Chapter 10
Cody
I learned long ago, never to wrestle with a pig.
You get dirty, and besides, the pig likes it.
~ George Bernard Shaw
Driving home from work, the promise and stirrings of spring are everywhere, from the songs of the birds to the shoots of daffodils pushing through the hardened earth. Buds swell on the trees and fat drops of rain splat on my windshield, too big to ignore, but too sporadic to justify the wipers.
I’m tired in a way that makes me restless. If I go home and try to sleep, I’m liable to throw my back out from tossing and turning.
One of the perks of having ranchers as friends is the hours we keep. I know I’m not waking Jace when I call him. He’s been up for at least three hours by now.
“Hey, Cody,” he answers. He sounds distracted and all business.
I can’t help but think back on the years we spent running around our properties, riding horses, building bridges across creeks no one else ever even knew existed. Life had no deadlines or expectations.
“Hey, man. I’m just getting off shift.”
“I wish I could talk,” he says. Then he covers the mouthpiece and says, “Watch that gilt in pen three,” and then he’s back to me. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“No problem. You’re at work.”
“And home.” He chuckles a wry laugh. “The two bleed like watercolor around here.”
“I know.”
“Sorry. It’s been a morning,” he apologizes. “Farrowing started early. It’s all hands. I’ve got a few gilts who are first-timers.”
“I’m on my way,” I say without hesitation.
“You just got off shift. You should go home and rest.”
“Can’t,” I say.
“Seriously. We’ve got this, Cody.”
“What would you do for me if we were running thin at the ranch?”
Jace is quiet for a beat before he relents. “Suit yourself.”
I pull into the driveway and park along the railing, walking over to the farrowing barn. A man could do worse things with his morning than spend it with a bunch of newborn piglets.
The barn is active—movement everywhere, sows laboring, Chet calling for help. There’s this indescribable hum that settles whatever was restless in me.
Carli’s bent over in a stall. She’s in full ranch mode—sleeves rolled, hair messy, a look of contented exhaustion in her features.
“Morning!” I shout.
“Hey, Cody,” Chet says. “Glad you’re here. I’m about to go run the feeders in the barn.”
“Put me to work,” I say to all three of them.
“Hose down stall eleven,” Jace says without skipping a beat.
I walk toward the stall, “So that’s how it’s going to be? I come to pitch in and you put me on manure duty.” I chuckle. Jace meets my eyes and shakes his head.
I turn on the hose and start prepping the stall for the next occupant.
The sow a few stalls over squeals. The noise is sharp, distressed—even more than is usual for labor.
“She’s down longer than I expected,” Jace says quickly to Carli. “Eight out. She’s probably got at least two more.”
Jace approaches the pen, crouches, watching for a few seconds.
“We’ve got a stalled labor!” He shouts the announcement, but his movements are calm and precise.
I turn off the hose and stride over to the pen.
Carli’s already grabbing gloves and lube.
“Get the piglets into the box,” she says to me.
I pick the first one up as she grabs another. We clear airways, wipe each piglet, and set them under the heat lamps out of the mother’s way while Jace stays with the sow, his hand feeling for the remaining litter.
“I’ve got one—stuck,” Jace says calmly. “Secure her head.”
I step over to the sow, bracing one of my forearms along the side of her neck. Using my body weight, I lean to block her from thrashing or rolling.
“Good morning,” I say softly to the pig. “Don’t stress, big girl. We’ve got you.”
“Time her contractions, Carli,” Jace says.
The sow shifts and struggles under my arm. My muscles bunch. Sweat beads on my brow as I pin her down for her own good. She outweighs me and Jace combined, and she’s not making this easy.
Jace twists the piglet. The sow lets out a sharp squeal and thrashes under my arm.
I lean with all my weight, locking her down, stabilizing all five hundred pounds of agitated mother pig.
She grunts with effort. We stay with her.
Jace at one end, me at the other. The labor stretches on longer than normal.
Finally, Jace pulls the piglet out—eyes shut, limp, breathing weakly.
He sits back on his haunches, wiping the sweat off his brow with his sleeve.
Jace hands the newborn to Carli. She clears the airway, rubs its cute little pink body vigorously until the breath steadies and it starts rooting around.
Jace and I stay focused on the sow. The next piglet slips out quickly. And the mother’s breathing slows almost instantly.
Chet appears in the doorway at the end of the aisle. “Vet’s here, Jace!”
“I’ll be right out,” he says, taking one last look around the stall. “Ten piglets. I think we’re good here.”
He pulls the gloves off inside out and drops them into a bucket outside the stall.
“Keep an eye on her,” he says to me and Carli. Then to her, he adds, “Log the time.” His tone is controlled, satisfied, tired.
Not one shred of the boy who collected frogs at the creekside remains in his countenance today. He’s the man of this farm.
Jace strolls silently down the aisle out into the misty morning air.
The sow’s breath is slow and even. Carli starts lifting the piglets out of the box and they immediately root around to start nursing. I stand back, watching her.
She’s beautiful, even here, in the middle of this rural scene, covered in hay and mud, tufts of hair sticking out from her braid. Maybe she’s even more beautiful here than anywhere else on earth.
When all ten piglets are placed, she stands to join me.
I look over my shoulder, checking where Jace is. Carli and I are alone. He’s occupied.
The only sounds in the barn are the hum of the heat lamps, the suckling of piglets and the random snort or snuffle from surrounding pens.
Carli’s standing close to me, maybe unaware of how close she is—staring down at the mother and her litter with a soft smile on her face.
Her presence feels like an invitation. This moment, my opportunity.
She turns and smiles up at me. And then our eyes hold—something shifting from warmth to recognition. My skin hums with awareness—of her, this moment, the risk of crossing a line we’ve both honored for years.
I can’t. And I can’t not.
“Cody?” she says softly.
“Hmmm?” I hum, our eyes searching each other.
Do you want me? I silently ask her. Is this as real for you as it is for me?
A smile slowly dawns on her face.
I glance over my shoulder again, and then I reach over. “You’ve got straw …” I pluck a piece out of her hair and hold it up as evidence of why I touched her.
Carli freezes, her breath stilling. Her smile grows. She knows. My hand returns for more hay, even though there isn’t any. She leans into my touch just the slightest. Her cheek settling into my palm.
I take a step toward her and hold myself still. If I walk away now, our worlds will remain as they always have been.
Instead, I slowly move my mouth toward hers, waiting for a protest—any sign from her to stop me.
My lips brush over hers, light, tentative, as if the gentleness could make it less potent.
As soon as her skin meets mine, all thought of where we are, who we are, and who might see us disappears.
I pull away, but only enough to put inches between us.
That can’t be all. The brush of her lips against mine was a taste of heaven after a lifetime of wanting her—too brief to satisfy either of us.
She releases a sigh. Her eyes are shut and she tips her head up, seeking me.
I return for more. One more. I’d give anything to linger.
The sound of a truck door slamming shut outside the barn snaps both of us back into reality. Carli jumps back, tucking her hair behind her ears, dropping to her knees in front of the nursing litter.
“Sorry,” I mutter. Though, I’m not—not really. I nearly fall to my knees next to her, but I pocket my hands and stay put.
I stare at her, my breath ragged, skin too hot. She’s still Carli—beautiful, familiar, unaware of how easily she undoes me. But nothing about the air between us feels the same.
“It’s fine,” she says, not meeting my gaze.
I want to say more—so much more—but Jace’s boots clunk on the concrete floor, heading our way.
“She okay?” Jace asks, and for a beat I wonder if he’s referring to his sister.
“She’s doing great,” Carli says, looking over her shoulder at Jace, her eyes catching mine before returning to the piglets.
“I’d better get going,” I say. “Unless you need me to hang around.”
“Thanks for coming,” Jace says. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t.”
I nod. “Well, I’ll see you two later.”
“See you,” Carli says without looking at me.
“Later, Chuck,” I say softly.
Then I turn and walk out of the barn.