Mayfly Melodies

Thirty-Eight

Stephen

Country things are the necessary root of our life—and that remains true even of a rootless and tragically urban civilization. To live permanently away from the country is a slow form of death—Esther Meynell

It was a hot day. One of the hottest recorded that summer in Tishomingo, Oklahoma.  The flowers were wilting, the horses were drinking twice the amount of water they normally did, and Stephen was drenched in sweat as he carried bales of hay into the Grant's barn.

He dropped the bale in his hands on top of the pile and paused to wipe his brow and catch his breath.  It was hot, tiring work but at least he was able to take periodic breaks in the shade.  He didn't envy Rob and Travis who had departed on horseback to drive the cattle from one paddock to the other.  It would be an affair that was likely to last the entire afternoon and they wouldn't be able to afford breaks for shade.  In that regard, they had drawn the short straw today.

Stephen took a long pull from his water bottle.  It was lukewarm now and not nearly as refreshing as it had been an hour ago when it had been just shy of freezing.  It was better than nothing and his brief water breaks offered a much needed respite from heaving hay.

Still, a few minutes later, Stephen stepped back into the sun.  Over near the ranch house in the wide open space next to the building he could see Maryse tending to the vegetable garden.  The matriarch to the Grant family was in a pair of jean overalls and was kneeling in the dirt as she pulled weeds.  As Stephen watched, she looked up and waved.  He waved back and went back to hauling the next bale.

Just as Stephen reached the final bale, he heard the forceful strumming of a guitar from the main house.  The window leading into Bailey's room was wide open and even though he couldn't see her, he knew that she was inside working on her album.  She'd hardly done anything else for the past five days.  Stephen wasn't even entirely certain that she'd left the house except for her once-daily trail rides with Fawkes and Rhea Patton on Mango.

Stephen frowned as he lifted the last of the hay.  He was angry.  Not at the work he was doing.  Not at the heat.  Not at Bailey.  But at Noah-freaking-Hartley. 

Even though Bailey had never directly stated that Noah had done something to hurt her, it was more than apparent in the way that she was retreating into herself.  Travis and Jake had lamented to him that she'd come home in tears after her date with Noah a few days earlier.  She'd called her mother for a ride home from open-mic night at Annie's Diner and whatever had been discussed in the car had not reached the ears of anyone else in the Grant household.

So, Stephen didn't know if they'd broken up or just had a simple fight.  It seemed like it was more than your average spat from the way that Bailey had holed herself up inside.  Since their first date, Stephen wasn't sure that there was a day in which Bailey and Noah hadn't spoken to one another.  It had seemed that they were always talking or with each other.  For the two of them to have gone five days without communication...That was a big deal.

He dropped the bale of hay in with the others and took a few deep breaths, panting in exertion.  He plopped right on top of the bale, grateful for a moment's rest. He felt as if he could go for a nap right now, just lie down between the bales of hay and not wake for hours.

Stephen closed his eyes.  His mind was plagued by obtrusive thoughts which wouldn't let him rest.  If they hadn't materialized, there was not a doubt in his mind that he would have been asleep in seconds.

Instead, he found himself wondering if this was his opening.  Stephen had been waiting years for the opportunity to ask Bailey out on a date.  He'd already been halted once this summer after Hartley had asked her out before he'd had the chance to.  Was this the universe's way of righting things?