Page 117 of Heartland

“Save it,” I bark. “I’ve been thinking about it a long time. I don’t want to work for you.”

“But you wouldn’t! It’s afamilyfarm. We all—”

“No.” I shake my head vigorously. “I know you think of yourself as the benevolent dictator, carrying on the family legacy. But who is it really for?”

“You!” he shouts. “Your sisters! Mom! Audrey! Gus! I work my ass off for all of you. Because it’s worth it to keep it for you.”

I just shake my head. “I don’t want it. Not at that price. Today it’s a tractor tire, right? But what if I stay on, and it goes wrong? Like, really wrong?” It’s just too easy to picture this disaster. “Maybe the price of milk takes another dive. Maybe the vet bill is astronomical. I don’t want to have this conversation every day until I die. I’m willing to fuck up my own life. But I don’t want the hell on Earth that plays out when I accidentally fuck up yours.”

Griffin’s shoulders droop as I come to the end of my lengthy speech. “Don’t be hasty, okay? There are big decisions to make. Let’s sit down later and talk this out.”

“No.” I stand my ground. “I made up my mind. I finally did it. That’s what you wanted, right? So why argue now?”

Griffin opens his mouth, and then he closes it again. He honestly looks defeated. That should make me happy, but it doesn’t.

“And by the way?” As I say this, I start walking backwards toward the farmhouse. “Isaac’s chicken tractor was in the way.”

“What?” Griff looks blank.

“I was going to take the road, like you said. But he blocked it with an electric fence.”

“Fuck, Dylan. I’m sorry.”

I turn my back on him and stride toward the house. Before I even reach it, Rickie’s crappy little car comes up the drive, headlights blazing in the near darkness.

He stops, kills the engine and jumps out. “Dyllie! I made it. I drove through that freezing rain. And now it’s snowing.”

I look up, and notice that he’s right. Big, fat flakes have replaced the frozen crud. “Can you come into the barn with me? I’d like to close up before we go inside to eat and drink ourselves silly.”

“Sure, dude.” Rickie shuts the car door and follows me toward the barn. “Show me your tricks. I want to see all of it. Do the cows have names?”

“Of course they do. Duh.” I wave him through the half-open door. “That’s Millie, and this is Barbie.”

“Barbie?”

“She’s very blonde for a Jersey.” I run a hand over Barbie’s back, and she turns her head to sniff me. God, I’ll miss this. If Griffin shuts down the dairy, it just won’t be the same here anymore.

But I feel very clear about this all of a sudden. I meant what I said to my brother just now. I don’t want to farm here if it means spending my years trying to stay out of trouble and win his approval. That’s no way to live.

I make my way down the row, checking every animal and making sure nothing has gone amiss since the milking. “Rickie, serious question—do you think I could get into vet school?”

“Of course you could. But it’s hard, right? Lots of years of study, and then a low-paying job afterward.”

“I don’t care so much about the money.” Farming was never going to make me rich.

“There’s no vet school at Moo U,” he points out.

This is unfortunately true. “There isn’t one anywhere in Vermont. I’d have to go to Massachusetts or Maine. That’s not the end of the world.”

“No, it’s not.” Rickie frowns. “But dude. Do youwantto go to vet school? I never heard you mention it before.”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I’d rather raise animals than operate on them. But it could be good, right? I could deliver calves for a living.”

“And shoot horses,” Rickie points out. “And treat golden retrievers with cancer.”

“You are just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

Rickie snickers. “Pretty much.”