Page 42 of Cattle Stop

And, that’s enough staring at him, cause now Whit’s looking back. Catching his eye and Cooper feels his cheeks flush.

Quickly, he shoves Drew. And he might be shorter than Drew, but he’s stronger, dammit, and he gets his shoulder against Drew’s waist and stands, lifting Drew clear off his feet. “I’m gonna leave you in the hayloft. Make you sleep with Socks.”

“Sadie!” Drew hollers toward the house, and he must’ve had plenty to drink, too, ’cause the only fight in him is smacking at Cooper’s back. “Sadie, come save me!”

“Make me a s’more, Andrew.” Cooper dumps Drew in a pile on the ground at Penny’s feet. “A good one. No burning the marshmallow.”

“You’re working for me. I’m your boss these days,” Drew says from his back, like a giant, drunk turtle.

Penny leans down and gently pats the top of his head. “And landlord. You’re very impressive, and we take you very seriously. I want a s’more too. With extra chocolate, please.”

But Drew just sits up enough to slump against the cooler, and Penny keeps running her fingers through his hair. Cooper leans down and snags his beer. He holds out Whit’s, too, which Whit only glances at.

“Gonna bring the rest of the forest over here?” Cooper wags the bottle toward him.

“A tree fell last winter. I was just cleaning up the brush along the fence line.”

“Oh my God, I wasn’t really asking.” Cooper walks over to Whit, shoves the beer into his hand, and steers him back around toward the glow of the fire. “Try enjoying yourself. See if having fun really is as bad as you seem to think it is.”

Whit’s stiff. And his skin’s warm. It must be the heat from the fire, though there’s a tackiness of sweat, too, the back of his neck dewy, and a shine to his collarbone where his shirt is tugged down a little.

Cooper lets him go and steps back. Whit smells like sweat and woodsmoke, and Cooper wants to press his nose into his neck and inhale.

And Whit’s eyes are on him again, the fire reflecting in that steady dark-brown gaze. Another night rises in Cooper’s mind, a memory of a fire with the crackle of sparks in the darkness, coolers, and beers, and—

Cooper licks at his lips and backs away from Whit.

“S’gonna rain,” Drew mumbles, arching into Penny’s fingers running through his hair. “S’gonna rain, and there’s a giant hole in my house.” Drew tips his head back against the edge of the cooler, his eyes closing. The firelight plays over his cheeks, burnishing his hair and beard copper. Penny rubs her thumb gently over his forehead. Cooper looks away from the sight. She touches Drew differently than she does Cooper or even Whit. There’s something intentional about it. Slower and more careful.

Too much beer, he decides, frowning at his bottle, though it hardly seems to blame for how empty he feels, especially after pacing himself at dinner so he could drive home.

“There’s a small hole in the attic wall that’s covered with a tarp,” Whit says. “It’ll be fine.”

Cooper leans down and pats at Drew’s cheek with the flat of his palm, shaking his own head like he can clear it. “Go back to being happy.”

“The house is just really well ventilated.” Penny scratches her nails over the back of Drew’s neck. “Breezy. I like it.”

Drew tosses his arm across her thigh and lays his forehead on her knee. “I love you guys,” he says.

It’s a good thing Cooper didn’t invite Brad. The four of them here, an evening in the fields they spend their days working in, the comforting weight of company so well-worn…it fits. Cooper crouches next to the fire, heat blasting over his face, and pushes a marshmallow onto a stick. It’s home here, as much as anywhere is.

The rain starts in a gentle patter on Cooper’s shoulders before thunder cracks the sky. A fat splash falls on the back of his hand, next to a smear of chocolate. Drops darken Whit’s shirt. One lands right on Whit’s cheek, glittering against his skin. And then the blowing coolness of fresh air they’ve been waiting for comes, heralded in on the storm. Above them, thunder claps with a peal that jumps under Cooper’s skin and the world flashes white.

“Drew,” Penny says. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah.” Drew tips his face up. Another clap. Across the fields, a cow calls out. “Yeah, we should go.”

Cooper jogs after Penny with the bag of marshmallows tucked under his arm, juggling a handful of empty bottles. He breaks into a run when the rain really starts pelting. It smacks his back and soaks into his hair, and the thighs of his pants grow stiff with water. Down, across the field, through the barway in the far stone wall, up the road to the barnyard, where puddles are already forming. Cooper splashes through them, the other three just behind him, and the breaths he pulls in are full of raindrops.

“Shit,” Cooper says, fingers slippery wet on the doorknob and clumsy from drinking. Inside the farmhouse, Sadie barks back at the thunder, and with a sing of a lightning bolt and a pop, the power goes out. Cooper blinks in the dark.

Drew pushes the door and it creaks open and there’s Sadie, all scratching paws and wet, humid breath as she shakes and shivers against the cluster of their knees, all of them caught together in the doorway. Whit turns on his phone for light. A hand on Cooper’s back pushes him forward. He goes, and it was Whit touching him, Whit’s hand dropping back to his side.

“Sadie, you’re all right.” Penny pats at her knees. “C’mere, hon.”

Cooper fumbles his way toward the sink, catching the back of a kitchen chair with his thigh. He dumps the bottles down in a clatter of glass.

“It’s just a storm,” Cooper says as Sadie jogs over to him. “You’re okay, it’s a storm, it’s going to be fine.”