Here With Me

“Huh. I see it.” I have to hand it to my little sister, she’s really good at all this crafting shit.

“I’ve got to get moving.” Mindy stands, grabbing her bag off the back of the chair. “You mind if I’m out in the rows the next few days?”

Our eyes meet. Her tan complexion is darker from the sun, making her green eyes glow, and the strands of hair curling right around her face are highlighted gold. She’s so pretty, I almost forget what she asked me.

“Ah… sure.” I clear the thickness from my throat, the memory of last night’s kiss tries to push its way to the front of my brain.

She blinks away quick when my sister stands, catching her arm. “I told you it was fine. Jay’s men aren’t coming until Monday, right Sawyer?”

Noel looks back at me, and I wave, turning to the refrigerator. “Yeah, there’s time.”

“I just need to make some sketches. I’d like to go down to Hayes pond if that’s okay?”

“Take the three-wheeler.” Noel’s voice carries out the screen door, which closes with a bang.

I turn, leaning my back against the appliance and crossing my arms over my chest as I watch them in the yard. I’ve got so much work. I’ll lose these feelings like I always do, in straining muscles, blazing heat, and stinging sweat.

If manual labor doesn’t kill it, you’re not doing it right.

“Ugh, I hate harvest.” Noel bangs through the door again, dropping into the chair and scooping up the glue gun and another gold-striped straw. “It’s already hot as Africa out there.”

“What do you know about Africa?” I take a long drink of lemonade.

“I know it has deserts, and it’s so hot people have to ride camels because horses would drop dead. And that’s just the north part.”

“It’ll be over soon. Time flies during harvest.” I see Taron pulling the truck into the lot behind the shed, and I start for the door.

“Because we barely have time to think.”

Pushing out the screen door, I shake my head. Noel always exaggerates, but in this case, she’s not far wrong. My mind drifts to Mindy in the rows sketching, and I wish I could go to her. My chest aches for her more with each passing week. It was so hard last night to keep from doing more…

But she doesn’t belong here. She’s fucking talented and smart. Hell, some of the paintings she’s shown me—figures and portraits—are really unique, emotional and edgy. They’re totally different from the Peach Festival posters, which are just mass produced and watered down for public consumption. I want to see her follow her dreams. I don’t want to see her give them up for this grueling existence.

“Hey!” Taron shouts to me from inside the shed. “Was that Mindy on the three-wheeler?”

I grab the last of the crates from the bed of the truck and toss them on the loading dock. “Yeah, why?”

He grunts as he pushes up onto the concrete slab. “Looks like she had an accident. I’ll finish here if you want to go check on her.”

“What the fuck?” Fear seizes my chest, and I’m in the cab of the Chevy before he even finishes speaking.

He shouts something behind me as I blast out of the dirt lot, but I’m not listening. I’m fighting visions of Mindy lying injured in the field or worse…

Which is completely illogical. Taron would’ve stopped if she were hurt.

I work to calm my thoughts, but it’s not easy—a reality I’m not prepared to examine too closely right now.

It takes less than two minutes for me to cross from our place into the Hayes’s old orchard, which is now full of dead trees, cow weed, and black-eyed Susans.

Dutch Hayes owned the orchard adjacent to ours for years until they over-harvested their trees. Now he and his son Digger grow cotton all the way from here to Delta. It’s a lot of cotton, but it takes a lot to make anything off that crop.

I’m over the last small hill leading to the Hayes pond when I see her and exhale heavily. Shit. She’s on her knees beside the small vehicle with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. One of the back tires is completely flat.

Dropping my speed, I park the truck close by and climb out, slamming the door. “Are you okay?”

She rises, pushing a strand of hair off her forehead. Her hands are shaking, and I cup them in mine before catching her chin, lifting her eyes as I search for signs of dilation.

“Just shook up a little.” She blinks away from my gaze. “Damn thing exploded so loud I nearly had a heart attack.”