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Tess crept across the darkened yard and slipped into the chicken pen, latching the gate behind her. Sighing, exhausted, she plunged her hand into the burlap sack and scooped up a fistful of grain.
"Here, chicky-chicky-chicky," she called, scattering the golden kernels across the shadowy yard. Dozens of birds ran into one another, squeezing together in a great, feathered mass in their haste to peck the fallen grain.
Tess stared at the cluster of birds without seeing them. Her mind was a million miles away. Jack? she thought for the thousandth time today. Where are you7
She was so deep in thought, it took her a moment to notice the sound. She paused, listening.
&
nbsp; Footsteps.
Jack!
Tess spun around, accidentally dropping the bag of grain in her haste. Corn spilled across her feet. Birds surged toward her, ringing her skirts and pecking feverishly at her feet.
She immediately dropped to her knees and started scraping the grain back into the bag. "What are you doing?"
Tess heard Jack's scratchy, angry voice and thought it was the most wonderful sound she'd ever heard. She'd been so worried.... Smiling, she looked up.
He was standing about ten feet away from her, legs braced in a fighter's stance, arms crossed. Pale moonlight silhouetted his body, outlining the tired droop of his shoulders. His face was a dark void beneath an even darker hat. Tess opened her mouth to speak, and was surprised to find a lump in her throat. "Hi, Jack," she said quietly. "We missed you."
"How ... how long was I gone?"
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Tess felt a momentary confusion at the question. Her eyes narrowed, focused on the shadowy area of his face.
He sighed, and it was the tiredest, oldest sound she'd ever heard. "Fine, don't answer me. I don't give a shit."
That's when Tess knew. He wasn't mocking or taunting or teasing her. He was asking her a real, honest-to-God question. He didn't know how long he'd been gone. And he was scared.
"I think you left just before dawn ... today."
His shoulders sagged downward. Another ragged sigh escaped him. "Thanks. So, what are you doing out this
late?"
"Feeding the chickens."
"At this hour?"
"I ... I couldn't sleep."
His shadow shifted slightly. "Why not?"
Tess grabbed a handful of skirt and scrambled awkwardly to her feet. She wanted to move toward him, wanted to touch him and reassure herself that he was really back. But she didn't move. She forced herself to remain perfectly still. "You were out."
"So?"
"So ... I was worried."
"Ha!" His burst of laughter was as sharp as glass, and filled with a pain so deep and drenching, Tess felt ill. He pivoted, heel grinding into the gravelly dirt, and strode
away.
Toward the barn. Damn.