Page 7 of From Rivals to I Do

“Well, that’s not too far away from Topeka, is it?”

“About an hour or so,” Mitch replies. “But going there was a treat. And once we moved here, we moved out to the sticks, and Dad

started up our own ranch.”

“Oh, wow! So, you’ve always been on a farm,” I say.

“Basically,” Mitch agrees. “A lot of my friends hated being in the country, but I didn’t mind it one bit. On the ranch, we had most things

we needed, and the general stores and supply places in town had the rest.”

“Makes sense,” I say with a smile. “So, you worked for your daddy about how long in total?”

“Until last year,” Mitch says, but his upbeat tone shifts a bit, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that something is up.

“Why did you end up leavin’?” I ask, not wanting to leave the stone unturned and regret it later.

“I left after my wife died, actually,” Mitch says, and I can see the flicker of pain in his eyes. Immediately, I feel terrible for even asking.

“Oh!” I say, shocked. I wasn’t expecting that. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like you could’ve known,” Mitch replies. “She fought a hard battle with leukemia. We moved down here to be closer

to the better hospitals, but it wasn’t enough.”

I feel all my muscles tighten as a wave of sadness washes over me. This poor guy, I think to myself as I watch him struggle to keep his

composure. It’s all too visceral, a reminder of how I was when I first lost Melanie. Even ten years later, it still stings like the dickens.

“Can I be honest with you?” Mitch asks.

“Of course,” I reply.

“I don’t know how many other applicants you have, and I don’t want to seem like some groveling sissy, but I really need this job,”

Mitch says. “There are medical bills, funeral bills, the mortgage on the new place. . . I thought I could hack it alone out here, but it’s all

piling up on me now.”

“I can imagine,” I reply with a frown. “Say, since you know so much about ranching, would you want to come on full-time instead?” I ask.

“Really?” Mitch asks, seemingly shocked.

“Well sure,” I said, trying to not make it seem like I was throwing him a pity bone, not wanting to step on his toes. “I could use a man

with your expertise and experience, and it pays a lot more than just mucking.”

“Well, shoot! Yeah, I’ll take the job,” Mitch says as he juts his hand out and we shake on it.

“When can you start?” I asked.

“Well, gosh, I guess as soon as you need me,” Mitch replies, beaming big and bright, the look on his face bringing a bit of warmth to

my soul. I know in a way what he’s going through, and something is compelling me to help him. I mean, it felt like it was the right

thing to do after all. Can’t just let a man who just lost his wife suffer. . . though the subject itself hits a bit closer to home than I’d like.

It’s almost time. . . the tenth anniversary of when my wife had been taken from us keeps getting closer, and I feel like maybe if I can ease his pain, I can quell my own. . . if only a little bit.

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