Or maybe that was just how he was around people he hated. Oh well, no skin off Nova’s nose.
“Are you alright?”
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. This blood isn’t mine. Birthing, you know, messy business.” She hadn’t expected him to show concern, but it was good to know that he cared about if she was bleeding or not—even if it surprised her that he did.
“Blood? What? Oh, no. I meant your leg.”
Her leg? What did he mean?
Right, what had happened in the barn. She didn’t mean to, but a laugh escaped her as she shook her head. “You don’t have to worry about that, friend. My knee has a mind of its own, and I’ve popped it back in so many times I can do it blindfolded. I’m just sore from physical therapy and then rushing down here.”
But Sal didn’t respond right away, still looking at her with a befuddled expression. “Why don’t you just… fix it?”
It was then that it all it clicked in Nova’s head. He wasn’t staring at her because he thought she was bizarre or he didn’t understand how to talk to someone who worked for him, it was because he was genuinely confused about the situation. She’d heard about the rich being out of touch, but she’d kind of forgotten because of not knowing any actual rich people.
“Surgery is painful and not exactly a guarantee. My knee could just keep doing the same thing. Besides, even if it was a one-hundred-percent deal, I can’t exactly take all the time off work that’s needed for the recovery. You really can’t do anything while your knee is healing.”
“You could save up enough money to be able to take off work for a little while, right?”
She blinked at him, but then that blinking turned into another laugh and she just shook her head. “Funny, very funny,” she said with a chuckle, heading to her car. And as she walked, it didn’t take long for her mind to drift away from giant ranch heir and head right back to the beautiful life she’d helped come into the world.
Her luck really was changing for the better. She could feel it.
7
Salvatore
Sal rubbed his face with his hands, suppressing the growl that he was building in his chest. He was smart! He’d always had good grades, he was witty, and never had an issue understanding new ideas. So why was he struggling so hard to put together a plan to help his dad?
Solomon and Silas both had made it seem so easy for years, but Sal found himself struggling to know which direction to go, who to contact, and how to build alliances. He felt like he was playing chess against grand masters and had only just learned how to play the game.
Even Sterling, who usually had all the ambition of a rock and couldn’t even get himself together enough to sleep through the night, had flourished in his personal projects. His soil experiment was going strong, and Mom often went on and on about how he saved her tomatoes, and the vet thing was… well, it was a thing.
But Sal was struggling to even find a foundation to build his strategy on. And the fact that it was frustrating him just made him more frustrated, turning it into a never-ending cycle that built on itself in a swirling frenzy.
Ugh.
Despite what some people might think, Sal didn’t like being angry. It made him sweat, made his heart pound and his stomach twist. If he had his way, everything would go back to normal and he could return to being the chill, somewhat vain brother who helped everyone else out when they needed some extra hands.
But that clearly wasn’t going to be anytime soon, so he needed to find a way to calm down before he made himself nauseous.
Maybe some good workout endorphins would be the answer. Changing into some workout clothes, he headed outside for a jog.
Running wasn’t really his thing, per se. Sure, he got his cardio in enough to be healthy, but he preferred lifting and working up some real muscle fatigue. But maybe shaking up his workout regiment would help get him out of his foul mood.
So, he hit one of the thin trails that led out into the fields. There had been a time, in high school mostly, that he and his brothers had gone on runs or hikes, and that had created strong trails that hinted at the adventures they’d gone on. But in the years since, they’d faded to barely-there paths that were rarely used by workers, only when they didn’t want to take the main trail for whatever reason.
He didn’t even have his headphones in, just listening to the rasp of his breath and the pound of his feet against the earth as he jogged along. He wasn’t going for speed, but rather for establishing a rhythm and sticking to it, controlling his breath, controlling his pace, controlling something since everything seemed to be spinning so quickly out of his and his father’s grip.
He hated feeling out of control. It was why he’d started packing on muscle in the first place.
It wasn’t difficult to get lost to the burning of his lungs, the pounding of his feet, the smell of the fields in his nose. It had been ages since he’d been in the fields at all, and he didn’t realize just how far he’d reached until he was surrounded by tall wheat, their crop farthest from the house.
Huh. Maybe he needed to run more often. It was the most peace his brain had had in what felt like weeks.
Turning around, he went to head back home when he heard the softest little lilt in the air. It wasn’t anything big, but it sounded almost like a songbird that was hanging out low to the ground for some reason.
Curious, he tilted his head, listening for the next call. It came a few moments later, and he cautiously crept towards it, figuring he could use the time to catch his breath again before he headed for home.
But as he grew closer, he realized the sound was too rhythmic for any sort of bird call, and a few steps after that he realized it was singing. Soft, gentle singing that wound through the tall wheat like vines, wrapping around and caressing whatever the notes came in contact with.
It was almost haunting, in a way, and Sal couldn’t help but wonder who on earth would be out at the edge of their lands singing away like some sort of beautiful ocean siren.
He wasn’t sure what to think of the entire situation, but just about the last thing he expected was to part some of the wheat and make out that tall, tackle-happy worker standing next to Silas’ injured horse. Her back was to him, but it was clear that she was gently petting the beast as she sang, her voice being carried on the breeze to filter out into the field.
Sal couldn’t help but wonder why she was standing with a horse in the middle of a field when he vaguely remembered that his brother’s horse, Amaranth, had taken a bad fall some time back. He’d heard noise about her physical therapy, but he hadn’t given it much thought beyond that.
The woman started another verse, her accent coming through more thickly as she went on. It wasn’t anything he’d heard before, so he guessed that it was some sort of folksy song from wherever it was she came from.
He didn’t quite understand the why of it all, but he found himself transfixed by the woman as she sang, leaning her head gently against the horse’s head as she ran her fingers through its mane. She was dressed in a pair of loose, cheap-looking sweats and an oversized, dark T-shirt. Nothing special to look at and certainly nothing that should have captivated him like he was.
Without thinking, his eyes slid down her body to the leg that she had injured. Her weight was definitely shifted mainly to her other foot, but she looked like she was mostly alright. Her words played through his head, where she said that she couldn’t afford the time off to get better. Was that a thing? Certainly, she could get unemployment or just save up enough for things. She had to be terrible with money to not be able to have enough for recovery.