Page 13 of That Rush

I grab my gloves and fencing pliers from behind the seat. “You’ve spent too much time with Poppy.”

“Poppy has taught me that every group has a ringleader.”

We work in the growing heat of an early June morning, pulling the damaged section tight while the cattle watch from several feet away. A branch from last night’s storm came down on the top wire, and the herd took advantage of the opening. None got far, though they’d pushed two other posts to a hard lean.

Axel braces the post while I tighten the wire.

“You braid Josie’s hair this morning?” he asks.

I glance over. “Why?”

“Your text had the energy of a man losing a fight.”

“I was repairing a fence.”

“On her head?”

“She moved.”

He grins. “You made it too tight.”

“I followed the video.”

“Sadie says that means nothing. Apparently, little-girl hair is a hostile work environment.”

“Good. I’ll send Josie to your house tomorrow.”

His grin disappears. “You’ll improve with practice.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Smart kid.”

“Annoying family.”

“That too.”

My phone vibrates and my stomach tightens—a call from day camp. But it’s just the pickup alarm I set every weekday.

Two hours until pickup.

Axel catches sight of the screen. “You set an alarm two hours early?”

“I have another one at thirty minutes.”

“How many alarms does it take to retrieve one child?”

“As many as necessary to guarantee her uncle doesn’t have to do it.”

He gives me a wounded look. “I’ve picked her up before.”

“Once.”

“She arrived home.”

“Without her lunch box.”

“You found it.”