Page 11 of Cattle Stop

“I think I can take apart a damn bed.”

“No, I just meant—” Whit shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Cooper calls after him, but Whit’s already gone, the floorboards in the hallway creaking and then the stairs. He can hear Whit’s and Penny’s voices for a good long while before the kitchen door squeaks on its rusty hinges and then shuts again, Whit apparently done complaining about him for the time being. Back to work for the rest of his damn day off.

Cooper sets the wrenches back in Whit’s truck as the sun sinks toward the tree line with the orange glow of early spring. He’s got grime all over his hands from the worn bed frame, and he wipes his fingers on his pants before shutting the door, sure that Whit would notice stains on his truck.

For a moment, Cooper stands there staring at his reflection in the shiny door, the loose fit of his sweatshirt and the smudges of dirt on his knees. Then he grins, and quickly, he pulls the length of baling twine from his pocket, opens the door again, and ties the wrenches up in a neat little bundle. He finishes it off with a bow and sets them in the middle of the driver’s seat. Maybe Whit’ll sit right on them and bruise his ass.

Cooper rounds the house already calling to Drew. “Furniture’s done, and Whit and I had a grand old time, as always—”

But Drew holds up a finger, then points at the phone pressed to his ear.

“Sorry,” Cooper whispers loudly.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Drew says, nodding as if the other person can see him. “Nope, should be just fine, yep, okay, bye.”

“Everything all right?”

Drew tosses his phone down onto the pile of lumber. “The farmers’ market closed.”

“Shit, it did?”

“Oh my God, I’m not going to sell a single ounce of cheese, the squirrels are going to pull down the rest of the house, and knowing my luck, the cows are going to put up a ‘for sale’ ad for themselves and move out to Ohio.”

“Ohio?”

The kitchen window screeches open, and Penny leans against the screen. “Cooper, don’t let him start.”

“And then all the wheels will fall off the farm trucks, and none of the tractors will start, and the damn grass won’t even grow this year.”

“What’s wrong with the tractors?” Cooper asks.

“Nothing’s wrong with the tractors,” Penny calls out the window.

Drew covers his face with his hands. “Where the hell am I going to sell cheese?”

“The squirrels?” Cooper asks.

“Drew’s having a moment.” Penny shuts the window halfway, then calls through it, “One of many. Bring him inside, please.”

She closes the window the rest of the way, and Drew drops his hands. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you seem real fine. Did that market have good sales?”

“It was the busiest one, and the only one we even went to last summer.” Drew picks up his phone and stares like it’ll give him different news if he just watches it long enough. “It’s fine. The guy who runs it retired, but it’s fine, it’s—” He blows out a long breath. “Oh fucking hell, I’m going to have a heart attack.”

“Beer?”

Drew nods and jams his phone into his pocket. “Beer.”

Whit’s already inside, washing his hands at the sink. It pulls his shirt against the muscles in his back, and Cooper spends too long studying the bottles of beer in the fridge. When the faucet shuts off, he finally pulls two out, waving one bottle toward Penny, who nods, and then Whit, who shakes his head.

Cooper grabs a third and shuts the fridge with his elbow. “Drew, is the real problem that you won’t have your line of admiring local ladies lined up to sample cheese this summer? Whit, the farmers’ market closed. That’s the big news.”

Whit dries his hands in a way that does far too much to flex the tendons in his forearms. “I know.”

“Right. Cool.” Cooper holds out a beer to Drew. “Whit already knows.”