Chapter 9: Rain in the Hay Mow

Solveig's POV

I woke up alone.

His side of the bed was cold, the pillow line had been pushed flat, and the dent where he had slept was already gone.

Gone, I thought.

It was six years ago and the same thing, the same cold sheet and the same quiet house.

I was in the yard in my father's flannel and my barn boots before I had thought it out.

His truck was not in the lane.

I drove the ridge road with the window open and my hands gone numb.

I was not going to cry in a truck over Nels Torkelson.

At the end of Hilda's drive, two trucks stood nose to nose.

Travis leaned against his fender with a toothpick, and Nels stood in front of him with his bandaged hand loose at his side.

Neither of them saw me come over the hill.

"Travis," I said, out the window.

He looked up and grinned.

"Reinforcements," he said. "Fine. I've got a cattle sale to see about. Family reunion's over."

He climbed into the red truck, backed it out of the ditch, and drove off with one finger up off the wheel.

Nels walked to my window.

"You came," he said.

"You were gone."

"I was at Hilda's."

"I woke up and you were gone," I said, and my voice cracked on the last word.

He went very still.

"You thought I'd left."

"I thought nothing. I thought you went to have breakfast without telling me, behind my back, with my own neighbor," I said.

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