20. Angie

Chapter 20

Angie

M y jaw cracked with my third consecutive yawn. Dark clouds on the horizon hid the rising sunshine and mimicked my mood. Until the cancer made it impossible for him to work, Papa had often taken care of the early chores and let me sleep in until eight.

Eight o’clock mornings became the standard with the responsibilities around this place resting entirely in my hands. I much preferred working into the night rather than waking before dawn—and I hadn’t considered when making the deal with Remi, in torturing him, I’d also included myself.

The glowing face of my watch showed fifteen after five. My eye twitched. Remi was late. Maybe he wouldn’t show up at all, and I’d already rid myself of his presence. Relief, combined with a sense of disappointment, swirled together within me.

His leaving would solve so many of my problems, but he’d also take with him my newfound excitement. The adventures would end, and I’d return to normal life’s monotony. Plus, I’d kiss my chances with Dan goodbye. I should have been more disappointed at the thought of Daniel exiting my life, but I was simply numb to everything—everything except the burning fury of seven suns I directed through a magnifying glass at Remi.

How could I have been so blind? I’d gotten myself tangled up with the one man bent on my destruction.

I turned my shoulder into a frigid gust of wind, stepping forward to prevent it from knocking me over. The brief warm spell in the last couple of weeks of April plummeted into near-winter temperatures in early May. Pebbles of dirt stung my exposed cheek. Roller-coaster Idaho weather, much like Remi, came with the job, and they couldn’t be fired. I couldn’t be happier about how it behaved right now. Remi would be sandblasted by this wind all day.

Before last night, I’d started looking forward to the time I’d spent working with him. He had a kindness in him I couldn’t ignore. Life with him in it was never boring.

The knife in my back still stung. He’d lied to me. The bastard.

I tucked my chin further into my jacket, wishing I’d brought my truck and not the tractor without a cab. It’d be worth it. An inconvenience for me now meant the preservation of my farm. My security blanket. The only thing keeping me upright in my lopsided world. By the end of this summer, CDC would never send another representative to harass us again.

My eye twitched again, and I rubbed at it. Dagnabbit! He’d given me eye spasms. If he stayed here much longer, my whole body would be convulsing soon.

Remi’s headlights became visible through the swirling dust, bouncing along the canal road. He hadn’t left town in the night. Darn. Rays of sun broke through the clouds as he stopped next to the oldest tractor we owned.

He shut his truck door, pointing behind me. “What is that?” he shouted over the wind.

I didn’t respond until he came close enough for me to communicate without shouting. He hadn’t bothered shaving. His pale skin and bags under his eyes showed how much fun he’d had last night at Tractor’s Grille. Using his body as a wind block, I gestured to the old Case tractor I’d nicknamed Oscar the Grouch. The budding daylight illuminated its creamy white hood. Surface rust peeked out from the worn orange loader arms and wheel wells. Rust covered the entire bucket with the occasional speck of paint. The thought of the uncomfortable hours I’d spent as a child in the metal tractor seat with no back almost caused the muscles in my butt to cramp.

I couldn’t stop my lips from curling into a wicked smile. “I’d like to introduce you to Oscar. Oscar, meet Remi.”

“It’s ancient.”

“He still runs.”

“It doesn’t have a cab.”

“Precisely,” I sang in a bubbly voice.

Though his face was shadowed in the pre-dawn light, I easily read the displeasure he attempted to disguise with a half-grin.

“Great.” His over-the-top fake enthusiasm made it obvious his true intent was sarcasm. “What am I doing today?” He rubbed his gloved hands together, and I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“You, my heartless destroyer of farmland—”

“Cute.” He raised one eyebrow and shook his head at me.

“—are going to pick rock,” I announced like I held a megaphone.

He waited as if he expected me to continue. “Pick which rock?”

“All of it.” I giggled, taking way too much pleasure in this.

Picking rock haunted the dreams of every single kid who’d ever worked on a farm in this valley. Each year, the rock floated to the surface and had to be removed by hand before the field could be planted. Countless hours of my life had been spent sweeping from one end of the field to the other until I cleared it. An endless battle in a valley once covered in lava.

I walked over to the tractor’s bucket and hefted a jagged rock the size of a watermelon. “You take this.” My voice strained. “And put it into here.” I dropped the chunk of basalt into the bucket. It landed with a loud gong against the metal.

“That’s not a rock. It’s a boulder.”

My laugh turned almost maniacal, much like Angelina Jolie when she played Maleficent. “Yes. It is. And they’re everywhere.” The tractor’s headlights illuminated the varying mounds speckling the entire field. “Good luck.” I sent him a mock salute.

Remi turned full circle; his arms spread wide.

“Keys?” I held my palm to him, with the key to the tractor in it. Remi went to grab it, but I pulled it away. “I’ll exchange it for the key to your truck … Orrr … would you like to give up and save yourself months of pain? In that case, I’ll drive Oscar home.”

“Where are you going?”

I yawned again. “Back to bed,” I lied.

Farmers didn’t have the luxury of sleep during the season. As much as my bed called to me, I’d be discing the pasture up until I met with the irrigation guy about replacing the pivot tire and sprucing up the same pivot’s engine, then I’d rush home for a nap before I headed to the hospital. But I preferred to make Remi think of me curled up in my down comforter while he faced this wind.

He tugged the hood of his jacket tighter around his ears and rubbed at his upper arms.

“Once you finish this field, you can start on the next one. Get it done by tonight. We’ll be planting corn tomorrow. Oh, and Mae’s stall has been neglected, the chicken coop is also due to be cleaned again, and the haystack fell over. It’ll need fixing. You’ve got a full day ahead of you. I don’t think you’ll be leaving at your usual time.”

I patted his shoulder. Leverage was power, and I loved having it.

His grin tightened almost into a grimace, but he handed over his keys, taking the ones to the tractor. “Any trick to getting it started?”

“Prayer. A lot of prayer.” I smirked, not willing to give him any more help.

He’d have to figure things out by himself from here on out. Easy button privileges had been revoked the moment I saw the watermark of his company on the pages in his briefcase.

How many times did we have to tell them no for them to get the hint? We were never going to sell. My kids and grandkids would play on this soil, the ground their great-grandparents had homesteaded when this valley had been settled.

Now the power to toy with an executive in their ranks fell into my lap, and I’d have way too much fun running him off the property. I wasn’t going to tell him to put the tractor in neutral and let it roll next to him while he threw in the rock. Let him figure that out by himself.

“Sounds good.” He stretched his arms; the wind buffeted his thick coat sleeves. “This is just the workout I needed.” Jogging in place, he did a couple of tuck jumps and started in on the rock.

I laughed at his optimism, knowing by noon, it’d give way to despair. Chuckling all the way to the truck, I climbed in, only to be enveloped by his scent. Minty cedar and the mountain air. My mind instantly went back to my chest pressed against his, his breath tickling my lips, and the heat in his eyes consuming me.

No longer chilled, my body warmed from the inside out.

I shoved the truck in reverse. Slamming my foot on the gas, I propelled backward, spitting chunks of dirt and small rocks into the undercarriage.

This was war. A war I couldn’t afford to lose. The trenches were dug, barbed wire strung, weapons primed and ready to be fired, trained on Remington James Cockrell the Third. My nemesis. My adversary.

My enemy.