Chapter Sixteen
Parker paused his work in the hayloft to lean over the handle of his pitchfork and look out the hay door. The late afternoon sun had turned the Flint Hills gold. The view was incredible here, encompassing barnyard and the surrounding pastures. Parker’s shirt was soaked, and his muscles ached from lack of sleep, but that never stopped him from appreciating his surroundings.
Truth be told, he hated the hayloft. But Gunnar had asked him to move hay, and so move it he did, tossing forkful after forkful down through a hole in the second story floor to use the next time they mucked the stables. But since he was alone, he took a moment to admire the vast expanse of prairie that shone in the distance, a tapestry of green and gold.
Immediately below stood the new and improved mus
