Page 7 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
I glance at him, trying to imagine waking up every day to this chaos. “You do this for all the animals?”
He nods once, eyes forward.
We step out of the barn, the cool air cleansing my senses. My eyes drift to the left and land on the house. White siding, weathered just enough to show its age. Beautiful.
Two stories rise above a wide porch that wraps all the way around, rocking chairs lined up along it. Wind chimes sway gently in the breeze, singing soft, tinkling notes.
Plants of all sorts climb along the railing—creeping vines and hanging baskets. A perfect home in the middle of all the farm chaos.
“My grandpa built it.” Finley’s voice breaks the moment, gruff but quieter than usual.
“It’s a beautiful home.”
The next stop is the cow pasture. The field stretches farther than I can see, green fading into brown as the autumn frost begins to bite. Cows graze lazily in clusters, ears twitching and mooing.
“Wow…” I murmur, stepping a little closer, taking it all in—the size of this place is staggering.
Then, a chorus of shouts pierces the calm.
I turn, heart nearly seizing, I freeze. A massive bull, horns curved and menacing, is charging straight toward me.
I squeal, stepping back, panic bubbling in my gut.
Before I can react any further, Finley’s massive frame is in front of me, tall and solid—protective. He plants his feet wide, shielding me. He lifts his arms wide, the bull slides to a halt, Finley unafraid and unwavering.
He steps forward, arms still high and wide, and the bull steps back. Step by step, he’s guided backwards—until a worker throws a rope over the bull’s head. Another man prods the bull with a buzzing cattle prod, making sure it continues moving safely.
I stand frozen, heart still racing, staring at Finley’s wide back. Finally, he turns to one of the nearby workers, voice loud and stern. “What the hell happened?”
The man wipes his forehead with the back of his sleeve, his chest heaving. “We were transporting him to the trailer for the butcher… he got loose, I’m so sorry, Boss.”
Finley nods once, eyes scanning the field, then looks back at me. “Tours over.” Without another word, he turns and starts walking back toward the house.
I pause for a second, blink, and mutter under my breath,Well… okay then.I follow at a slower pace, still processing everything, then veer off toward my car.
“Bye, Finley,” I call, giving a small wave. He doesn’t bother looking back—just lifts a hand and waves once as he climbs the steps to the porch.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I let the seatbelt click and take a deep breath. My brain is finally catching up with what just happened. The adrenaline, the sheer size of the bull, and the way Finley put himself between us.
I mutter to myself, voice low in disbelief. “I’m…surprised he didn’t just let the bull kill me.”
The engine hums as I pull out of the driveway, the image of his massive frame still burned into my mind.
I barely get into the road before my phone buzzes. Glancing down, I see Finley’s name light up the screen. My brow furrows.
I swipe the message open and read:
When you get to the soft sand, don’t slow down. Keep a fast pace. Do not stop or hesitate.
I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Okay… would’ve been nice to know that the first go-around,” I mutter, shaking my head.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEX
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I ring up the last few items of the night. The store feels strangely quiet, just a couple of people over in self-checkout scanning their groceries.
I lift my gaze to greet the next customer.
