Page 22 of Higher Ground
A register—self-serve, to her delight—opened up in front of her, and Emory took her escape. Still, she felt Jaxon’s eyes on her as she scanned all her items and raced back to the car. The back of her neck tingled as she rushed to the library. Mya wasn’t there, no doubt already safe and sound at Tucker’s house, and Emory would have missed her if she hadn’t been so rattled. Instead, the town’s other librarian, a greying woman with an arm of beaded bangles and a brightly knitted cardigan, helped her find a selection of toys for Clayton.
The tension in Emory’s shoulders eased a little when she walked past the new homeware store that had popped up in town just a few months ago. It must have been where Byron bought the candle. The thought soothed something in her, like a soft reminder that maybe he wanted all the things she wanted, too. She ducked inside. The candle had been a lovely addition to Byron’s manly farmhouse, and she’d appreciated the subtle crackling as the wooden wick burnt down. It would be nice to have more. There were so many scents in the store, from subtle linen to the sweetest florals. Emory lost herself as she smelt them all and tried to decipher which one Byron would appreciate most. It shouldn’t have mattered, really. She was buying it for her, not him. But she cared all the same. Hastily, because she was desperate to get back now, she picked one.
Anticipation and hesitation swirled in her, never letting up until she crossed the bridge towards Byron’s farm.
As the farmhouse came into view at the end of the long driveway, something else replaced all her concerns. Thrill.
Sure, getting into bed with her ex-boyfriend’s father could get messy. But she was leaving town soon anyway. Seeing Jaxon had stirred a long-forgotten fire in her, reminding her of how she used to go after what she wanted instead of huddling in the corner and waiting for her dreams. So, why not give in to the temptation that was spun through the house and enjoy herself while they were flooded in? Because if nothing else, it would be fun.
Chapter 10
Byron
The last of the cattle were dragging. Protesting against Miff’s incessant barking, the way she ran up close then backed off for another round. Normally, the cows would hustle under her lead, but today, Byron was surprised none of them had given her a swift kick to the face. Especially Betty. She was the feistiest dairy cow Byron had ever come across, and her deep mahogany coat stood out against the herd of black and white Holsteins, but Byron had all but fallen for her at the auction two years ago, and it had been a love-hate relationship ever since.
Especially now, when the Aussie Red was ever so slowly creeping away from Miff’s herd. The cattle dog hadn’t seen her yet, but Byron had. Determined to get all the cows secure in the high paddock, then back to his farmhouse before the rain started up again, Byron jumped down from the quad bike. Making sure Clayton was steady on the seat, he pulled the key from the ignition and shoved it into his pockets.
“Clayton drive?” the little kid asked, and Byron agreed, tapping the handlebars. Clayton always loved ‘driving’ the quad bike. It was the easiest way to keep him occupied when Byronhad work to do. It reminded him of all the times he had spent riding around the farm with one of his own sons on his lap. Emory always praised Byron with thanks for looking after Clayton so often, but honestly? Byron enjoyed it more than he cared to admit. Having Clayton around brought a little youth and light back into Byron’s otherwise monotonous life. And helped him feel like he could make up for lost time.
He hadn’t meant to get so emotional when he asked Emory to leave Clayton with him this morning, but once the tears began to flow, he couldn’t stop them. It was the chance to right his wrongs, even if therapy had him convinced it wasn’t ever his fault. Still, he wasn’t about to risk it all happening again. In the end, opening up felt cathartic, and he was glad he’d done it with Emory. Truth was, he wished he’d done it sooner. Maybe it would have eliminated all the times she brushed off his help or thanked him a few too many times. The past three years of looking after Clayton had brought a little joy back into Byron’s life. If anything, he should have been thankingher.
With one eye still on his grandson, Byron ran through the grass towards the wandering cow, arms wide like he was going to wrap her in a bear hug. He nearly did. He would have, if she hadn’t seen him coming and pranced away.
The little—well big, really—fucker thought it was a game.
“C’mon, Betty.” Byron huffed as he circled around her.
Tucker moved away from his position holding the gate, rounding to corner Betty off and help guide her into the paddock.
With Byron on one side, Tucker on the other, and Miff barking her way closer, Betty’s only choice was to go the way they wanted. Her tail dropped, and she turned in a wide circle, padding her way to the gate and joining the rest of the herd in the high paddock. Now at Byron’s feet, Miff barked to show her agreement. A paw propped up to tap Byron’s knee.
“Hold on,” he mumbled. The blasted gate latch always caught. It was never a big deal because they never used this paddock. It was too high on the hill, and a fraction too small for the more than two hundred cows who now huddled around the scattered trees. Byron wished he could have secured them in the barn, but it was on low ground. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Tucker shoved his old man out of the way, throwing all his weight onto the gate until it dropped down and he could latch it closed. “Never got around to fixing this one?”
Byron huffed. “Never needed to.”
“I’m going to inherit a run-down old farm that’s more work than it’s worth, aren’t I?”
Byron didn’t respond. He left his son’s side and walked back to the quad bike. Clayton’s helmet was a fraction too big, sitting lopsided on his tiny head. Lifting the boy off the bike, Byron unlatched the strap and pulled the heavy head protection off.
“Unky Tuck!” Clayton barrelled towards Tucker with his arms wide. Mud squelched under his boots, but that didn’t stop Tucker from hoisting him up.
“Who says you’re the one inheriting it?” Byron jabbed. It was rhetorical, really. Everyone in the whole town, probably the whole state, knew that Tucker Gardner would inherit the family farm.
There may have been a while there when the boys were young and Byron thought he might have to choose between his sons, but Jaxon made it clear he wasn’t interested long before he decided to skip town.
The harsh reminder of his son’s incompetence as a father burned at Byron’s throat. He’d raised his sons better than that, but sometimes, it seemed, a bad seed could grow from even the cleanest of crops.
“Besides,” Byron added, ignoring the way all this talk of inheritance made his head pound, “I may be getting older, butthat doesn't mean I’m ready to pass the farm on. I’m only forty-five.”
He felt every year of his age, too. But he wouldn’t tell Tucker that. Didn’t need the chirpy twenty-one-year-old knowing his old man was on his way to just that, being old. That thought burned through his insides even more.
“Wasn’t grandpa in his forties when he passed the farm to you?”
“He was forty-nine.”
“Well, you’re in the right decade then.” Tucker sighed, crossing the muddy path to stand next to his father. He shifted Clayton onto one hip and placed his free hand on his father’s shoulder. Byron’s resolve collapsed under the calming gesture. “Look, I don’t mean to come across like I’m shoving you out, I swear. I just want us both to have realistic expectations, and maybe we can come up with a plan. I reckon I’d need more than five years to figure out how to run this place anyway. So maybe we should start.”
