Page 5 of In the Dust

Dixie

I’m not used to the still nights the country has to offer anymore. The constant chatter of the city nightlife and sirens usually lulls me to sleep. I don’t mind the quiet, but this damn rooster that has been crowing since three o'clock this morning is anything but quiet. The slight ache in my forehead makes me feel like I’ve only slept for five minutes. I let out a grumble, rolling onto my side. Stupid rooster.

‘Sure, blame the rooster,’ I mumble to myself.

It’s surprising how difficult it was to fall asleep in the room I grew up in. You would think the gentle sounds of the farm would be calming compared to the sirens and screams of the city.

I let out a groan when I check my phone. It's already a quarter to five in the morning, which means I only got a couple hours of rest. There's no sense in trying to fall back asleep, especially with my thoughts running wild.

Operating a farm is the last thing I thought I’d be doing two days ago. I planned on only staying a week, but once I survey all the work that needs to be done here, it may very well be a little longer.

It'll be like riding a bike, right?

Shit, I forgot to text Gina. I run my hand down my face before picking my phone back up

Me: Hey, G. I’m so sorry I forgot to call. It was such a long day. Call me later and I’ll fill you in. XX.

I let outa sigh as I set my phone back on the side table, trying to muster every ounce of patience I have to deal with a country morning. I always hated waking up early to tend to the farm when I was younger.

Although, I was quite fond of watching Colton wrangle the cattle. The way his body moved in sync with the galloping horse, his hips rolling back and forth. The way his white t-shirt clung to his sculpted chest.

Stop right now, Dixie. There's no sense in kicking up settled dust.

I sit up on the side of the bed, shaking my head to rid myself of the memories of what feels like another life.

I tip-toe to my bathroom, not remembering the floors being this dang creaky. I wash my hands and face with the lavender scented hand soap. A small smile curls up my lips at the thought of my grandpa remembering one of my favorite scents.

Turning around, I grab my old pink cotton robe from the hook on the back of the door that I haven’t worn since high school.

Before I do anything else, I need my coffee. As my hand touches the cool brass of the doorknob, I stop and suck in a deep breath. You can do this, Dixie May.

My palm gently glides along the railing as I saunter down the stairs into the kitchen. My eyes pan the length of the countertop. “Where is the dang pot?” I ask myself.

“You lost your draw, Dixie May.”

“Woah!” I spin, turning to see a shirtless, certain ex-boyfriend leaning against the countertop in nothing but a pair of tight wranglers. His button up is thrown over his shoulder.

The last person I want to see right now is him.

“It’s over there.” Colton nudges his head to a small table by the window. “My mom made them a coffee station.”

“What are you doing here?” I gesture at the clock on the microwave. It’s now five in the morning.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Peach. I work here.”

“Here?” I whine. “Why didn’t your mom tell me?” Why didn’t Dad tell me?

“My momma”—he rolls his eyes at my use of ‘mom’—“didn’t tell you because she thought you wouldn’t come if you knew.”

His fingers curl around a ruby red apple, and he wipes it on his jeans. “You know that’s disgusting, right?” I inform him, but he only shrugs.

His teeth sink into its sweet flesh. “This? You used to eat em’ straight off the tree, Dixie. What did New York do to you?”

I roll my eyes, not wanting to deal with him this early.

Grabbing a black mug from the cupboard, I pour myself a steaming hot cup.

“Here.” He hands me the honey, brushing his hand against mine and causing a million summer mornings to rush into my mind.

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