for the post driver yet.”
He threw the bale through the loft opening, the loud thud echoing through the wooden rafters.
He reached for the next bale on the pile without waiting for me to answer.
“Kaylee is awake,” I said to his back.
Travis stopped his arm mid reach, his glove resting flat on the rough twine.
“Did she say anything about last night?” Travis asked softly.
“She put the red rose in a glass jar of water,” I said.
Travis looked down at his leather boots, the white frost clinging to the rounded toes.
“I will be down at the south pasture if she needs anything,” he said. “I am not running off.”
At half past eight, Kaylee came out onto the farmhouse porch wearing her maroon booster club sweatshirt over her denim jeans.
She held a steaming ceramic mug of tea with both hands, resting her elbows
