LITMIR.BIZ

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telling him that. The old man was stubborn to a fault. “Pop, go back to the house. You aren’t well enough to be running around this dirty old shed telling me how to fix the tractor.”

      “I just asked if you checked the filter. What are you so grouchy about?”

      Jackson modulated his growl. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

      Will nodded, looked all-knowing, and said, “I heard you tossing and turning half the night. Musta been those pork chops. I told you to stay with the beef stew Bertie fixed before she left.”

      “Pop, never mind me. What are you doing out here? If you fell on this junk—” Jackson looked around the shed, gesturing toward the many pieces of old farm equipment that hung on the walls and spilled over to the floor, leaving only narrow aisles to navigate through “—you’d be hurt for sure. Probably get lockjaw.”

      “Don’t you think I’ve had about all the bad luck one man is due? At least for this summer.” Will flung out his left arm in a gesture that included the whole farm.

      “Yeah, yeah. Go back to the house, will you?” Jackson turned back to the engine, his mind already spinning past a dozen solutions for its reluctance to fire. This chore was one he enjoyed. No shovels involved, anyway.

      “I have to start back to work sometime. I can’t sit around that house another day without going crazy.” Will limped to his other side and peered over his shoulder.

      Jackson stared at his father and tried not to show the concern he felt every time he noticed how much weight his father had lost, how much gray blunted the copper in his hair and how hard his father sought to regain his strength. Pop ought to sell this damn back-breaking, pancake-flat piece of godforsaken prairie and try raising a little hell for a change, instead of sugar beets. Maybe he’d quit looking around every corner as if he expected Jackson’s mother to be there. Jackson gave a dry snort of annoyance. “Then why don’t you take the other tractor and plow the south forty, if you’re feeling so blasted good?”

      “You sure are grouchy! When I was a kid like you, I could go a week without sleep and never show it.” The older man stepped back, more weight on his good leg than his bad, so he looked off-balance with the movement.

      Jackson picked up a greasy rag and wiped his hands with it, swiped his shirt sleeve across his face, then turned to his father. They were inches apart. His father looked ready to flinch at harsh words. He was past that. In a quiet, even voice, he protested, “Pop, I’m not sixteen anymore. Look at me. I’m not a kid.”

      His father, unshaken by his gritty announcement, replied softly, “Time sure flies, doesn’t it? I’ve got eyes in my head, son. You’re an inch taller than me, but I can’t help thinking of you as my boy. Wait ’til you have kids of your own, then you’ll know what I mean.”

      Jackson sighed in resignation. “Okay, I’ll wait. Now, you go on back to the house like a good Pop, so I can figure out why this hunk of junk won’t run.”

      Will leaned closer to the tractor, peering into the tangle of wires and hose. “Did you check the carburetor?”

      Jackson straightened and took a deep breath. “I was just going to do that when you came in. Be a sport, Pop. If you fall in here, you could be hurt really bad.”

      Faded blue eyes looked skeptical. “You’re honestly worried about me, not just irritated that I’m in here bugging you?”

      Jackson gave up. He laughed and patted his father’s cheek. “Yes, Pop, I am honestly worried about you.”

      Will nodded. He turned to go. “I’ll get out of your hair then.”

      Being hurtful to his father was something he did as a teenager. Despite his exasperation at his father’s need to tell him how to do a job, he had no intention of walking that road again. Jackson touched his father’s shoulder. “Not out of my hair, Pop. Out of danger. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll fix you a place to sit over there by the door. The sun ought to feel good for a while, before it gets too hot, and if you’re over there, I won’t worry about you falling. We can talk while I’m working. Maybe you can help me figure out which part is screwy on this old heap.”

      Will Gray nodded, his face brighter, a bare smile tilting his lips. His lean angular body straightened as he patted Jackson’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he agreed. “My knee is starting to hurt some.”

      JACKSON HADN’T INTENDED walking over to Cat’s place that evening. Tired and irritable from the previous night’s lack of sleep, he wanted only his bed, but Bertie came over to keep Pop company. He didn’t have the patience to sit around the living room with them discussing how much he’d grown or how he seemed exactly the same as when he was sixteen, even though time had really flown.

      He knew a mysterious force tugged him toward the Darnell farm, but thinking about why it existed made the skin on the back of his neck prickle with unease. He preferred to believe Bertie and Pop caused him to flee his home.

      He kicked at the dusty road. Hell, it was a good two miles over to Cat’s. An early night was what he needed, not a half hour’s tramp along this graveled excuse for a road. Across a wide, untended field, he saw smoke drifting from the chimney of her house. An image of Cat’s straight, black hair whipping out behind her filled his mind. Her high cheekbones gave her green eyes a suggestion of mystery and hinted at a secret only she knew.

      Damn. She was just the girl he left behind in a town too dull for words, too dry for spit and not worth remembering for all the sugar beets in Traill County. He absolutely knew that, but he left the road and struck off across the field.

      Coming up on Little Dog Creek, he heard rustling sounds near a sparse grove of boxelder trees. He stopped. The sun had almost vanished beneath the flat horizon. There weren’t any bears or moose around here and not much else that might be dangerous. The light was still good and would be for another hour or so, but maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea, for a different reason than the anonymous rustling noise in the weeds.

      He thought about turning back. Jackson came to a halt near a patch of thistles just waiting to glom onto his jeans. Hanging around Cat Darnell was plain foolish. If he didn’t watch out, he’d find himself caught in her silky, sable hair as surely as a fox in a steel-jawed trap. That old fox would sure as hell have to quit his roaming, if he got caught.

      He’d always loved the crisp feel of striding into a place more exciting than the one he’d left behind. Cat was just a friend, after all, though one he’d made love to, a long time ago. He’d step around that trap. They could still be friends without him yielding to a hell-sent temptation to weave his fingers through the dusky strands of her midnight hair and kiss that soft, sweet spot near her cat-green eyes.

      Jackson tramped resolutely forward. Thirty yards from the creek, a low coughing stopped him in his tracks. Then almost in his face, six deer leaped to their feet and bounded away, their white tails lifted like flags behind them.

      The beautiful animals had startled him. He skirted their bedding area and jumped the creek at a spot where it narrowed to only a couple of feet wide. Resisting Cat’s considerable temptations would test his determination to leave Engerville, but there’d be no real contest. He’d already decided the ending.

      CAT, EYEING HER BEAD BOX on the dining room table, resigned herself to washing the dishes first. Joey swept the kitchen in lazy, unambitious strokes of the straw broom, drawing out the task far past the time when she should have finished it. Her attention caught by something, Joey went over to the window. The broom lay forgotten on the floor as she gazed out. Suddenly, Joey’s back stiffened.

      “Mom, that guy is outside.”

      A beat of apprehension clutched Cat. Who would visit this late in the evening? Careful to keep her alarm from showing, she asked, “What guy, Joey?”

      “The one with red hair. I forget.” She turned to glance at her mother, bright curiosity lighting her face. “What’s his name?”

      The

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