Chapter 5: Casey

My back ached and itched all at once. I’d been down here too long and the angle coupled with the heat was making my job as the tractor expert for Heritage Plantation—among other things—pretty fucking miserable today. Something wet and black dripped from the pipe above and landed square-center on my forehead.

“Donkey balls,” I muttered, my mood darkening even more when I realized the drip had come from a leak in the seal I’d just replaced.

“What’s that?”

I jumped at the unexpected sound of company. The black liquid smeared as my forehead dinged against the underbelly of the tractor, otherwise known as Goose. A second later, Frank’s boots appeared.

“Donkey freaking balls!” I said, loud enough there’d be no mistaking it this time.

“Oh,” was all I heard from Frank. The closest thing to a dad I had, Frank was still a bachelor at heart. Rough around the edges despite his soft center—which meant we both enjoyed a colorful range of verbal expression. I appreciated it, along with everything else he’d ever done for me, including raising me after my own parents had died in a car crash when I’d been barely out of diapers.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the thudding reverberating across the front of my skull and slid free of the tractor.

“What do you need?” I snapped, getting to my feet.

“Didn’t realize you’d still be here.” He frowned.

“Yeah, well, Goose doesn’t have enough sense to coordinate with a proper quittin’ time.” I slammed a screwdriver down on the workbench and ran a hand over my pants, trying to wipe off some of the dark stains.

Frank wasn’t exactly the rightful target of my irritation seeing as he wasn’t made out of metal, but he’d just caused me to smack my face against an oil-filled pipe. Instead of getting irritated back—Frank was way too used to my here again, gone again temper for that—he gestured to my forehead. His brows knitted, either in concentration or uncertainty as to whether he should mention it. “You’ve got, uh, something on your…”

“I know.” I swiped at the oil staining my skin. My forearm came away with a layer of sweat and engine grime streaked across it.

I sighed.

“It’s like that, huh?” Frank asked.

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly how it was—damn hot for spring and damn mystifying when it came to this ornery tractor—but the clock drew my attention before I could let loose. It was like a polar attraction between it and me. All day long, I couldn’t care less the hour or minute. But come quittin’ time, when the hour hand moved past that five, it was like an ocean siren callin’ my name. Especially on days I ended up in here with Goose.

Why couldn’t the old man just buy a new tractor already?

“Beer?” I asked, giving up on my rant in favor of a cold beverage from the small fridge I’d recycled from my old college dorm room a few years back. I didn’t wait for Frank’s answer before I tossed him one and grabbed one for myself.

He grunted, cracked it, knocked back a swig. I loved Frank’s versatile vocabulary. In answer, I mimicked him, tossing in a grunt of my own. We were both silent a moment as we contemplated the hunk of metal before us and how it all related to the meaning of life.

“Goose’s getting more ’n more stubborn,” he said at last.

“She’s a beast,” I agreed.

“I should talk to Dean. Suggest a replacement, I guess.”

More swigs. More silence. I couldn’t disagree with that. Nor could I agree outright. This tractor had been a fixture of Heritage Plantation as long as I had. If we chucked it, well, there were some days I was afraid it and me were tied. A package deal. Not that they’d chuck me but—

“There you are,” said a smooth female voice. Hers was familiar and also a fixture here for as long as this old tractor.

“Summer,” I greeted.

The bright-eyed brunette, who’d been more a sister to me than anything, smiled a hello and planted a cheery kiss on Frank’s weathered cheek. “Uncle Frank. Thought you’d gone for the day. You boys getting the weekend started early?” she asked, nodding toward our liquid ode to five pm.

“Seeing the work week off right,” I said, raising my can in salute.

Summer laughed, a bright and airy sound that had become even more enjoyable to hear in the past few months. Watching her and Ford together was always a toss-up for me. One minute I was thrilled for the girl who I knew deserved every happiness under the sun. The next, they’d be so sickly sweet, they made me wanna hurl. Nobody wanted to watch their sister make out.

Summer caught my menacing glare and the direction it was aimed in. “Goose giving you problems again?” she asked.

I scowled and Summer laughed—and quickly covered it with a cough when I glowered at her. “This pile of bones is useless,” I said.

Frank leaned toward Summer. “Which, in Casey-speak, means the problem eludes him.”

I resisted the urge to scowl again, opting instead to carry my ass to the mini-fridge and crack a new beer.

“Two bucks says it’s the master cylinder.” Summer’s tone was smug. And challenging. She knew how to get me.

I looked at her with narrowing eyes. “Two bucks is all, huh? You must not be very confident.”

Summer’s smile widened. She knew she’d won, wasn’t about the money. “Fine, twenty,” she said.

“Twenty and dinner,” I challenged.

“Twenty and a six-pack.”

I sipped my beer as we faced off. Summer’s grin never wavered. “Deal,” I finally said.

We spit and shook. Frank rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to dinner with Ford. Don’t cheat while I’m gone,” Summer warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. If you’re worried, Ford can take me to dinner and you can stay and diagnose Goose.”

“Nice try, but you would never fit into my dress.” She kissed Frank’s cheek again as he laughed. “I’ll see you later.” Her hair swung as she left and I sighed, not even sure what to call the unsettled feeling it gave me to see Summer so happy when I was …whatever I was.