Like A Toddler

Alex

I laughed. “Your farm is huge, and it has got to be one of the hardest I’ve worked. You have a lot going on.”

“It used to be a lot more than what it is. I sold off the north hundred acres or so about ten years ago. I realized I didn’t need so much. A buddy’s grandson was looking to start in the farming business. I figured I’d give him a hand and let him buy that land from me for a real steal. I hear he’s built himself a small house on the land.”

“That was nice of you,” I told him. “Most farmers I’ve met hold on to their land until their last dying breath.”

He smirked. “I suppose we do, but the two-hundred acres I have is plenty. I’m an old man. I don’t need to make a killing in the wheat business.”

“I wish others could be as easygoing as you are. Hell, I wish I could be that easygoing.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s taken me seventy-two years to get to this point. A man realizes somewhere along the way that life is too short to be uptight. We’re all here for a short time, as long as the good Lord allows, and that’s it. We have no control over any of it. It’s arrogant to believe otherwise.”

I smiled. “But it’s human nature to try.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Alex, I’ll get someone in to take over this operation. Promise me you’ll stick around until I can make that happen.”

“Of course, Oliver. I’m not going anywhere. I came here to help get things tidied up. I’m not done yet.”

He nodded, looking me directly in the eye. His stare was intense. It always made me feel like he was looking right into my soul. “Promise me that no matter what happens, you will make sure this farm is functioning. I don’t want it to be auctioned off to the highest bidder because it has fallen in the red or the disrepair is beyond fixing.”

His concern was real. “Oliver, your farm isn’t in bad shape. It’s hard but that’s not a bad thing. You need the right person in here that will devote the time, energy, and most importantly love for the art of farming to this place. There are plenty of folks who would love the chance to do that. It’s going to be okay.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I think I’m going to lay down for a minute. I’ll be out later to take a walk around.”

I nodded and reached out to rest my hand on his arm. “Are you feeling okay?”

I knew it was risky to ask a tough guy like Oliver if he was feeling all right, but he didn’t seem quite himself. I had worked his farm for about a month and had come to know him pretty well. I was fond of him, and even though I was hired to take care of the management of the farm, I wanted to take care of the man as well. I didn’t have a lot of maternal or nurturing instincts, but just then, I did.

“I’m fine. The traveling wiped me out. I need a few minutes. Then I’ll be right as rain.”

I smiled. “Okay. I’ll go track down Deke and see what he’s up to now. One never knows with that guy. He means well, but I just don’t know what he is thinking half the time.”

“I’ll take care of that situation later today,” he assured me.

“Why don’t you rest, and I’ll handle it? I’ll let him down easy. Honestly, I don’t think he’ll be all that upset to be given his walking papers. He’s been telling me he wants to follow the rodeo.”

Oliver groaned. “I suppose he could be a clown. I hope like hell he doesn’t plan on trying to ride.”

“You never know. That could be his niche.”

He chuckled and walked over the original hardwood floors of the seventy-year-old house as he slowly made his way to his bedroom. I watched him go, noticed he was moving slowly. He looked like he was in pain. I thought about offering him some aspirin but remembered he was a tough old coot, and old coots hated to be coddled.

I carried the glasses to the old farm sink, emptied them, and put them in the dishwasher before heading out in search of Deke. He was a lot like a toddler—you didn’t dare leave them alone for long. He’d been quiet for too long, which was always alarming.

“Deke?” I hollered, shielding my eyes with my hand as I surveyed the pasture and the wheat field looking for his ridiculous cowboy hat.

“In here,” he called out.

I groaned. He was in the barn. There was so much he could get into in there. I quickly walked across the dirt and gravel, dust collecting on my old work boots and the cuffs of my faded jeans as I moved. Most people didn’t see me as the farmer type. I’d been told I was too pretty to be a farmer. It was about the dumbest thing I had ever heard. And a little insulting to all the other farmers. Like there was a certain standard of beauty that determined who was good at farming and who wasn’t.

I never worked out, I never watched what I ate, and I never really cared much about putting on makeup. I usually wore boots, jeans, and a dirty old hoodie with a plain T-shirt underneath. I kept my hair short in a blunt-cut bob to keep it from getting in my way. There were times I liked to get dressed up but not often.

I wasn’t the average woman and I didn’t care to be. I liked what I did. I liked who I was, and I didn’t give two shits about fitting into someone else’s standard about what a twenty-seven-year-old woman should be doing.