Chapter 7
Carli
If you always do what you've always done,
you'll always get what you've always got.
~ Tony Robbins
My mud boots squelch in the soggy ground between my truck and the barn. The morning is cool. Last night’s storm slowed to a drizzle. The chill air stings my cheeks—making me wish for a fire and a blanket.
“Morning,” I shout into the barn.
“Morning,” Dad and Chet, our hired hand, shout back in unison.
Dad’s already walking the pens, checking the feeders and waterers. Chet passes me on his way to check the feed level in the bulk bin. He tips his hat to me, not saying a word, but smiling in his shy, efficient way.
I join my dad, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him in a hug.
In the barn, we’re at work. His eyes have a slight puffiness under them and he’s moving just a little more slowly than usual.
Maybe I’m just being extra. It’s the end of winter and he’s a middle-aged farmer.
He’s adamant that he feels fine. I should take his word for it.
A restless ache spreads up my spine. I close my eyes for a beat and take a breath.
“How did you sleep?” I ask, knowing the question crosses an invisible line.
“I slept,” he moves to the next bin, checking the flow of feed from our place on the concrete aisle separating one row of stalls from the other.
He moves with practiced efficiency and few words, so I fall into step, checking the opposite row of feeders. Hogs line up like a team of little leaguers at the post-game ice cream parlor celebration, clamoring for their scoop. The soft hay at the back of their stalls is abandoned for breakfast.
Dad pauses across from me, his hand on the railing. I glance back over my shoulder, ready to quickly pivot to the job at hand if he catches me staring. He moves on as quickly as he stopped.
Stop being so soft and overthinking everything.
I focus on the hogs at my feeders and check each line as I pass it.
When we come to the end of the aisle, Dad smiles at me. “Hungry?”
“I could eat,” I say. It’s an exchange we’ve had for years. One of us asks and the other answers with that exact phrase.
I turn to him as we trudge through the mud-spotted driveway between the barn and the main house, gravel crunching beneath our boots.
Dad shouts up to Chet, “Breakfast in fifteen if you’re hungry.”
Chet nods in response, turning back to the silo without another word.
“Dad,” I say softly. “I know you don’t want me hovering and checking on you. I just worry at times. And maybe I shouldn’t.”
He never wants to be the focus of anyone fussing, but I can’t seem to help myself. With everything shifting lately, the idea of possibly not being here every single day presses harder than I expect.
He sighs, stepping up onto the porch and lifting his foot to slip one mud-caked boot off. The boot drops to the porch with a thud.
“One day you’ll understand, Carli. This farm is all I have—my family and my land and the pigs we raise.
I want to work it until I can’t anymore.
Slowing down isn’t something I ever imagined for myself.
I’d rather die with my hand to the plow.
And I have no intention of dying anytime soon, so you and your mom can find yourself a new fixation.
” He stares at me with a look of intensity he reserves for scoldings and business.
He’s not angry. But he’s drawing a line.
“I’m fine. So, I rest a little. I’m not about to let that get the best of me. I’m still good to go.”
I nod, agreeing to leave him alone even though my concern hasn’t abated even a little.
Dad tugs me close, pecking the top of my head, and then he pulls back and shoos me like a fly. “Go on and do what you’ve got to do.”
“I’m not abandoning the farm,” I assure him.
“I know you’re not. Not completely, anyway.”
“Not even a little,” I say, even though we both know that’s not true. In order to take the fire inspector position, I’ll be off the property five days a week. I won’t be here like I have been. But my heart will remain rooted here, at least in part.
We shuck our boots and head inside. We’re about to sit to breakfast when McKenna shows up, walking in without a knock.
“Hey!” I say, standing from my chair.
“Mmm. Smells good. What’s for breakfast?”
“Grits and eggs. Want some?” I ask her.
“Girl, yes. They don’t know grits in LA. Well, a few people, but they’re all transplants.”
“Dig in,” I tell her, pointing to the stove.
She dishes up a plate, chattering away the whole time.
“Okay, Mr. Buckner, tell me everything I missed while I was gone.” McKenna pulls out a chair, beaming at my dad.
His smile’s just as broad as hers. “If you want gossip, you need to go downtown. I’ve got nothing interesting to share.”
“I highly doubt that,” she says, looking at me. “It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch.”
Dad chuckles. “How ’bout you, Hollywood? You bringing any of those actors home or are they all allergic to dirt?”
“Allergic to open spaces, period,” McKenna says, exaggerating for my dad’s benefit. “LA is ninety-nine percent concrete and the other one percent is sand. Even the beaches are crowded.”
Our shared laughter fills the kitchen, followed by the kind of silence you can nestle into.
McKenna breaks the mood by asking me, “So, what time do you have your interview?”
“Ten.”
“When will you be back?” Dad asks.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure how long the interview will take.”
“You’re going to crush it,” McKenna says, like the chronic optimist she is.
Dad nods silently. “Check in with Jace when you’re back here.”
“I will.” I finish my last bite and stand to clear my plate. Before I leave the kitchen, I lean in and hug Dad from behind while he’s still seated.
My dad’s never been a man of many words, but his face tells you everything you want to know—even when it’s shuttered. And he definitely isn’t team Carli gets the job. But he’s not stopping me, so that says something.
I’m twenty-six—old enough to run my own life.
Something happens on a ranch, though. You grow up early, and yet, in some ways you never fully grow up.
I’ve had adult responsibilities since I was old enough to make my way to the barn without getting into too much trouble.
But I still answer to my mom and brother—even now, as an adult.
I’m ready to spread my wings—as long as it doesn’t mean leaving my family in the lurch in the process.
McKenna finishes her plate and joins me in the UTV. We drive to my cottage, the misty rain making the landscape look like something out of a Jane Austen movie.
Once we’re in my cottage, the nerves about my interview ramp up. This is about to get real. I hop in the shower while McKenna makes herself at home. When my hair is dry and my makeup is on, I step into the bedroom where she’s leaning back against my headboard, scrolling her phone.
McKenna smiles and says, “Well, if your dad’s whole vibe at breakfast didn’t say send-off parade, I don’t know what would.”
“Right?” I ask, pulling a shirt off a hanger and holding it up to myself in my full-length mirror. “The idea of me getting a job is an adjustment for him.”
McKenna steps up beside me, running her hand across my shirts and eyeing each one as she does. “That one you’re holding is a no.”
“Why?”
“It says Sunday school teacher.”
“And that’s bad because … ?”
Granted, McKenna knows fashion. I know how to dress to get the job done. This isn’t a runway—it’s a county position. Still, I hesitate, studying the shirt in my hands.
She just tips her head and smirks. “Just no. You want something that screams confident woman attuned to details, not I’m great with a flannelgraph.” Then she mutters, “I forgot how much I missed a closet that isn’t a glorified cereal box.”
I hold my white, collared shirt up. “What I picked out is fine.”
“Fine is not going to impress the people interviewing you. You need something that says fire inspector.”
“Like a suit?”
“A suit, but … I don’t know. Nothing with flames, obviously.”
“How about one with an extinguisher motif across the skirt?”
“You have that?”
“Um. No.” I laugh. “Can I just dress like a normal person?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Give me a minute here.” McKenna pulls out a shirt I forgot I owned. It’s silk and professional, but not stodgy. “Here. Put that with this skirt.” She pulls out a simple brown skirt that falls mid-calf.
I try the outfit on while McKenna falls back on my mattress and rambles. “Maybe you just need to come with me to Cali next time I go.”
“What for?”
“There are lots of cute boys out there. And beaches full of them running around in swimsuits. You know?”
“I know. You toured me when I came to visit right after you started dating Westley, remember?”
“That was when I didn’t know what I was doing. Now I know all the spots. You should come.”
“If I get this job, it will be a while before I get vacation time.”
“An actual job.” She sighs. “I don’t know why anyone in their right mind would sign up for one of those.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, well, this is what I want, so please be the one person who wants it for me.”
“I do. If you want it, I want it for you. And all our friends want it for you.”
I have the best friends on earth.
I button the last button and do a twirl. McKenna rises off my bed and walks toward me, bracing my arms with her hands. “You look great. And you’ve done everything you need to be the best candidate for the job. Go get ’em.”
I smile and tug her into a hug. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she says, giving me a squeeze and stepping back.
I grab my purse, shuck on some dressy boots and we head out the door together.
I bend to grab the umbrella off the porch.
McKenna bumps her shoulder into mine. “You know you’re my sister in every way except sharing a set of parents.
Sometimes I wish you really were my sister.
I’d trade one of my brothers for you in a heartbeat. ”
“Really? Which one?” I tease.
“Depends on the day.”
I snort. “You don’t mean that.”