Page 40 of Cattle Stop

They could follow up the pigs with the laying hens, let them scratch through the turned-up pastures, then run over it with the plow, reseed it, and have a healthier stand of grass for the next time the cows grazed, and get all that effort back in even more milk. Which plenty of other farms do, but it’d be a big change for Drew’s place. Possible, though. And the farm would be so much better for it.

He looks up and Brad’s watching him.

“Um, what’re you thinking to eat?” Cooper asks, picking up his menu again and studying it even as his mind keeps churning.

Later, Cooper drums his fingers on the table as he figures out his half of the bill. See, he should text Penny, maybe take a picture for her of the two piles of cash.

Though, then Brad puts another one of his smiles on and taps his fingers close to Cooper’s. “There’s that new brewery. We should go sometime.”

“Brewery?” Cooper wants to pull his hand back, but it seems too abrupt. Brad’s just being friendly. There’s no need for Cooper to be as twitchy as he’s feeling. It’s just Penny and her teasing getting to him, he doesn’t need to actually let it bother him.

“Could be fun.”

It won’t be, Cooper’s sure, though he’s hardly about to say it out loud. “Yeah, I bet Drew would like it, too. I’ll mention it to him.”

“Oh.” Brad sits back in his chair and his hand slips away. “Yeah, if you want him to come too.”

In his truck, Cooper fiddles with his phone. You were as wrong as Whit usually is, he starts to type to Penny, only to delete it and drop his phone into the cupholder. This dinner being just a casual bite to eat doesn’t explain the uncomfortable itch between Cooper’s shoulder blades. He’ll tell her about it in person. Or just ignore the whole thing altogether. Whit’ll just be pissy as all hell again if Cooper brings up Brad.

Which…which he doesn’t really want to do in the first place. The evening’s over and Cooper’s ready enough to put it behind him. Through the window, Cooper sees the hazards on Brad’s car flash as it unlocks. Cooper shifts into reverse and pulls out, his headlights cutting across the hand Brad raises in a wave goodbye.

Chapter Eight

A pillar of smoke rises above the back hedgerow, gray against the darkening blue of the sky and the tower of clouds outlined in gold as the sun slips behind them.

“Coop!” Drew shouts as Cooper ducks through the fence.

In the quickly gathering dusk, Cooper can make out empty beer bottles scattered over the top of a cooler, an open bag of marshmallows, and the detritus of hot dogs and buns. A plate smeared with ketchup catches the light of the fire.

Drew cups the hand not holding a beer bottle around his mouth. “Coop! Tell Penny that hot dogs are better than burgers!”

“Burger lovers for life,” Cooper says, and Penny bumps her fist into his. “Sorry, Drew.”

“I don’t know why you guys are so down on dogs. Whit! Whit, tell them.”

Whit just picks up a branch lying at his feet and tosses it on the fire. Ah, so he is here. Cooper keeps his eyes on the fire, not the play of the light across Whit’s white shirt.

“Are you sure that branch is big enough?” Cooper asks. “’Cause you could just drag a tree over.”

“But like, dogs. Hot dogs.” Drew waves his beer around, and it must be mostly empty, or Penny’d be sopping wet with the circle he draws in the air. “Fucking superb.”

He’s tipsy, clearly. And happier than he’s looked in so goddamn long now. Cooper opens a beer and drains half of it in a long swallow. Hanging out together is what he misses about Drew’s farm when he’s off working somewhere else: Drew laughing, Penny grinning up at him, and even Whit filling out the rest of the scene.

Cooper rolls his sore shoulder and takes another swallow. The storms might still be lingering over the edge of the trees with no break in the day’s humidity yet, but the air’s sweet with the smell of fresh grass and the promise of rain to come, and the beer’s cold and Drew’s smiling.

Penny tucks her leg under herself and sets her bottle on her knee. “How was dinner?”

Cooper shrugs and takes another sip, ignoring the pointedness of how she’s looking at him. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

Whit adjusts the hem of his T-shirt where it hangs loose over the waist of his jeans. “There’s more wood that we should get,” he says.

“We can toss it on with the tractor tomorrow,” Cooper says. The air smells so good, that snap of woodsmoke in the humid stick of summer, and he just wants to linger here, basking in a truly gorgeous evening. “It’ll still be smoldering.”

“Not if it finally rains.” Whit plucks at his shirt again, his eyes on the hedgerow. Cooper snags another bottle of beer and twists it open.

“Here.” When Whit doesn’t take it, Cooper pushes it into his hand. “Relax for once. It won’t kill you.”