Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Noel
Gramps owns eight-five acres of perfection. A small area is dedicated to the rancher I grew up in. The rancher is painted red with white trim around the windows. Behind the house, there's a fair-sized barn. It's where we keep our horses and cattle when they're not grazing the pasture. A quarter of the land is used for wheat and alfalfa production. The rest of the land is forest and pasture, fenced in for the livestock to roam free.
My favourite spot on the property, though, is in the northern area. It's where the trees fade off into fields of wheat. During summer evenings, when the sun is setting, the fields take on a golden glow around the small lake.
Spending time on the bank of the lake is soothing. There's nothing but silence, save for the whisper of the wind and lapping of waves. In the winter, my skates will scrape across the ice. Sometimes, I'll shoot a puck or two. It depends if Cole's around or not.
"Happy to be home?" Gramps asks.
I tear my gaze away from the kitchen window, wishing I could daydream a little longer. Cole and I were outside on the ice earlier. I wish we were still there. That way, I could've avoided the looming conversation.
I shrug as I towel a wet plate. "Yeah. School's been great, but nothing beats being home. I knocked some tasks off of the to-do list. I'll be up early tomorrow, picking away at it again."
Gramps sighs. When I glance at him, I see the tiredness on his wrinkled face. My stomach does a funny flip. Time has weathered Gramps. The stubble along his jaw is peppered. As is his hair.
"Noel..." He trails off, rubbing his jaw. "You just arrived home from a challenging semester. Relax. The cows and chickens can wait."
Setting down the dry plate, I toss the damp towel over my shoulder and turn to face Gramps. I'm prepared to tell him off. He can't go around telling me to relax. I enjoy working on the farm.
However, before I can speak, Gramps cuts me off.
He points at me. "You're taking a break, young man. Don't argue with me. Learn how to relax."
I cross my arms, levelling my gaze with his. "I know how to relax. What am I doing right now?"
Gramps nods to the sink. "You were washing dishes." He gestures to my hand, which is tapping against the lip of the counter. "Now, you're tapping your fingers against the granite as you contemplate what's next on the docket. You're not shutting your brain down."
Scowling, I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Goddamn him. He's caught me.
"So what if I want to work?" I demand. The defensive feelings rising in my gut are potent. Gramps is pissing me off. "It keeps my mind distracted from shit."
I'm not lying. Any type of work keeps my mind busy. It prevents the cold, hard truth from bubbling to the surface. The truth regarding what happened two years ago. Anything capable of distracting me from underlying feelings of guilt and shame... I'll take the opportunity.
