Page 89 of Cattle Stop

But, no. He should’ve left ages ago. Whiling away time here, hanging around like if he just stayed long enough, he could force this farm into a shape that fits him.

Force Whit’s life into a shape that includes him. He jerks at the zipper on his bag, though it sticks, a fold of T-shirt caught between the teeth.

Footsteps creak up the staircase. Whit pushes the door open. His injured hand’s unbandaged, the heel of his palm shiny and red.

Eyes a little too wide, Whit asks, “What’re you doing?”

“Getting out of your hair, you’re welcome.”

“Drew said you’re leaving.”

“I was always leaving.”

“But now?”

“Yes now,” Cooper says, “cheese accounts, check, innovative farming solutions, check, you haven’t sliced open any of your extremities lately, so check that off the list too.”

Cooper keeps his back to Whit, trying to yank the fabric out of the jam he’s created. Then he pauses…last night—no, the night before, that was the last time he and Whit will ever have sex, and Cooper didn’t even know it. They’re never going to fuck again. Oh shit, that’s over between them. One for the road? he so wants to ask.

Though maybe it’s better like this. What else would they do, some sort of horribly awkward, drawn-out afternoon in bed?

It’d be so nice, he thinks. He frowns. Stop, he tells himself.

“Don’t,” Whit says suddenly.

“The farm’s going to be fine.”

“But wait, though, ’cause…”

Cooper waits. His skin itches, and he wants to bounce from foot to foot. “Wait for what?” he finally asks.

“I just…”

This is your chance, Whit, he thinks. Lay it all out there, tell me you want me to stay, you’re desperate, you can’t live without me.

Whit’s mouth opens and Cooper’s chest rises on a swell of hope.

But Whit just shuts it again, his lips pressing into a thin line. Cooper turns away.

Of course. That empty, naive wanting always leaves him hollow when it rushes back out again. Cooper slings his bag over his shoulder, balancing it so it doesn’t spill dirty laundry all over the floor. Enough, he tells himself. Whit, chasing after Cooper, like Terry said. What a fucking joke.

“I’ll throw these in the washing machine,” Cooper says, holding up the bundle of sheets.

“Okay,” Whit says softly.

Outside, he tosses his bag into the passenger seat of his truck while Drew glares at him. Penny stands beside Drew, arms crossed. Even Sadie looks miffed, leaning against Drew’s knees and refusing to come over to Cooper when he pats at his thigh.

“Bye, baby girl,” Cooper says to Sadie.

“She’s old and wise and therefore knows you’re making a stupid mistake,” Penny says.

Cooper kneels next to her, resting his cheek on top of her head. “My puppy would never.”

“Sadie, don’t talk to him,” Drew says.

“Sadie, you be good. You’re in charge of the squirrels, okay? You and Socks.”

“Socks is mad at you too,” Penny adds.