ain't no love [tyler owens]

two

"Your friend stopped by this week."

"Uh huh."

Riley refused to look up as she continued to laboriously pitch hay into the cattle's feeding trough. Her t-shirt clung to her back, soaked through with sweat, and specks of dust floated around her in the midday sun. Her mother's voice took on a softer tone, telling her what she did not want to hear.

"He's gotten a lot more mature, Javi," her mom began again, leaning against the pasture fence with faded denim jeans and a worn-out plaid shirt that had seen better days. Their old gelding, Richter, was beside her, his head nudging her pockets for snacks.

Riley kept her focus on the rhythm of work, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder as she heaved another forkful of hay. Her mom's eyebrows furrowed as she noticed the wince of pain, her smile dropping slightly as Riley subconsciously rubbed at her shoulder for a second.

"That so?" Her voice carried an indifferent undertone, belying the surge of curiosity that welled up within her. She threw a glance at her mother whose hazel eyes seemed to hold a certain knowing.

"Riley..." she began hesitantly, looking at Riley with a mixture of concern and exasperation painted on her weather-beaten face. "Javi asked about Kate, and you... and storms. Said Kate wasn't picking up his calls."

"Well, if Kate isn't picking up storm warnings," she finally responded, casting off any sign of interest in her tone while successfully masking her growing concern. "Guess it can't be that important then."

Kate. Her sister who was now living a life far removed from their humble farmstead in New York, studying storm systems and other godforsaken weather patterns that Riley could never understand – not after what they had taken from her.

She could hear the sigh from where she stood, could almost picture her mother shaking her head at her stubbornness. But Riley Carter never was one for sugar-coating things or indulging in unnecessary drama - a trait her mother both cherished and loathed, much like the rusty farm machinery that defined their humble existence.

"He already stopped by to speak to me," Riley admitted as she finally looked up at her mother. "Told him to leave me alone."

"I told him you were still stubborn," her mom joked, a smile on her face that wasn't matched by Riley.

"And what did you tell him about Kate?" She asked, forcing out each word through gritted teeth.

Her mother sighed heavily, turning back to finish feeding their old gelding. 

"Just that she's doing fine," she replied softly.

Riley nodded, turning away from her mother as she went back to stacking haybales. Overhead, dark clouds were gathering ominously, promising an early afternoon storm.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath, her knuckles white as she gripped the twine of a haybale. "We're all doing just fine." She heaved the bale onto the stack, the sound of it hitting the others echoing in the field as loudly as the unspoken words hanging between them.

Her mom gave her a long look, opened her mouth as if to speak, then apparently thought better of it. Instead, she simply said, "Supper will be ready at seven," before turning and walking away.

Riley didn't watch her go. She'd had enough of people walking away. Her hands clenched around the pitchfork harder than before. The rough, wooden handle dug into her palm, the sensation grounding her in reality as she fought the urge to break down.

She glanced up at the sky, squinting against the glare of the sun as it tried to peek through the clouds' heavy gray mass. The wind kicked up, brushing past her hair and rustling through the dry leaves of a nearby oak tree. Memories threatened to peak at the surface, but she shrugged them off and slammed the pitchfork into the ground.