Chapter 2 - Clayton Comes HomeClayton reached Cedar Hollow Dairy in eleven minutes.
He normally needed sixteen.
He parked beside the barn.
The truck had barely stopped before he opened the door.
“Dad!”
Wyatt’s voice came from inside.
Clayton ran.
The wooden gate was secured by a sliding latch.
Not a padlock.
Still impossible for Wyatt to reach from the other side.
Clayton pulled it open.
Wyatt collided with him.
Blanket.
Pajamas.
Tears.
Cold hands.
Clayton lifted him.
“You okay?”
Wyatt nodded against his shoulder.
“Did she hurt you?”
“No.”
“Push you down?”
“No.”
“Touch you anywhere else?”
“No.”
Clayton closed his eyes.
Thank God.
Then anger returned.
He carried Wyatt toward the farmhouse.
The kitchen light was on.
Denise sat at the table drinking tea.
She looked up.
“You’re home early.”
Clayton stared at her.
“You locked my seven-year-old son in a barn.”
Denise set down the mug.
“I disciplined him.”
“You left him there at night.”
“He was perfectly safe.”
“He was wearing pajamas.”
“The barn is heated.”
“It’s forty-three degrees in there.”
“The cows are worth more than most cars. Do you honestly think I’m putting them somewhere dangerous?”
Clayton almost laughed.
“We’re talking about Wyatt.”
“He needed to learn.”
Wyatt tightened his arms around Clayton’s neck.
Denise noticed.
Her expression hardened.
“He stole Mason’s toy.”
“I didn’t steal it.”
“Wyatt.”
Clayton looked at him.
“I was going to put it back.”
Denise pointed.
“Exactly. He went into Mason’s room without permission.”
“So you locked him in a cow barn?”
“For one night.”
“One night?”
Clayton repeated it slowly.
As though hearing the words differently might make them reasonable.
Denise stood.
“Farm children learn consequences.”
Clayton stared at her.
“So do adults.”
Something shifted in her face.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
Clayton looked at Wyatt.
“Go wait in the truck.”
Denise stepped forward.
“He is not going anywhere.”
Clayton turned.
“Excuse me?”
“This is his home.”
“You lost the right to use that sentence tonight.”
Denise’s face flushed.
“Clayton.”
“Truck, Wyatt.”
Wyatt hesitated.
Then obeyed.
The farmhouse door closed.
Clayton turned back.
“What was in the red folder?”
Denise went still.
There.
He saw it.
A fraction of a second.
Fear.
“What folder?”
“The one Wyatt knocked over.”
“I have dozens.”
“He said my name was on it.”
“Then it was probably farm paperwork.”
“How much money?”
Denise folded her arms.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Clayton looked toward the office.
He crossed the kitchen.
Denise stepped between him and the hallway.
That told him more than words.
“Move.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“We should talk tomorrow.”
“Move.”
She lowered her voice.
“Clayton, you’ve had a long day.”
He stared.
For three years, Denise had used that sentence whenever he asked about finances.
Long day.
Busy season.
Nothing to worry about.
I handled it.
He had loved hearing those words.
After Emma died, Clayton had barely kept the farm running.
Denise arrived in his life two years later.
Organized.
Capable.
Confident.
She took over invoices.
Vendor accounts.
Insurance renewals.
Payroll.
She made problems disappear.
Clayton had confused relief with trust.
“Where is the folder?”
Denise shook her head.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Clayton reached around her and opened the office door.
The desk was clean.
Too clean.
No red folder.
No papers.
Nothing on the floor.
“Where is it?”
“I filed it.”
“Where?”
Denise said nothing.
Clayton opened the filing cabinet.
Equipment.
Insurance.
Herd records.
Taxes.
Then an empty hanging folder labeled:
CEDAR HOLLOW RESTRUCTURE.
Clayton pulled it out.
“What is this?”
Denise’s mouth tightened.
“A proposal.”
“For what?”
“Nothing finalized.”
“Where are the papers?”
“I threw them away.”
Clayton stared.
“You threw away a restructuring proposal?”
“It was rejected.”
“By whom?”
“Me.”
Something no longer made sense.
Clayton walked back to the truck.
Wyatt sat wrapped in the blanket.
His face was visible through the window.
Clayton opened the door.
“Buddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Did Denise say anything when the papers fell?”
Wyatt thought.
“She asked if I read them.”
“Anything else?”
“She said…”
His little eyebrows pulled together.
“She said, ‘You weren’t supposed to see that.’”
Clayton looked back toward the farmhouse.
Denise stood behind the kitchen window.
May you like
Watching.
And for the first time since marrying her, Clayton did not recognize the woman looking back.
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