manure shoveling.
I knew the exact moment he saw me.
He turned to stone.
Every soft line straightened, sharpened. I could feel the heat of his eyes on me from a hundred yards away, and my pulse doubled in preparation for a fight.
When he stopped at the far end of the pens and got to work without acknowledging me, he left me more confused than relieved. But not by much.
I put my back to him before filling up a blue wheelbarrow the old-fashioned way, and I tried to pretend like he wasn’t there.
The task was impossible.
I could feel his presence as if he were standing next to me. Every sound he made held my attention, my mind obsessing over what he was doing. A whisper of hay. Metal grazing metal. The pebbly sound of feed in a shovel, then the plinking against the plastic bucket for consumption.
When it got to be too much, I plodded to another section of the pen with my boots slopping in the mud. The calves followed me expectantly, so I propped my shovel against the fence and gave them a little love, watching Jake out of the corner of my eye.
He’d made it closer to me, just a couple of pens down, his muscles bunching and easing. The sun reflecting off the sheen of his skin was blinding. Or maybe that was just the effect that sort of stature demanded. Utter and complete blindness.
I’d stopped petting the albino calf, and she nudged me. Then one of her buddies gave me a push from behind, knocking me into the albino. A squeal, and I tried to move out of the way before the third shoved me in the chest.
I would have made it out of the crush too, if my boot hadn’t been stuck in the gloppy mud.
I went down like a windmill, one socked foot in the air and arms wheeling. The calf had still grazed me, and the force, combined with my graceless fall, slammed me into the ground.
My ribs quaked, my lungs empty from the shock and locked by the pain. Stunned, I watched the calves tromp around me, knowing I needed to curl up or crawl away or call for help. Only I couldn’t move or speak, too busy trying to pry open my lungs and hear past the ringing in my ears.
A sharp whistle cut through the chaos, and the calves trotted to the other side of the pen. The sun hammered me into the mud.
Breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t—
Shade cast over me, and I cracked my eyes to see a silhouette of Jake against the crisp blue sky.
He gathered me to sit, bracing my body against his and inspecting me as best he could. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. “Can’t … breathe …”
“You can, just look at me.”
When I met his eyes, I would have told him that was the dumbest thing he’d ever suggested, provided I could speak. Because it was impossible to breathe with his face inches from mine. His eyes were narrowed in concern, the green of his irises crisp and vibrant, even in the shade. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. I was probably hallucinating. No one could be this perfect, every feature symmetric and aligned. He had to have a flaw besides his shitty attitude. Hairy ears, maybe.
When he turned his head to check my limbs, I noted his stupid ears were perfect too.
Jerk.
“Slow breaths. That’s it.” With his free hand, he checked my ribs.
I wriggled in his arms, coughing instead of laughing. “Stop it,” I rasped. “Laughing hurts.”
I caught a flicker of a smile as he sat me up all the way and let me go. “You could have been hurt, you know. Where’s your shoe?” he asked with his brow quirked.
“Over there.”
The errant boot stood in the mud like a soldier who’d been abandoned at its post.
“You got knocked out of your boots?”
I shrugged and hauled myself up to stand. “I’m disappointed. I’ve always wanted my socks knocked off, so this feels like a real fail.”
“What are you even doing in here?”
“Filming,” I said as I inspected myself, my hands covered in mud and worse.
He set the boot next to my socked foot, which I hadn’t had the courage to fully plant in the mud. “You should have asked me.”
I shot him a dirty look. “I don’t need your permission.”
“Not for that—you’re doing it wrong.”
“I’m shoveling wrong?”
“First, your shovel’s too long for your height. And with that handle, you’re working harder than you