Chapter One
Dude, how would you like to fuck my wife?
Hake Stivers grimaced as he pushed open the storm door and stepped onto the porch. Nah, that was a little too in-your-face. Besides, at thirty-eight, he wasn’t young enough, blond enough or cool enough to be calling his cousin dude .
Maybe, So Brent, do you think Mandy’s sexy?
He rolled his eyes. What was Brent supposed to say to that? The guy was damned if he thought she was and damned if he didn’t.
Yanking the bill of his seed cap down to shield his eyes against the late morning sun, Hake looked out over the yard. The winds had already stripped most of the pale yellow leaves from the towering maples his dad had planted before he was born, and if the forecast was to be believed, the rest probably wouldn’t make it through the weekend. Come tomorrow afternoon, a big chunk of South Dakota would be under a high-wind warning.
The drone of the air compressor told him Brent was in the machine shed, powering the dirt and chaff off the combine. He could also hear Joe coming up the gravel drive with the semi. The line at the co-op must not have been too long, for a change. There were only a dozen or so rounds of corn left to harvest last night when the guys packed it in, and if the co-op had been open later, they could have finished up then instead of this morning.
God damn it, this all felt so wrong. Here it was, the last day of harvest, and he hadn’t even set foot in the combine, much less done any harvesting. It was a first for Hake, and one he wasn’t happy about. His dad had taken him for his first ride in the combine when he was barely a year old, and he’d never missed a harvest since. And he hadn’t missed a year of actually working during harvest since he was ten.
5
Robin L. Rotham
This year, thanks to his own stupidity, he’d been about as useful as tits on a boar.
Why couldn’t he have rolled the four-wheeler after harvest? The broken pelvis and shattered femur would still have hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, as would the medical bills, and Mandy would still have had to help out with chores, but at least Hake would have gotten to reap what he’d sown instead of paying his cousin’s custom farming outfit to do it.
His sigh sent a cloud of steam into the air. Why this year, when grain prices had finally surged high enough that he might have made a decent profit for once? Instead of getting ahead a little, they were probably going to show a loss again, and it was all he could do not to scream his frustration at the heavens.
Of course, Mandy would tell him— had told him, more than once—to be thankful that the accident had happened this year, when they had the extra money to handle it.
She’d also pointed out he should be grateful it wasn’t his reckless, idiotic neck that got broken.
Knowing she was right didn’t make his situation suck any less.
A gust of wind made him shiver. Damn, he should have worn a heavier coat. When had it gotten so cold?
He zipped his jacket up to the collar, then gripped the icy handrail and thumped down the concrete steps. At the bottom, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and set out across the yard at a slow limp. Mandy would bitch at him if she caught him coming out without the cane, but he was sick of it. He was sick of being laid up and sick of doctors who didn’t know their asses from their elbows, and he was really damn sick of hospitals that charged five dollars for a goddamn Tylenol.
Most of all, he was sick of not being able to fuck his wife like he wanted to. Like she needed him to.
The roar of the semi coming around the side of the house brought Jess tearing out of the shed. The yellow lab veered off course when he saw Hake, bounding over to lick his hand. His excited whimpers laid another load of guilt on Hake’s heart. Poor dog spent 6
Carnal Harvest
too much time alone lately. Well, as alone as he could be with a barn full of cats to chase.
“Yeah, I’ve missed you too, boy,” Hake
Dude, how would you like to fuck my wife?
Hake Stivers grimaced as he pushed open the storm door and stepped onto the porch. Nah, that was a little too in-your-face. Besides, at thirty-eight, he wasn’t young enough, blond enough or cool enough to be calling his cousin dude .
Maybe, So Brent, do you think Mandy’s sexy?
He rolled his eyes. What was Brent supposed to say to that? The guy was damned if he thought she was and damned if he didn’t.
Yanking the bill of his seed cap down to shield his eyes against the late morning sun, Hake looked out over the yard. The winds had already stripped most of the pale yellow leaves from the towering maples his dad had planted before he was born, and if the forecast was to be believed, the rest probably wouldn’t make it through the weekend. Come tomorrow afternoon, a big chunk of South Dakota would be under a high-wind warning.
The drone of the air compressor told him Brent was in the machine shed, powering the dirt and chaff off the combine. He could also hear Joe coming up the gravel drive with the semi. The line at the co-op must not have been too long, for a change. There were only a dozen or so rounds of corn left to harvest last night when the guys packed it in, and if the co-op had been open later, they could have finished up then instead of this morning.
God damn it, this all felt so wrong. Here it was, the last day of harvest, and he hadn’t even set foot in the combine, much less done any harvesting. It was a first for Hake, and one he wasn’t happy about. His dad had taken him for his first ride in the combine when he was barely a year old, and he’d never missed a harvest since. And he hadn’t missed a year of actually working during harvest since he was ten.
5
Robin L. Rotham
This year, thanks to his own stupidity, he’d been about as useful as tits on a boar.
Why couldn’t he have rolled the four-wheeler after harvest? The broken pelvis and shattered femur would still have hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, as would the medical bills, and Mandy would still have had to help out with chores, but at least Hake would have gotten to reap what he’d sown instead of paying his cousin’s custom farming outfit to do it.
His sigh sent a cloud of steam into the air. Why this year, when grain prices had finally surged high enough that he might have made a decent profit for once? Instead of getting ahead a little, they were probably going to show a loss again, and it was all he could do not to scream his frustration at the heavens.
Of course, Mandy would tell him— had told him, more than once—to be thankful that the accident had happened this year, when they had the extra money to handle it.
She’d also pointed out he should be grateful it wasn’t his reckless, idiotic neck that got broken.
Knowing she was right didn’t make his situation suck any less.
A gust of wind made him shiver. Damn, he should have worn a heavier coat. When had it gotten so cold?
He zipped his jacket up to the collar, then gripped the icy handrail and thumped down the concrete steps. At the bottom, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and set out across the yard at a slow limp. Mandy would bitch at him if she caught him coming out without the cane, but he was sick of it. He was sick of being laid up and sick of doctors who didn’t know their asses from their elbows, and he was really damn sick of hospitals that charged five dollars for a goddamn Tylenol.
Most of all, he was sick of not being able to fuck his wife like he wanted to. Like she needed him to.
The roar of the semi coming around the side of the house brought Jess tearing out of the shed. The yellow lab veered off course when he saw Hake, bounding over to lick his hand. His excited whimpers laid another load of guilt on Hake’s heart. Poor dog spent 6
Carnal Harvest
too much time alone lately. Well, as alone as he could be with a barn full of cats to chase.
“Yeah, I’ve missed you too, boy,” Hake
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