Page 77 of Josephine and Clay

“Probably. Since I’m not the one laid up.”

Heat flashes through me. “No kidding.”

He looks at me a second, then tosses me the box of nails. I catch it awkwardly against my chest.

“Hand me those,” he says.

I stare at the box, then at him, standing there broad and capable with a hammer in one hand because he belongs to this place in some easy, unquestioned way.

That’s the thing, isn’t it?

He does.

Dallas does too. Nash, even when he acts idiotically, still fits here. They’ve all got roots sunk deep into this place.

I never seem to land long enough to grow any.

I crutch myself over and hand him nails while he fixes the boards with quick, practiced movements. Rusty hovers between us, trying to snatch one from the open box every time I look away. Once, he gets the hammer and trots three limping steps before Boone swears and takes it back.

That should almost be funny.

It isn’t enough.

Out here, for some reason, my mind keeps drifting to her. Josie.

The last message I sent her. The one she didn’t answer.

I tell myself I don’t care. That she’s busy, or over it, or just better at keeping things casual than I am.

Still… it sits there. Unfinished. I hate that.

I stand there useless as a fence post, torturing myself, while Boone does ninety percent of the work.

“You could sit,” he says without looking at me.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s June.”

He drives in another nail. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

That gets an ugly laugh out of me. “Little late for that.”

Boone straightens, wipes the back of his wrist across his forehead, and gives me a look that’s too direct for this early in the day. “Nobody here thinks less of you because you got hurt.”

I shift my grip on the crutch. “Didn’t say they did.”

“You act like it.”

“Well, maybe I don’t like standing around while you all find tasks pathetic enough for the burden to manage.”

His expression hardens. “Knock that shit off.”

I look away, out over the pasture.

A few cows move slowly through the grass. Wind skims over the field and lifts the edge of Boone’s shirt. Rusty sits on my boot and pants as if this is the best morning of his life.