Paper Bride ✔️ (Book 4 - DP Series - COMPLETE)

10. One Fine Farmer

After walking for nearly two hours, we stumble across a small home surrounded by endless corn fields. Three massive silos sit several yards from the home, and a small barn that looks as if it's been shown decades of tough love. The paint is peeling and holes reveal places where the wood has rotted away. Besides that, it seems to be in decent condition. As Mom and I trudge past the old structure, I breathe in proof of the barns purpose. It seems to be where the animals are kept. And to be honest, by the smell of it, I'm not sure if they're alive or dead.

"Wow," I mumble, clamping my fingers over my nose. "That's some powerful stuff."

"Sorry," my mom says. "That might have been me."

"Mom!" I belt in horror, laughter bubbling out with the word. "You couldn't have waited until the wind shifted a bit. That literally hit me right in the face."

She chuckles softly as we hurry through the poop-tainted air and make our way up the steps to the small wooden house. I knock several times, and then we both step back to wait. We're pretty patient people, but when two minutes pass and no sounds of life thump around inside the little home, we search for another option. Not willing to give up so easily, I round the house to take a look at the backyard. At first I don't see anyone, but when my eyes flicker out into the fields, I see a man making his way towards us. His tractor sits idly behind him, and I'm wondering if he's done for the day or if he actually saw us snooping through his windows and is coming to threaten us off his land.

I continue watching him until he glances up and meets my gaze. I offer a friendly wave, hoping I haven't startled the old man enough to cause any heart damage. But as he nears, I realize he ain't no old man. He's actually quite young really. My age even. His dirt-covered shirt hugs his body tightly, his tanned forearms on full display for any eager eyes. He obviously does a lot of heavy lifting, no doubt. I'd probably appreciate his appearance more if my heart didn't belong to another man already.

He saunters up to me, a curious look on his face, and offers a 'hello'. It sounds more like a question though. It's as if he's somehow woven a 'who are you?', 'what are you doing here?', and 'should I know you?' all inside that one simple word.

"Hi," I say back, reaching out for a warm handshake. His grip is strong, and I'm wondering if he either doesn't realize his own strength or if he's using it as a threat. "My name is Mercy," I tell him brightly, hoping he doesn't catch on that I'm trying to hide my wincing. I almost sigh in relief when he releases his grip from, my now, crippled fingers. "I'm here with my mom, and I was wondering if you could help us."

"Okay?"

His teeth clench together as he works his jaw with his hand, and I can't help but take in the scruff shadowing his well-crafted face. He's got muscles and definition in all the right places. But then again, so does Seth. And Seth is who I should be thinking about right now. I mentally slap myself in the brain, and smile at the intimidating man in front of me.

"Our car ran out of fuel and we were hoping for a ride into town to get some more. Or, if you happen to have some on hand we'd gladly purchase it."

He motions me to follow him using his head, and I trail behind him as he stalks towards the front of the house.

"I wouldn't mind selling you some," he says, walking at such a brisk pace that I'm forced to jog to keep up. With his back to me, I can't properly hear him without being right behind him. "You got a truck?"

"Huh?"

"A truck," he says, stopping to face me with a belittling look on his face. "You know, typically large vehicle, sits higher than a car, mean engine—"

"Dude," I say, appalled and humored all at the same time. Sarcasm is my speciality and I'll gladly dish it back. "I know what a flipping truck is. What I don't understand is why you're asking. You some kinda truck hoarder? You want us to trade a truck for some gas? Seems a bit counterproductive to me, considering we'd need the gas for the truck—"