Page 82 of Bucked Hard

Did I just think that? I’ve never even imagined myself that way. Married and with a family…now in the space of less than a couple hours, in my mind, I’ve got a ring on her finger and my baby in her belly. This is one hell of a hay pickup.

But now, the sky over the back hayfield is turning near black. It’ll do that out here, turn from sun to storms on a dime. And she’s wandered off, and I can’t lay eyes on her

I walk to the pond, even walk around it, making sure I don’t see her in there or any signs that she slipped.

Then I start to walk faster, because she isn’t there. I break into a slow jog as I head back toward where the path goes around to the turkey and chicken pens. My steps pound on the dirt because I still don’t see any sign of her. I can’t fucking believe how worked up I’m getting that something could have happened to her, but my heart is going to explode.

It only took a glimpse, a couple words, and my heart leapt into my throat because of this beauty, and now I’m scared I might lose her. In my mind, I can see that dark hair, those fucking eyes.

Her small frame with all it’s softness calls for my hands. I imagine scooping her up and carrying her everywhere. Especially to my bedroom where I would spend hours with my face between her legs.

I stop in my tracks between the fence lines of the turkey pen and the chicken coop.

“What the fuck? How did you guys get out here?”

My three prize turkeys are pecking the ground, the gate to their pen open and swinging loose. They ignore me, of course, but they can be vicious little bastards if they don’t know you. Mean as the day is long. Most folks don’t even realize.

I snatch my hat off my head and kick the dirt at one, then flap my arms toward the other two, making them scurry off down the path. Not back to their pen, oh no. They each head off in a different direction. But right now, I’m far less concerned about where they will end up than I am about finding her.

I look at the sandy path and half run back toward where it split off from the pond before following it back, looking for her footprints. I muse that her feet must be tiny like her, and sure enough, I see what must be her little sneaker prints in the dirt. My boot prints are over some of them, but they lead back toward the pens. So I’m on the hunt, following her footprints until they seem to go wacky. Back and forth. Then I see the turkey prints around, and I know what the hell happened.

“Fuck.” I’ve got my pocketknife out in a heartbeat as I see the latch from the chicken coop door laying in the dirt. I’m at a dead run when I hit the door, slamming it with my fists. “Maria!”

“Get me out! Please!” Her voice is soft, feminine, and stressed.

“One sec, sweetheart.”

I wiggle my knife into the lock mechanism and pop it back.

The door swings open, and there she is.

“Goddamn it,” I grunt, stepping forward and crouching down.

“Thanks. I tried to hide from those…birds… They were… And the stupid latch…knob thingy—”

Her face is red. Sweat is running down her nose.

“Come here.” I scoop her up without a word. She’s hot to the touch. Too hot. I need to get her cooled off fast.

“Hey, I can walk. I’m okay,” she mumbles but her words are soft, and I don’t shift to set her down.

Thunder rumbles behind us. I knew this was coming. The wind picks up, stronger than it would be if this were just a storm. There’s a change in the air. Not just temperature, but something a farmer feels. A change in pressure. My hackles are up.

“We need to get back to the house.”

“Put me down. I’m fine.” She struggles against my arms, but I only pull her in tighter as I swivel on my toes and start jogging back to the house.

As I turn, I catch sight of the clouds, blackening over the top field. All goes silent as the combine shuts down, and I know the crew has seen what I’ve seen. A few seconds later, when I’m running past the barn, they’re already thundering in the direction of the north bunkhouse in the two pickups they use, headed for the safety of the office, their quarters, and a storm shelter.

They churn by, throwing dust and dirt into the wind, now starting to swirl violently.

“Hold on,” I say, growling as I clutch her tighter into me and push my legs to move faster.

“What’s going on? Where’s my dad?”

I don’t have the breath to answer her because my single focus is on getting us to the house and into the basement. I hear the churning start, far in the distance behind us, and it’s a sound I know too well. There’s nothing like it, and the rain starts in a deluge as I hit the lawn and get us onto the porch, struggling to fill my lungs.

I set her down, reaching to grab her hand. She tries to jerk it away, but I’ve got her and I’m not letting go.

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