FarmBoy

by Kayt Miller

  Andi raises one brow and shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  God, this kid makes me want to crack up constantly, but she’s so dang serious. “Did you name her?”

  “Cyclops.”

  Oh, dear. “I see.”

  “Good one of you can.”

  Andi Watson says the darnedest things. The urge to giggle is strong. Stupid nerves. Thinking of the animal curbs the giggle impulse. Poor little calf.

  9

  Nash

  I watch her pull up in her little SUV, and a weird vibration runs through my body.

  She’s here.

  Sure, I know she’s been here before, but that was years ago with her family. They used to come over for Sunday lunch now and then since my dad and hers were good friends. Same with our moms. They used to be thick as thieves until my dad died. That’s when my mom sort of withdrew from everything, including her friend, Grace Harmon.

  I step out from behind the big barn doors and approach the rear passenger door. Opening it up, I smile down at my little doppelganger. “Hey, peanut. Did you have a good day?”

  “I guess.” She gives me a look I’ve seen a million times. There’s an eye roll on the verge. “Miss Harmon wants to see Cyclops.”

  I’m about to talk them both out of seeing the little calf when Isabelle says, “How ’bout you call me Izzy when I’m here? Miss Harmon seems so formal.”

  Andi looks at me before she responds, checking with me before she answers, I suspect. “That’s fine.” I look down at my girl. “At school she’s Miss Harmon. Got it?”

  “Yeah, got it.” Holding out her hand to Isabelle, she says, “Come on. Let’s go say hello to Cy.”

  Isabelle hesitates then looks at me. I shrug. She might as well meet her. The little calf is going to be with us for as long as she lives. No one is going to want to buy her, and I’m not sure I’d sell her if they did. I follow the girls through the yard out to the horse barn. The doors are open, so the three of us walk through. “Last stall on the right.” I point to the far end of the barn.

  “No horses?” Isabelle asks, looking around the barn.

  Ordinarily this would only house horses, but I’ve gotten out of the horse business. It’s too expensive and too time consuming. Maybe when Andi gets a little older, I’ll get her a horse so she can learn to ride. Riding has always been one of my favorite pastimes on the farm, but there’s no time for it right now.

  “Maybe in a year or two.”

  “I love to ride,” she says, looking down at Andi. Then, looking at me, she continues, “We’ve still got Willow. She’s getting old, but she’s still a happy horse.” Once she gets to the stall, she stops dead in her tracks. She takes one look at the little calf, then turns her head to look at me. I see her eyes sparkle with tears. Isabelle has such a big heart. “Oh my.” She does her best to school her emotions. “She’s so pretty.” Her voice is a little squeaky.

  “Pretty?” scoffs my kid. “She’s only got one eye, and that one she’s got is all foggy looking, and Daddy’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.”

  Before my eyes, Isabelle is rebounding. Her shoulders push back, and her head is held high. “She’s unique. I like her already.”

  I’m struck dumb by her words. By her. My body feels like it’s stuck in cement, because it’s right there, right in that moment, I know only one thing for certain. I won’t be able to live without Isabelle Harmon. But I have to. I can’t let her in. There’s an empty spot in my chest where my heart used to be. Ivy ripped it out and took it with her. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t love Ivy DeLucas. I’m not sure I ever did. But she broke something in me. I think it was trust, or maybe the notion that people should work together to raise a child, not run off to seek fame and fortune and never speak to their kid again.

  Isabelle turns to me. “Can I go in and see her?”

  I peek into the stall, knowing it’s a mess in there. I look at Isabelle’s clothing. She’s still got on her pretty school things—a flowered dress and girly shoes. “You aren’t really dressed for it.”

  “I’m fine. I can change into my workout clothes after.”

  I unhook the latch on the stall and pull it open. “Go on then.”

  My girls stroll into the stall and plop down on the straw mound next to Cy. “Well, aren’t you a sweet thing,” Isabelle coos as she strokes the calf’s head. “You’re going to be beautiful.” She looks at Andi. “She’ll be russet colored, and I see the inkling of some white markings.” Turning to me, she asks, “Is she a red and white Holstein?”

  “Yep.” I nod.

  “The best milk,” Andi says, nodding.

  “Absolutely,” I agree with pride.

  “Fun fact,” Isabelle says to Andi. “Did you know Holstein cows’ spots are like snowflakes? No two are exactly alike.”

  “Really?” Andi and I say at the same time. How did I not know that? We’ve had Holsteins my whole life.

  “Really,” she says, still stroking the top of Cy’s head. Talking to the little animal, Isabelle adds, “You’ll make the best milk, won’t you, girl?” The calf lifts its head and seems to look right at Isabelle, like it’s listening and heeding Isabelle’s words. I hope she’s right. But we’ll have to see. The vet will be out here later today to check her over. I’m 99 percent sure she’s blind in the one and only eye she was born with, but maybe not.

  “The best milk,” Isabelle repeats.

  While Isabelle changes clothes, Andi runs upstairs and changes into her everyday clothes, the ones she wears on the farm. She saves her nicer things for school. While that goes on, I fix a snack for both Andi and Isabelle—nothing fancy, just some grapes, apples, and string cheese. I do my best to make sure my daughter eats healthy. Sure, we’ve got chips and cookies lying around, but those are treats. Andi knows she’s got to eat the good stuff before she gets sweets.

  Andi’s clothes are changed and she’s back down sitting at one of the stools in front of the kitchen island.

  “Hungry?” I ask.

  “Starving. Lunch was gross today.”

  “Oh? What was it?”

  “Fish sticks,” Isabelle says, stepping into the kitchen. Her nose is all scrunched up, and it’s fucking adorable. “It was a gross lunch.”

  I watch her as she walks into my kitchen wearing the tightest fucking pair of workout pants I’ve ever seen. She’s got them paired with a plain, black, V-neck tee that should be outlawed everywhere but inside my house because it’s hugging everything. And I mean everything. Not only that, but written across her tits in hot pink are the words “Girl Power.” I know what it’s supposed to mean, and I believe in the sentiment. I want my daughter to know she can do whatever the fuck she wants to do. But when I see that on Isabelle’s chest, it seems to be saying to me that that girl has all the power. Over me.

  Suddenly, my mouth is dry as a bone, and my dick’s doing something it probably shouldn’t. Shit. This was a bad idea. No matter what I said to myself earlier, Isabelle and me, we’re a terrible idea, and I’ll tell you why. For one, Isaac would literally kill me. He’d drive over here from Omaha and beat the living hell out of me. He told me as much at his wedding. He saw my reaction to his baby sister and pulled me aside. I’ll never forget the look on his face. I wouldn’t call it anger, but there was definitely intensity. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You will not fuck my little sister.”

  I was slightly offended. I mean, sure, I wanted to fuck Isabelle, still do, but that wasn’t the only thing I want to do with her. No matter, Isaac would never understand, and he’d never approve. He’s my best friend, for shit’s sake. He stood by me when everything was falling apart around me. I can’t and I won’t jeopardize that friendship—not for something I’m sure would end badly. Because that’s what relationships are like for me. They end badly. So, no. I’ve got to stick to the plan and be the biggest asshole I can be when it comes to Isabelle Harmon. It’s for the best.

  “See, Daddy? Even Izzy says lunch was awful
.”

  I realize my mind was on other things. “Well, hopefully this little snack will help you girls with your hunger pangs.” I smile, sliding the plate across the island. “Now, while you two do your reading and snacking, I need to get back to work.” And get the hell away from Isabelle. “When you’re done, Andi, you’ve still got chores.”

  “I know, Daddy.” When Andi grumbles like that, it makes me laugh. So, I do.

  “Wow, you laughed,” Isabelle says, looking shocked.

  “Yeah?” I don’t think I’m going to like what she says next.

  “Rumor is—”

  I hold my hand up. “Fu—” I pause. I try not to cuss in front of my daughter. “Screw the rumors.” I feel anger rush through my body. Maybe being an asshole isn’t going to be as hard as I thought. “If you’re here to get gossip for those jackals at school, you can leave right now. This is our home.” I point to Andi then at myself. “If I can’t trust you here, then we’re not going to do this.”

  “No, of course not.” Isabelle’s face reddens in an instant. She then stands from her stool and takes one step toward me but stops. “I wouldn’t. But if you don’t trust me, then I’ll go.”

  “Daddy?” Andi whines. She’s not a whiner ordinarily. “Don’t be cranky; she didn’t mean anything by it.”

  I stare at my child. I have an excuse for being cranky. Life. Life is enough to make anyone cranky, but me especially. And Andi. She’s got every right to be that way too, but she’s not. Well, in the morning she’s a bear. But, otherwise, she’s a pretty happy kid. Looking back at Isabelle, I add, “I like my privacy.”

  “Of course.” She nods. “I’d never….”

  I don’t know if anyone could claim they’d “never,” but I’ll accept it for now. “Right.” I turn toward the door. “Got sh–– stuff to do.” Opening the back door, I step through, letting the screen door slap shut behind me. Focus on the farm, not on Isabelle Harmon.

  An hour later, I’ve led Cy out to her mother and cleaned out her stall. By the time I’m leading her back, a white Ford F250 has pulled into my driveway. The vet is here. I step out into the sun and wave at Cal Bartholomew.

  I went to school with Cal. Then, while I stayed back to be a father to my baby, he went off to Iowa State to become a vet. He’s a good one too. I’m glad he came back home to work. A good veterinarian was lacking this close to home. We used to have to call on someone from Emmetsville, and back then, it took days to get someone out here. Now, Cal’s a phone call away.

  “That her?” He points to Cy.

  “Yep.”

  Stepping up to her, he kneels down to get closer. Slipping on a pair of gloves, he asks, “She born with only one eye?”

  Her left eye never seemed to have developed at all. “Yep. Not even an opening.”

  “Hm, interesting.” Turning her head, he looks at the other eye. Opening it wider, he mumbles something to himself. “I don’t think it’s pink eye.” He looks closer. “It could be BVD.” Bovine viral diarrhea. “You said she doesn’t appear to have the other symptoms. Has she been nursing?”

  I nod. “Some.”

  Cal keeps talking aloud. “There’s no fluid buildup.” I know he’s talking to himself, talking through what it could or couldn’t be. “Walk with her. Let me see her move.”

  I pull on her lead, walking in a full circle around the doc.

  “No tremors?”

  “None that I’ve seen.”

  “Good.” He waves for me to bring her closer. “I’m going to treat her for vitamin deficiency. I’ll inject her with vitamin A. It may help with the clouding. We’ll have to see. I’ll draw some blood and do a full workup so we’ll know for sure.”

  I’m about to reply when I hear her voice. “Hey, Cal.”

  He stands and turns to see Isabelle and Andi approach. “Well, well, well. Izzy Harmon.” He pulls off his rubber gloves and tosses them onto his medical bag. “I heard you were back in town.”

  When he gets to her, he wraps her up in his arms and gives her a big hug. He’s got his hands on her, and it pisses me off immediately. I want to rip the two of them apart and growl like a wild animal, but I have to keep it together and accept the fact that Isabelle and Cal make sense together. He’s not damaged goods.

  Cal pulls away and turns to see me red-faced and hands fisted. He chuckles, then turns back to Isabelle. “You look amazing, Izzy.”

  I watch her blush, and it pisses me off all over again.

  “Thanks, Cal. So do you.”

  “Aw, shucks, pretty lady. Thanks.” Cal is a fucking asshole. I’m going to beat the ever-loving shit out of him the next time I see him. But not right now. No, now I need to keep my cool.

  “How’s Cy?” she asks Cal with a smile.

  “I’m thinking it’s a vitamin deficiency, but we’ll have to wait for the bloodwork.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief.” She sighs. “I was worried it was BVD, but there was no fluid in the eye.”

  Shit, she knows about that shit? I run my fingers through my hair. Of course she does. She worked with her dad for years. They’ve got cattle. It makes sense.

  “Right.” Cal chuckles.

  Looking at me, she adds, “You may have to bottle feed her with vitamin supplements. We had a drought last year.”

  Cal smirks. “She’s right. Beta carotene levels could be reduced due to drought. You may want to supplement the feed for the rest of the herd as well.”

  “Right.” I nod.

  “In the meantime”—Cal pats Cy’s head—“let’s get her feeling better.”

  “She gonna be okay, Doc?” asks a somber Andi.

  “I hope so, kiddo. I hope so.”

  10

  Isabelle

  Where do I start? After Cal drove off in his fancy pickup, I did the same in my small, late-model SUV. I waved to Andi and tried to do the same to Nash, but he’d already turned around and was making his way back to the barn by then. My goodness, the man is salty. I’d probably be crabby too if I had to run this entire farm by myself. Sure, he’s got some farmhands that work for him, but he’s still got to do most of it himself.

  It makes sense that something had to give, and that something is his house. It’s a mess. There are papers everywhere. It took us ten minutes to clear up a spot on the dining table just to work together. I picked up a stack and stood there staring at the piles all over the table. “Just put ’em over there,” Andi pointed to a long buffet that was also covered in papers. Papers and dust. I wasn’t surprised about dust. Living out on a farm, there’s lots of dirt that makes its way into the house. The trick is to stay on top of it. My mom dusts every single day and vacuums almost as often. She’s got a system.

  When I walked through the living room to the bathroom, same thing. There was a layer of dust over everything—everything except the couch and the television. There were also laundry baskets heaping with clothes that I assumed were clean. I suspect he washes them and just leaves them in the baskets. Then they pull clean things from there rather than put them away. It’s efficient, that’s for sure. The kitchen is old. Very old. The stove is olive green, which is great because it matches the fridge. He’s got a coffee maker, microwave, and a toaster oven on the counter—a counter that has seen better days. I can’t believe Bonnie used to work in that kitchen. And then there’s the bathroom. It’s clean… ish. The places they use are clean. You know, like the sink, toilet, and shower. The rest? Not so much.

  “Crap on a cracker.” He needs a cleaning crew or… me. I feel like I should just go on in there and get that place shipshape, but there’s no way he’ll let me do that. That would be overstepping. Heck, he’d probably be even angrier than he already is, and my sole purpose of going there is to help Andi. And help Andi I will.

  “Mom?” I yell as I enter through our back door. I hear music playing—Journey, Mom’s favorite band—so I know she’s here somewhere.

  “In here,” she shouts. I follow the sound of her voice into our living ro
om. And look at that, she’s dusting.

  I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He went into town to have coffee with the fellas.”

  My dad has a solid group of friends, all farmers that we’ve dubbed “the fellas,” that he meets with at least once a week at our little diner in town. They shoot the breeze, talking about farm stuff—things like crops, feed, livestock, and the economy. They delve into politics now and then, but my father is one of the few Democrats around the area, so he keeps his thoughts to himself when he’s with his friends. “It’s not worth ruining a friendship over,” he says repeatedly. I’m not sure if he’s saying that for me or for himself.

  “Something smells good.” It’s nearly suppertime, which means Mom’s got supper ready to eat as soon as Dad gets back.

  “I made beef potpie.”

  Yum. I love Mom’s potpie. “Awesome. Can I help you do anything?”

  “Sure. Run the sweeper while I finish up the dusting.” See? What’d I tell you?

  Without a word, I go to the closet that houses our vacuum and plug it in. I make quick work of the living room, then move upstairs to the bedrooms. I open Mom and Dad’s room and sweep there, then my bedroom. Next is the craft room, where Mom does her sewing and quilting, and finally the spare bedroom, Isaac’s old room. Once that’s done, I put away the vacuum and make my way back into the kitchen just as my dad steps in. “Damn, Grace.” He kisses her cheek. “It smells amazing in here.”

  “Potpie,” my mom says proudly. “Wash up, you two. It’s ready.”

  When we’re both washed up, we sit down just as Mom places the main course on the table. Besides the potpie, she’s made a salad and scratch biscuits. My mouth salivates, but I know I need to keep myself from stuffing my face. Portion control has been my friend the last few years. Besides, if I’m lucky, I can take some leftovers to school tomorrow.

  “How was your day, Izzy?” my dad asks as he scoops out a huge piece of potpie.