The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(7)

He stares at me, and I can almost hear his brain misfiring as it freaks out.

“When do you leave?” Jameson asks.

“Next Saturday.”

“That soon?”

They all fall silent as they process.

“Well . . .” Tristan slaps me on the back. “It was nice knowing you, brother.”





Finger Lakes district, Orange County Harrington Angus Cattle Station





HAYDEN


I drive the tractor over the paddock. The large wheels bump as I go over the creek between the two paddocks and back toward the house.

I smile into the late-afternoon sun and reach over to pat Nev’s head. He’s one of our trusty cattle dogs and my personal favorite. He sits proudly up on the ledge beside me as we do a final round of the farm.

As usual, the day has been crazy. Three heifers are in calf, and we’ve all been running in circles. As the only child of a farming family, I work hard, helping to run things around here, and there’s a lot to run. We have a three-thousand-acre farm with over five hundred Angus cattle. Thankfully we have staff, but the workload seems to never slow down.

I turn the corner toward the house to see my mom waving me over. I pull the tractor alongside her. “Hey.”

She taps her watch. “What are you doing?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“We have so much to do. Remember we’re going shopping?”

I exhale as I jump down from the tractor. “Mom . . .”

“Seriously, Hayden, you leave in two days. Stop worrying about the damn farm.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking. I don’t really need to go anymore.”

“Hayden.” She grabs my shoulders and turns me toward the house. “You booked this trip two years ago.” She gives me a gentle push. “You are going.”

“Yeah, but I was newly brokenhearted when I booked it. I’m not now. I’m going to call the travel agent and try and get my money back. The timing’s not right now.”

“You’re just nervous,” she says. “Stop talking yourself out of it.”

I’ve been sick to the stomach for days. Traveling to the other side of the world alone when I’ve hardly left the house in two years seems utterly ridiculous.

Nervous doesn’t come close.

I’m terrified.

“I don’t want to leave you and Dad in the lurch. I’m needed here. What if something happens when I’m gone?”

“Honey.” Mom smiles up at me. “What Dad and I need is for you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“Driving tractors? Birthing cows?” Her eyes search mine. “Most of your friends have left town and got married.”

“So? I don’t care.”

“You don’t even go out anymore.”

I get a lump in my throat because I know she’s right.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hayden.” She smiles. “There are exciting things just waiting for you out there.”

I nod.

“And you are going to be brave and go out into the big wide world and make new friends and laugh and live and not worry about damn cows.”

My eyes well with tears, and I shrug. “I’m just . . .”

“I know, baby, you’re scared.” She gives me a soft smile. “But I’m more scared for you if you stay here through your youth without knowing what’s out there.” She pulls me into a hug. “This farm will always be here waiting for you, Hayden. But . . . he’s waiting for you too.”

“Who is?” I frown.

“Your sweetheart. He’s out there somewhere. I just know it.”

I roll my eyes. “Mom, I’m not going to meet the love of my life in a backpackers’ hostel, I can assure you that.”

“You never know. There’s lots of good wholesome farm boys out there.”

“I guess.” I smirk. “We do need a vet.”

“That’s the spirit.” She links her arm through mine, and we begin to walk to the house. “Or a diesel mechanic would come in handy. Those damn tractors are high maintenance.”

I giggle. “True.”

“A fencer would be great,” she adds.

I laugh. I imagine bringing some poor unsuspecting man home and my father making him build fences for days.

“Let’s go buy you some date dresses.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I act offended.

We both look down at my tight jeans, checked shirt, and steel-capped boots covered in cow doo. “I’m the epitome of high fashion, Mom.” I put my hands on my hips and do a little sashay.

She widens her eyes. “Not really Spanish, though, are they?”





CHRISTOPHER

“And this is it, the BlackWolf Nomad.” The salesman smiles proudly. “The bees’ knees of backpacks.”

I stare at the huge oversize backpack.

“Thank you, we’ll let you know if we need any help with it,” Elliot replies.

The salesman walks off, and I unzip the pack. “Zipper works well.”

“I don’t see how anyone could possibly walk around with that shit on their backs,” Elliot whispers. “What would it weigh when filled? Like, twenty kilograms?”