So I kept my expression calm.
“Well, thank you for taking care of the field.”
Dwayne relaxed immediately.
“Figured somebody needed to handle it.”
I pulled out the chair opposite him.
“Just one thing. Who bought those bales?”
He answered without hesitation.
“Arlen got eighty. Gene Pokorny bought a hundred. And that young husband and wife south of town took the last thirty-two.”
I recognized every name.
Arlen was seventy-eight and had been Tom’s friend for most of his adult life.
At the funeral, he’d stood beside me while I struggled to remain on my feet.
Gene was a longtime cattleman whose family had farmed nearby for generations.
And the young couple had recently purchased their first piece of farmland.
These weren’t strangers.
They were people who knew us.
I studied Dwayne carefully.
“What did you tell them when you offered the hay?”
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
