Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Fourteen Years Before
Raine
“ S hould we check on the kid, Little Duck?” my Papaw asks from beside me.
The two of us are swaying together on the porch swing, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun, as he shares stories with me from when he was younger. He learned a lot about raising goats as a teen and explained how he had helped with sixty-seven births before he left the nest. I’m amazed at that number, especially since I gained my first experience this morning at the age of fourteen.
“Yeah, and her name is Anastasia.” I smile proudly and hop off the swing.
“I like that name!” Mamaw hollers from behind the screen door, which makes my smile grow. “It suits her.”
Before we’re off the front porch, a familiar orange boxy truck makes its way down the gravel driveway. Cliff Ferrell, Papaw’s best friend, always shows up at the farm on the weekends. He has always felt like a bonus grandpa.
“Cliff.” Papaw tilts his head in greeting as Cliff hops out of the driver's side. His bushy dark brows lift with humor as he gives Papaw a wave. “Did you come by to bring me back that trolley jack?”
“Actually, I did.” Cliff chuckles and moves toward the bed of his truck, Papaw following behind him. “It only took you twenty times of reminding me until I remembered.”
“I only needed it six months ago,” Papaw teased.
I take a seat on the front steps, knowing this conversation will last a while. Movement from inside the truck catches my attention, and I see a boy in the passenger seat. I can’t quite see his face from the reflection on the windshield, but I’m curious as to who he is. Cliff never brought someone with him before, besides his wife occasionally.
Before I can get a better look, Mamaw opens the screen door, drying her hands with a towel, and says, “Raine, would you care to gather the eggs for me?”
I nod in response before hopping off the porch and making my way to the fence that leads to the chicken coop. Daisy, our six-month-old Great Pyrenees pup, follows close behind me, and I’m thankful because I might need some reinforcements when I encounter Lucy the rooster. I’m not sure what it is about the warmer seasons, but Lucy gets extra protective over his hens. And he terrifies me.
I grab a scoop of chicken feed, open the coop’s doors, and toss the feed onto the ground. After I make sure all the chickens are distracted by food, I slip into the coop and gather a basketful of colorful eggs. I love seeing them all together—hues of olive greens, light blues, dark browns, light browns, and whites.
As I’m admiring some of the speckled eggs, I catch movement at the door and look up to see Lucy’s red face peek through. His beady eyes see me, and he wastes no time before charging at me. I let out a scream that I’m sure everyone hears back at the house. As I rush outside, I try my best to avoid his sharp beak .
But I don’t get too far before I hit something hard, stunning me for a moment. “Ouch!” I grunt and reach up to rub the throbbing pain on my forehead. I look up to see just what I ran into, and suddenly, I forget all about the pain as it is replaced with butterflies in my stomach.
Standing in front of me is a boy I've never met before. He must be the person I noticed sitting in Cliff’s truck. What’s he doing out here? I look over at the farmhouse and catch Mamaw laughing and giving me two thumbs up.
She planned this. Maybe not the part of me running into him, but as I see her watching us joyfully, she knew what she was doing. Thanks, Mamaw, I think as I roll my eyes.
My eyes scan him, taking in the way his seem more green than brown, his hair is a golden-brown color and is parted in the middle and swooping on either side of his head, and he is covered in egg yolk.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” I squeal, my hand smacking against my mouth and eyes growing wide with embarrassment.
He stares at me for a moment before shaking his head slightly and looking down at his navy-blue hoodie. He goes to wipe away the yolk, but my hand has a mind of its own, because I grab his wrist to stop him. I don’t miss the way my fingers buzz at the touch of his skin.
“I, uh…” My voice cracks, and I try to cough away my nerves and drop my hold on his wrist. “There’s a towel in the barn. Follow me, and we’ll clean you up. I mean, you—you can clean yourself up.”
I would smack myself in the forehead if I knew it wouldn’t cause the throbbing that’s already there to grow. What is wrong with me? Do I not know how to talk to a boy? A very hot boy, might I add.
The boy grins slightly, and I forget what I am doing. He waits patiently for me, as if that grin didn’t do something to my heart. What was I doing? Oh yeah, the barn!
I motion for him to follow me, needing desperately to turn away from his gorgeous face and what that dimple is doing to me. Once we reach the barn, I push open the door and walk to the tote of towels we had ready for this morning’s birth adventure. I turn to hand him a towel and feel my mouth drop as he takes off his hoodie.
My eyes travel down his torso, catching the sliver of skin that is revealed as his shirt lifts up just a bit, and it takes everything in me to avert my attention somewhere else. He straightens the dark-gray shirt he’s wearing underneath, tossing his inside-out hoodie over his shoulder, and gives me a wide smile that reveals a set of metal braces over his teeth. This boy even makes braces look attractive.
“Don’t worry, it can be washed,” he says, his voice surprisingly deeper than I expected it to be, and my knees suddenly feel weak. Stupid teenage hormones. Get a grip, Raine!
He tosses a thumb over his shoulder. “Your grandma asked me to help you. Something about an evil rooster?”
“Uh, yeah. Lucifer—Lucy for short—is very protective over his ladies, and for some reason, he hates me.”
He chuckles and turns to look out the barn door. “Is he that tiny rooster?”
I nod my head as he looks back at me, the heat rising onto my ears. “Yup,” I answer, popping the P and rocking forward onto the balls of my feet.
Lucy is a bantam barnyard mix. Basically, he’s a tiny wannabe rooster. It might be why he is so hateful and trying to show his dominance. My grandparents have him and a few bantam hens in our flock to breed and sell them. Surprisingly, they’re a popular breed, even though their eggs are the size of a quail egg, which in my opinion is a waste of food. It takes three of their eggs to make one regular egg.
Lucy lets out a miniature crow, and the boy chuckles, returning his attention back to me. “He sounds so fearsome. I can see why you’re terrified.”
I roll my eyes and bite my lip to keep from grinning. “He tries to prove that he isn’t a waste of poultry. I only pretend to be scared to help him win the hens over, and in return, it helps the farm out.”
“You’re such a good Samaritan,” he adds and looks outside for a second time to watch Lucy chase off Daisy, who runs away quickly, whining loudly. Coward. He laughs, and it’s the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard.
I look down at my muddy rain boots because looking at him is making my stomach feel like it’s flopping around inside of me. I peer down at what I’m wearing and realize how much of a mess I must look right now. I wipe away the dirt that has collected on my jeans, straighten my light-pink tank top, and run my fingers down my long braid.
Once I dare to look back at him, he is staring at me. His grin is gone now, replaced with parted full lips and widened eyes. If I felt self-conscious before, it only grows with remembering how close we’re standing to one another.
“I, uh—” I cough away the thick feeling in my throat. “I’m a mess. I’ve been working all morning.” I motion to my body, biting my lip, feeling uncomfortable in a good sort of way with how his eyes follow my movement.
“I— I’m Raine, by the way. Earl’s granddaughter,” I say fast, wanting to change the subject.
That earns another smile from him. “I’m Ryland Quinn.”
Ryland. I like that name. I will probably be doodling Mrs. Ryland Quinn on my notebooks later because I’m crushing hard on him. How could I not? My face must be beet red with my growing nerves.
“Would you like to come see a baby goat?” I ask without thinking. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. “She was born this morning.”
“Yeah, sure,” he replies and follows behind me as I lead us through the barn.
“So…how do you know Cliff?” I ask, yearning to know more about hi m.
Ryland’s lips pull into a smirk. “He’s my grandpa.”
“Are you just visiting?” I add and pray that he is here to stay.
His smirk falls, and his shoulders sag with it, as if that question holds some weight. “No. No, I think I’m here to stay for a while—according to my mom, anyway.”
I want to pump my fist into the air and shout, “Yes!” but I fight against it, and instead, I say calmly, “You don’t sound too happy about that.”
“I’m not, honestly. I had a life back in Utah,” he adds. “It’s hard to start over.”
“I wish I could start over most days,” I admit honestly.
We stop walking, and I turn to face him in front of the pen. He studies me for a second, taking me in again. I fidget awkwardly by smoothing my braid across my shoulder and tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear. He fights back a smile and turns his attention to the pen that is in front of us now.
I pull back the gate and lead him inside, pointing to the new baby kid with her mama. I motion for him to follow me as I make my way toward them and bend down to give Anastasia a quick pet.
“What are their names?” he asks as he bends down next to me. I catch a whiff of his scent, sunshine and mint , and wish I could bottle it up and sniff it later while I’m alone. Okay, I am acting weird and need to contain myself.
“This is Esmeralda,” I answer and point to the mother. “And I named this little girl Anastasia.”
He raises a brow, and I study his eyes now that he’s closer. They’re an enchanting shade of hazel with flecks of gold mixed with green and light brown. A beam of sunlight from a crack in the wood of the barn is hitting his irises, making them even lighter, and my stomach drops.
“Those are interesting names,” he ponders. “I like them.”
I smile and look down at Anastasia. “I like old-fashioned names. ”
“Hmm,” he makes an agreeing sound as he pets Esmeralda. “You did a good job, Mama.”
“That she did. I got to watch the whole thing, even assisted in helping to pull Anastasia out. She was giving her mama a bit of trouble, but she got here safely.”
Ryland looks at me and seems to be impressed. He holds a shy smile on his face as he looks back toward the goats. This causes a flicker of bravery to overcome me.
“You know, since you're new in town, if you need a friend… I mean, if you even want a friend, that is… I just, uh… I’m always happy to make new friends is all.” If I could shrink down and hide away from him right now, oh I would. That was not how I wanted to ask him to be my friend, and embarrassment squeezes against my throat.
“Yeah?” he marvels, his face beaming, helping to ease my nerves a bit.
“Yeah….if you want.” My voice rises up a notch on the last word, and I shrug to appear more relaxed than I am at this moment. If he could hear my heart right now, it would give away the panic inside me.
“I’d like that,” he states, like it’s the easiest thing to say, and it fills my heart with so much joy. However, that joy is sucked away the moment the barn doors swing open and reveal Davis, my mother’s boyfriend, snarling toward us.
“There you are!” He spits and stomps his way toward me. He looks over at Ryland, runs his eyes up and down him as if accusing him of something, and then reaches down and grabs my arm.
I notice Ryland flinch next to me before shooting a heated glare at Davis.
Davis jerks me up and starts dragging me toward the barn door. “Your mother has been honking for you. Can you not hear? We don’t have all morning to be waiting on you to be in here flirting with some boy.”
If I thought I was embarrassed before, this moment has set a new record. Of course this would happen. It’s my life after all, and this sort of thing happens a lot. The farm is my only safe space, and the weekends are the only time I am truly happy.
Ryland stands up and clenches his fists. His eyes land on Davis’ hand on my arm before snapping toward mine. I try my best to give him a smile that says 'I'm okay ' but I think it falls flat. Giving him a wave goodbye, Davis pulls me toward the farmhouse
My mother is sitting in the driver's seat of the rusting green Honda Accord, pushing her hand against the horn before holding her head out of the window to yell at me to hurry up. That she doesn’t have all day. She never seems to have time for me. I wish so badly that she would allow me to live with my grandparents, but for some reason, she holds onto me, even though she makes me feel like the world's biggest inconvenience most days.
I look behind me and see Ryland closing the barn doors and following us to the house. Once we get closer to Cliff and Papaw, Davis makes sure to release his grip on my arm. Papaw’s eyes pierce into mine, holding a soundless question of You okay? I shrug my shoulders and open the back door to the car.
“Call me if you need anything, Little Duck,” he tells me before wrapping his arms around me tightly.
“I will,” I whisper and fight back tears.
It’s always hard to leave the farm and to return to my normal life. I can see it written all over Papaw’s face that he wants nothing more than for me to stay. But things are complicated, and Mom holds all of the authority since my birth father, their son, passed away before I was born. I often wonder what life would have been like if my father hadn’t died. Would it be better?
I dare a look at Ryland, who stands next to the orange truck and watches me closely. He holds a knowing look on his face, a silent understanding, as if he grasps how I feel in this moment. This recognition only makes him more appealing to me.
“I’ll see you around,” he says, and I hear a hint of a promise in his voice.
“Come on, Raine!” Mom hollers from inside of the car, and I force myself to slide into the seat and shut the door.