Rae sighed. “Some of your friends have grandsons from hell. Those delinquents aren’t a representative sampling of all teenage boys.”
Her father weighed the observation, clearly unconvinced. “Has Quinn left anything else around the property?” he asked.
“I haven’t looked.” There wasn’t time in her schedule. If Quinn had littered the pasture with silk flowers and strung trinkets from half the trees in the forest, they’d go undiscovered until spring.
“I’ll scout the farm tomorrow. See if he’s left other surprises.”
The suggestion lifted her brows. “I work late tomorrow. I’d prefer if you didn’t roam free. Let’s check the property some other day—together. Do your power walk inside tomorrow, five laps around the living room. Follow the ‘short leash’ rule.”
“Stuff it, Rae. Try keeping me on a leash, and I’ll string you up by your toenails.” Connor’s mouth curved wryly. He enjoyed the thrust and parry of their small disagreements more than his daily power walk. “I’m not old. I’m mature. There’s a difference.”
A predictable retort, and she chuckled. “You left ‘mature’ ten miles back. You’re speeding toward ‘ancient.’ Mangy cats shed less hair than you. Face it, Dad. You need a leash.”
“Go pop a chocolate, Rae. You’re sassy when your sugar’s low.”
“I’ve already done the sugar buzz, thank you very much. Yuna’s treat. We stopped at Dixon’s.”
Anticipation flashed across Connor’s face. “Did you bring anything for me?”
The hopeful query pricked her with guilt. Too often, they resorted to snacking.
“Let’s go inside. We’ll find something for dinner.” Something nutritious, she decided. It was shameful how often she allowed him to throw fries into the microwave or settle for a bowl of cereal for dinner. There hadn’t been fresh fruit in the house since October. Since the night their lives were thrown into free fall.
Shadows lengthened in the barn. Rae knew her father wouldn’t allow her to take his arm until they reached the threshold and the hard-packed snow. Giving him privacy, she walked ahead. Out of habit, Connor glanced in each of the stalls. He flicked the lights on and off, as if proper illumination mattered in a building they’d largely abandoned.
Rae paced in a lazy circle. Her gaze alighted on the Kubota tractor parked near the wall.
Engine oil dotted the barn’s earthen floor. Like Connor’s workbench, the grime on the tractor was gone. Every inch of the Kubota’s bright-orange surface had been buffed to a high sheen. Breathless, she lifted the hood to check the dipstick.
Connor appeared at her side. “Quinn changed the oil?”
“Yeah.”
“He did a fine job, polishing the old girl. I’ll bet he changed the filter too. His father is no one’s favorite human being, but he is the best mechanic in three counties. Quinn would know to do both.” Connor watched her jam the dipstick back into place. “I may need to revise my opinion of the boy.”
“Please don’t.” Her emotions toward Quinn were complicated; her feelings about his parents even more so. If he began doing odd jobs around the farm, it would add to her unease.
“You’re the one who said not all teenage boys are delinquents. Maybe Quinn has more good inside than we know.”
“I’m sure he does, but I was speaking in general terms.” Rae shut the hood. “I didn’t mean to put crazy ideas in your head about offering him a job.”
“There’s a lot around the property in need of fixing.” Connor’s greedy eyes swept the barn. “A boy his age can do a man’s work. I’m too old to handle most of the chores, and you don’t have the time.”
“Quinn already has a job working part-time for Yuna.” Rae patted her father’s grizzled cheek. “And I thought you were mature, not old.”
“Yuna doesn’t have a monopoly on the kid’s time. He might be looking for extra work.” Connor thumped his fist on the hood. “I’ll get going on a to-do list.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Thwarting further discussion, Rae steered him from the barn.
Chapter 3
February sailed in on flirtatiously sunny skies.
The warming temperatures only managed to lower Rae’s spirits. She was tired of shoveling snow and wearing enough layers for life on the tundra, but she dreaded the upcoming spring. Then summer, which would serve as a reminder of the loss she had yet to process.