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Her long golden hair drifts over her shoulders as she shakes her head. “Is that why you pushed us to go out? Were you just going to leave and not say anything?” Her voice climbs with every syllable.

Fuck, I wish I knew what to do.

I want to butt in, make a joke,something.

Instead I sit here like a dumbass, watching my best friend stumble through a life changing confession.

“He asked me to stick around, help out where I can.” I offer something.

Feels a bit inadequate when she turns and glowers at me.

“You knew before me?” Her fists dig into her hips and she turns back to her father. “What the heck, Dad?”

Well, that didn’t go the way I expected.

Clay throws up his palms. “I didn’t want to worry you. Not all cancer is a death sentence.”

“Cancer?” Red swells up her throat and envelopes her cheeks. “You weren’t going to tell me? I’m not a fucking child. This is my home, my livelihood too. Or do you want me to just run off and marry some hillbilly—”

Why did her arm gesture at me?

“Hey now, there’s some reputable rednecks in his area.” I try to offer her a grin.

All I get is a heavy sigh and an eye roll.

Shit. Her petulant flush and pout sends new life to my limp dick.

It’s hard not to picture her fresh out of the shower, even as she stands here breathing so fast and stomping her foot.

I bet her skin was still slick with soap.

“It’s not real bad yet.” Clay leans against the counter, folding his thick arms across his chest. “They’re gonna try and get the worst of it before it gets that way.” He takes a deep inhale and lets it out slowly. “But it’s damn expensive, Lib. We’re gonna have to pare down to get things figured out.”

She slumps onto the arm of the couch, just inches away from me.

It takes everything in me to resist reaching out and patting her thigh.

That’s not my place.

“We’ll make it work, Dad.” She sounds defeated. “Mom held on for years. You can beat it, whatever it takes, ‘kay?”

Clay nods, running his fingers through his rough whiskers, he steps around the counter to pull Libby in for a tight hug.

Her pink shirt rides up in his embrace, and I get an eye-level glimpse of the small of her back.

Years?

It might be torture sticking around when every time I look at her I’ll see her bare body in my mind.

But I know Clay well enough that he’d have to be six feet under before he’d let anything happen to her.

I’ll be fine. If I want my own nuts to stay in place, I canlook, but won’t touch.

Like any cattle farm, I’m sure there’s a pile of castration tools sitting in the barn.

I’d rather not get acquainted with them.

With a sniffle, they separate.