’t made me an offer.”

He trapped his lower lip between his teeth and shook his head. “It’s in my closet. I have to pick up sheep from the Brady’s later. Don’t mess with anything else,” he said, walking away.

“What do I have to do in return?” I called.

“I’ll figure something out.”

As soon asI closed the farm stand, I ran down the lane to return the key and cash and get Isaac’s guitar. Lightning lit up the cloudy sky in the distance, so I didn’t waste any time hanging up the key, discarding my dirty boots, and tiptoeing up the stairs, even though Isaac was gone. Wesley was most likely still in the machine shed working on equipment like he did most nights until dinner or later.

Heading into Isaac’s room, I paused to hold still when I heard something. It came from their parents’ bedroom.

For a second, I considered skipping the guitar and bolting out of the house. But I had already established my willingness to do just about anything to play the guitar, so I jumped over the threshold into Isaac's room like a dancer making a graceful leap, and I retrieved his acoustic guitar from the closet and took two steps toward the door when I heard a jarring curse in a man’s voice.

“Jesus Christ,” he said and then seethed.

I gulped.

“Slow down …” It was Wesley’s strained voice.

I couldn’t tell if he was angry or injured. The tone held a mix of both. Hugging the guitar, I crept down the hallway. Before taking the last step, I stopped and craned my neck to peek into the room past the partially ajar door. As soon as my eyes focused, I reared my whole body in the opposite direction and covered my mouth to muffle my gasp. The floor squeaked, and I cringed, using both arms to hug the guitar again.

“Isaac?” Wesley called.

“Oh my god!” the woman whisper-yelled, making the bedroom floor squeak while she moved around the room.

I skittered back to Isaac’s room and jumped into the closet, quietly shutting the bifold doors and praying Wesley didn’t find me.

The squeaky hall floor sounded again, and I held my breath, heart racing.

“I thought you said he was gone,” the woman said. She sounded familiar—and young— but she wasn’t talking loud enough for me to place her.

“He is.”

“Then what did you hear?”

They were right outside of the bedroom.

“I don’t know. Probably nothing,” Wesley said.

“Well, I have to get out of here. You need to drive me home before Isaac returns.”

“It was nothing. Don’t worry.” His voice faded as they descended the stairs.

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