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their words of concern, painful though they were, floated around in my brain the rest of the day.

Chapter Six
    For the first time in my life, I had a job, and—wouldn’t you know it?—I was surrounded by men. When Dusty Burnett, from the feed store, insisted he needed some accounting work done, I assumed he asked me as a favor to Ruthie’s uncle Ansel, but after inspecting his books—four spiral notebooks filled with pencil scratches—I could see the man truly did need help.
    So every weekday morning at seven, I parked Velma’s Chevy between the tractor implements in the parking lot, climbed the loading ramp past crates of livestock feed, and made my way through the dimly lit sales floor to Dusty’s closet-sized office, where I crunched numbers, reviewed purchase orders, and organized files until noon. I loved the work, putting my college accounting classes to use, and took advantage of the opportunity to forget my troubles.
    The downside? Customers—mostly men—sauntered through the store, a few of them greeting me, others ignoring me awkwardly, most of them paying no attention whatsoever. I had always enjoyed a certain reaction from men, but since I had gotten pregnant, their eyes skimmed past me. I felt like a jar of peaches on display at the youth fair, inspected for color, taste, and texture, then set aside in a dark cupboard until winter.
    I lifted my gaze from the computer screen and noticed Clyde Felton out on the sales floor. The man’s muscular frame seemed to fill the entire back corner of the store as he casually studied a display of seeds and glanced at me every few seconds.
    Great. Of all the men in town, only the convicted rapist paid attention to me. With his dirty-blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail, he didn’t look as rough as usual, but when he saw me watching, he shuffled out of my line of sight.
    I dropped my head in my hands, running my fingernails through my hair before gripping handfuls of curls at the base of my neck. The good Lord would probably strike me dead for my vanity.
    â€œYou don’t look so good.”
    I jerked my head up, only to see Ansel and Velma’s grown son. My shoulders relaxed. “Oh, I’m all right, Coach Pickett. Taking a break.”
    â€œI told you to stop calling me Coach. You graduated from high school three years ago.”
    â€œI’m trying, but JohnScott just sounds wrong.”
    I didn’t really know Ruthie’s cousin except as my high school history teacher. Even though I’d lived with his parents for the past seven months, I mostly stayed locked in the spare bedroom with a box of tissues. Nevertheless, the coach and I developed a light friendship over evening meals, which he habitually ate at their house. He lived in a manufactured home on the back of their property, and Velma said she saw no sense in him cooking a random nibble every night when she planned an entire spread.
    He rested a fist on the doorframe. “Mom’s Chevy running all right?”
    â€œSeems to be.” I gently swiveled my chair back and forth.
    â€œMight need Freon soon.”
    â€œOkay.” I had no idea what he meant by Freon, but I didn’t ask. “Thanks for helping with the garage-sale furniture.”
    â€œYep.” His eyes traveled around the store before he looked back at me. “Your front steps could use a little repair. Thought I’d slap a few boards on there before somebody gets hurt.”
    â€œThere’s no need for that, Coach Pick— JohnScott . The steps are fine.”
    â€œThey’re not.” One side of his mouth lifted, creating a set of smile lines on that cheek, but I didn’t mind him laughing at me.
    When I sat in his classroom my sophomore year of high school, most of the girls tittered because he was straight out of college, attractive and single, but I hadn’t paid him any mind. In the first place, he was Ruthie’s cousin, and