What the hell is that?

Hayden isn’t in bed with me.

It’s dawn, early. The sun is just coming up, and I get up and walk to the window and narrow my eyes . . . huh?

Am I seeing this right?

Mist is rolling around on the ground, and Hayden is driving a huge-ass tractor across a paddock and into the distance. There’s a dog sitting on her lap.

What the fuck?

She drives a tractor? And . . . dogs ride on tractors?

Fucking hell, what next?

I go downstairs and make myself a cup of coffee and take a shower. The sun is fully up now, and Hayden still isn’t back.

I open the front door, and another huge dog is lying across the front of the doorway.

“You’re a log of a dog,” I mutter as I step over it. “What’s wrong with you, too fat to climb on the tractor?” I walk out into the paddock and look around; the sun is shining, and the birds are chirping. Even I have to admit it is pretty beautiful out here. I walk in the direction that Hayden drove to. I wonder where she is.

Fifteen minutes later I come over the top of the hill to see the tractor stopped and Hayden and a bit of a fuss going on.

What are they doing up there?

I narrow my eyes to try to focus. I think that’s Harvey too . . . hmm, I can’t turn around now. They’ve seen me already.

Oh well. If he hates me, he hates me.

I walk closer and closer, and I have no idea what’s going on up here.

A cow is lying on its side, leg up in the air, and all the cows in the paddock are crying out as they watch.

This is so strange . . . I keep walking, and as I get closer, I see Hayden is down on her knee beside the cow.

What’s she doing?

Oh . . .

My eyes widen in horror.

Hayden has her arm up a cow’s ass to the armpit . . . or is it a vagina . . . or is it . . .

I feel the blood drain out of my face as my knees go woozy.

I don’t feel so . . .

HAYDEN

Thump . . .

“For fuck’s sake,” Dad moans.

I glance up to see Christopher hit the ground hard as he faints.

I get the giggles as I try to turn the calf. “Go help him.”

“No, Hayden,” he replies dryly.

“Dad, I’m kind of busy here.”

“I don’t have time for his pretty boy bullshit,” he mutters as he walks toward Christopher, who is still out cold.

“Whoa, girl,” I whisper as I get the calf in position. “This will help you.”

I watch as Dad bends to Christopher, and I smile as I watch him gently slap his face.

I’m going to hang back and see what happens.

Christopher comes to and sits up. “You okay, babe?” I call.

He nods, embarrassed.

“He’s fine,” Dad calls. He grabs Christopher’s head and looks in his hair and says something that I can’t hear.

Christopher shrugs him off. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he scoffs.

I roll my lips to hide my smile.

“This damn fool needs stitches in his head,” Dad calls.

“Oh no.” I stand.

“You stay there,” Dad calls as he helps Christopher to his feet. “I’ll take him into town.”

I stare at them for a moment as I do an internal risk assessment. Okay . . . I need to let them do this. If they fight it out, they fight it out. I have faith that they will come to appreciate each other.

“Is that all right?” I call. “I can’t leave her.”

Christopher nods, and I jog over to him. He has a trickle of blood dripping down onto his shirt from the back of his head. “Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride.” He shrugs.

My dad throws his head back and laughs out loud, and I try not to laugh, I really do, but I fail miserably.

“I’m glad you two think this is so funny,” Christopher snaps. “I have internal bleeding. Perhaps an aneurysm is coming on.”

“Dad will look after you.” I smile.

“Will he, though?” Christopher widens his eyes.

“Come back in the house, boy. I’ll stitch you up,” Dad teases. “Got a needle and thread in the first aid box.”

I bite my lip to stop myself laughing out loud.

“There is no way in hell you are touching my fucking head, you maniac. I need a specialist plastic surgeon. And don’t call me boy!” Christopher yells.

Dad laughs harder as he holds Christopher up by the arm. He’s still woozy and maybe a little concussed. “You’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.”

I go back to the cow and kneel down beside her. Everything should progress with her as planned now that the calf has been turned.

I could take Christopher to the hospital myself . . . but I won’t.

They need this.

It’s 11:00 a.m., and I am freshly showered. I’ve done a load of washing and am waiting for Christopher to get back from the hospital. Dad called me while he was getting his stitches put in. He’s fine, and they should be home soon.

I have one week to make Dad see in Christopher what I do. I’m just not sure exactly how to do that. It took me living with Christopher for three months to finally see his true colors.

And what beautiful colors they are.

Knock, knock sounds on the door.

Why is he knocking? “It’s open,” I call. I pull the clothes out of the dryer and into the basket and walk out into the living area and stop in my tracks.

Regi is standing there.

The air leaves my lungs. This is the first time I’ve seen him since he broke my heart three years ago.

He’s older, broader . . .

“Hello, Haze.” He smiles hopefully.

I frown, too shocked to speak.

He steps toward me. “You look . . .” He swallows a lump in his throat. “Beautiful.”

“What are you doing here?” I frown.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“I think about you all the time.”

I hear my angry heartbeat in my ears. “Don’t.”

“Do you ever think of me?”

“No,” I spit.

I mean, I did . . . every damn day, until I met Christopher.

Not anymore.

“I miss you . . . ,” he whispers.

“What?” I screw up my face.

“I was young, Haze.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know what I had.”

The door bangs, and Christopher walks in. My heart does stop this time.

Fuck.