Bodhi spent the day finishing the irrigation repair, then went over the books. He was worried about the farm’s finances. Marty left him a paycheck in the kitchen every Friday, but the profit-and-loss statement was more loss than profit. Normally, he wouldn’t be concerned. He’d start cutting hay soon, and then the Darrows could sell some of it to bring themselves more solidly into the black. But the herd was going through the stored hay at an alarming rate, and if they didn’t get rain soon, the Darrows would have to set aside some of the new hay for feed as well.
It was late afternoon by the time he headed back up to his room. The hayloft felt thirty degrees hotter than the temperature outside, but he sat down at his computer anyway, trying to distract himself. As soon as his inbox opened, he saw the name: CBurton4298@gmail.com.
His heart raced as he opened the message.
Hi there, Bodhi,
Still no sign of your dad. I’d be worried if he hadn’t said he was trying to find you. Any sign of him yet?
Christine
Bodhi thought back to all the people he’d worked with in the months before he’d left for New York. Had he told any of them he was going to work for the Darrows? Had he left a trail his dad might be able to follow? He chewed his lip, thinking.
He didn’t think so. He’d grown used to being cautious, a product of leaving home at such a young age and having to stay under the radar. Still, the thought of his dad out there looking for him made him vaguely sick to his stomach.
He realized sweat was rolling down his temples, his shirt sticking to his upper body like a second skin. It was too damn hot. He couldn’t think.
Closing the laptop, he climbed down from the loft and headed to the barn. He saddled Mason, feeding the horse a carrot he’d taken from the kitchen at lunch, and headed across the orchard to the pond, his mind churning with all the scenarios that might result if his dad found him after all these years. Maybe his dad just wanted to reconnect. Maybe he had changed.
Bodhi allowed Mason to pick his way up the hill on his own steam. When they got to the top, Bodhi saw that he wasn’t the only one desperate to cool off; Rose was floating on her back in the middle of the pond, her eyes closed against the sun, slightly shadowed behind a few clouds that had drifted in front of it.
“You always in the habit of watching people sleep?”
Her voice startled him from his reverie. He’d been staring.
“Uh . . . I was . . . I didn’t know . . .”
She righted herself, grinning at him while she treaded water. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”
He sighed his relief, and gave Mason some lead to make his way down the hill
“Hot, right?” she said.
“Hot doesn’t quite cut it,” he said, stopping the horse at the edge of the pond.
“Well, are you going to stand there, or are you coming in?” she asked him.
“I . . . uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t bring a suit.”
Her smile got bigger, although he didn’t think it was the sun that turned her cheeks pink. “You were going to skinny-dip? In broad daylight?”
“No! I have . . . um . . . boxers.” Why was he so flustered? It’s not like he hadn’t swum in boxers before. Not like he hadn’t skinny-dipped with a girl for that matter. But this was Rose, and somehow he didn’t want to do any of the things with her the way he’d done them with other girls.
“Aren’t boxers kind of like a bathing suit?”
He thought about the thin fabric of his boxers.
“I’ll turn my back while you get in,” she suggested. “Will that work?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “It’s hot, Bodhi. Come on. It’ll be fine.”
She turned her back, treading water while she faced the tree line of the woods that backed up to the pond.
He only hesitated a minute. She was right; it was hot. And once he was in the water, what would it matter?
He dismounted, tying Mason to one of the trees, then pulled off his jeans and T-shirt. He hadn’t felt self-conscious around a girl since he was a kid, but he was self-conscious now, and it didn’t seem to matter that Rose’s back was turned.
He thought about stepping in slow, then decided to put himself out of his misery instead. He dove in from one of the rocks that jutted out over the water. When he came up, Rose was squealing.
“Couldn’t you have dived in a little farther away?” she asked, laughing. “You seem determined to get me wet!”
He laughed. “You’re in the water already.”
He dove under, opening his eyes and making for her bare legs. He gave one of her feet a gentle tug as he swam by, and when he came up, she put her hands on his shoulders and tried to dunk him.
They swam around each other, dunking and splashing, laughing and shouting. They raced from one end of the pond to the other, tying it up in the first two races and finishing it in a tie breaker won by Rose. But just barely.
They both dove under, swimming back to the other side of the pond, emerging only a foot apart in chest-deep water. And then she was right there, so close he could see the water beading on her upper lip, the filtered sun casting faint shadows on her bare shoulders.
It wasn’t that far from one side of the pond to the other, but they were both breathing hard, their eyes locked.
She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing her chest to his. Her face was so close he could feel her breath against his mouth.
“Rose . . .” He didn’t want to hurt her. Didn’t want to leave her. But he would do both, and he hadn’t even warned her.
She put a finger to his lips. “Shhhh . . .”
And then he didn’t know who did it, who moved closer, who eliminated the space between them, but his mouth was on hers, her legs wrapped around his waist, and it was like she’d always been there. Like she’d always been a part of him.
He kissed her like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.
He didn’t know how long they stood there, intertwined like the trunks of two willow trees he’d once seen in Texas, but they didn’t move until the sky opened up above them, rain splattering the water intermittently at first, and then, all at once, in a downpour.