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A hand wiped the sweat from his brow before gripping the shovel and driving the spade deep into the coarse dirt beneath him. The sun was relentless, beating down with an oppressive heat that clung to his skin like a second layer. The air was thick, suffocating, the kind of heat that made every breath feel heavy. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, scanning the open fields where the cows grazed lazily. Just a lil’ longer, then I can knock out. By this time the weight of his horns started to cause an ache that spread throughout the rest of his body, screaming at him to rest.

Grumbling under his breath, he trudged toward the wheelbarrow overflowing with manure. His fingers curled around the worn handles, muscles tensing as he lifted it with a grunt. Each step toward the compost bins felt heavier than the last, his breath coming in strained huffs. The moment he reached the spot, he let the wheelbarrow drop with a dull thud.

Harrison turned back toward the fence to grab his shovel, but something caught his eye. His gaze narrowed. A car.

It crept down the dusty road leading to the farmhouse, kicking up a cloud of dirt in its wake. His brows furrowed at the sight; sleek, polished, and too damn out of place. He didn’t recognize it, and around here, unfamiliar cars usually meant trouble. Rolling his eyes, he huffed, walking over to rest the shovel’s wooden handle against the compost bin before dusting off his hands.

With a heavy sigh, he started making his way from behind the barn toward the small farmhouse. Just another greedy bastard. His chest tightened with every step, eyes locked onto the vehicle now dulled by the dust it had stirred up. Gotta tell ‘em to get lost, just like the rest. He sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself.

As the car door swung open, Harrison expected the usual; a slick businessman in a suit or some lady in a stiff blouse and pencil skirt. What he wasn’t expecting was someone his age, dressed well enough but nowhere near the appearance of some corporate dick rider. His brows knitted together as he barked out, “I think yer lost, bud. Need directions back to the main roads?”

He moved in, boots crunching against the dirt, stepping into the stranger’s space without hesitation. His gaze was steady, sharp, scanning their features, until something in his expression flickered. Recognition. It’s that damn brat… His teeth clenched, fingers curling into tight fists.

“I think it was made pretty damn clear, there’s nothin’ here for you or your family,” he growled, his voice low and edged with something bitter. “Couldn’t even pick up a damn phone to give the old man a call, but now you think you’re owed somethin’?” He shook his head, stepping back, already turning toward the farmhouse.

“Turn yer prissy ass around and get off my damn property.” Harrison didn’t bother looking back. He didn’t need to see their face to know what expression they were wearing; whether it was guilt, anger, or something else entirely. It didn’t matter. He said his piece. Now, he just had to hope they listened.