Page 17 of The Back Forty
I smile. My mini who’s not so mini anymore.
Turned fourteen this year. Voice deepening. Shoulders broader. He’s growing into himself faster than I know what to do with. And still, he’s a good kid. Plays football. Gets good grades. Helps out on weekends with my brothers—Colt at the distillery or Cash with the chickens. He spent the summer working the farm stand with his buddy, selling Regan’s tomatoes and wildflowerbouquets to locals who couldn’t get enough of what she was growing.
He’s respectful and kind. Never causes me trouble. So, him staying here alone on the back forty, tucked in with his video games and a fridge full of leftovers for a couple extra hours doesn’t worry me.
“You winnin’?” I ask as I step into the room, dropping my bag onto the couch and sinking into the cushions behind him. I grip his shoulders firmly in greeting the way that we always do.
He pauses the game, finally looking at me with a lopsided grin. “What do you think, Dad?”
I chuckle, propping an elbow on the armrest. “Just makin’ sure you haven’t lost your edge.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t hear you come in,” he says with a smirk. “Would’ve tackled you.”
“Sure, sure. Just remember, your old man’s still got a few tricks even if I don't play your games.”
He rolls his eyes, then leans back on his palms, looking up at me. “Mom said you’re sticking around a couple weeks to help with the state fair stuff?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I have two weeks off. Doesn’t exactly scream vacation, does it?”
“Not really,” he says, grinning again. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
My chest tightens a little. Damn kid always knows how to hit me right in the heart without even trying.
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” I start, voice quieter now. He raises an eyebrow, sensing the shift in my tone, but before I can get another word out there’s a loudBANG.
The front door slams shut like a small explosion, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone tripping over every obstacle in my kitchen.
“Ah, shit.” Dani’s voice echoes from the entryway along with the clatter of keys, bags, and possibly her entire life hitting the floor.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, already smiling because I learned quickly that this is how she shows up most places. Even for a short weekend trip a few hundred miles away, Dani comes packed and prepared for any possibility. One time, her bag fell open before we stepped into an important pitch with an exclusive grocer in the northwest and out rolled a can of bug spray. It was winter but she thought there might be mosquitos, so she packed it just in case.
A beat later, she barrels into the living room like a human hurricane, all dark, brown hair windblown, face flushed, arms flailing as she tries to right herself.
“Oh great,” she groans, planting her hands on her hips when she notices Beckham on the floor. “I’m now 0-for-2 today innotswearing in front of children.”
Beckham straightens, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m not a child,” he says with faux indignation. But then he moves, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her in a full-body hug that I didn't get when I walked in. She hugs him back instantly, melting into it, and I just sit there for a second, watching them curiously.
They pull apart just enough to start talking, rapid-fire, stream of conscious in code language. There’re school jokes, social media references, a ridiculous story about something that sounds like a video game, and I swear, I only catch about half of it.
I lean back, watching them banter like they’ve got their own language. Maybe they do. And as much as I’d been bracing forthis conversation, for the moment when I’d have to figure out how to tell my kid that Dani's going to be staying with us for the next two weeks while I'm in town because her sister stole her room, it suddenly seems like that won't be such a big deal to him anymore.
“Uh, what's happening here?” I finally cut in, watching them like they’re part of some inside joke I wasn’t invited to.
Beckham and Dani both glance over like they just remembered I existed, like I wasn’t sitting right there, backpack half-zipped, boots still tracking in dirt from the porch.
“Dani’s been playing on my team for our league,” Beckham says with a casual shrug, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But it makes my eyebrows shoot up because that’s news to me. And Dani’s never said a word that she was playing video games with Beckham in her down time. Also, what downtime has she had because we've been on the road a lot together these past few months?
She shoots me a saccharine smile, all teeth and trouble. “There’s a lot that I don’t tell you,” she says as if reading my mind because that's what she figured out how to do pretty quickly once I hired her and it's both a blessing and a curse at times.
Then she drops down onto the couch next to me like it’s hers and shoves my bag to the floor. Beckham settles cross-legged on the floor in front of us, controller still in hand, completely unbothered. And me? I’m left staring between the two of them confused.
“Well, alright then,” I mutter, scratching the back of my neck. “Looks like what I needed to talk to you about won’t be an issue.”
Beckham doesn’t even blink. “That Dani’s staying with us for the next two weeks because her sister’s visiting? Yeah, she already texted me.”
My eyes snap to her.
She’s sitting there chewing on a Twizzler now, of all things—her lips pink and shiny, tongue curling around the candy like she’s completely unfazed. She meets my gaze, smug and entirely too pleased with herself.
