Come Hell or High Water | mxm

1.3

1.3

Tasseled golden wheat nodded dozily between weathered split-beam fences. Foamy cloud banked into islands amidst dreamy cerulean sky.

The poplar trees in the windbreak glowed buttery yellow against the deep blue spruce between as Sam pulled into the cluttered farmyard. He stepped out to the sound of migrating geese honking mournfully overhead; furiously beating wings barely maintained their stragglingly asymmetrical, southward-aiming vee.

Gord was waiting for him. Leaning against the rusty blue pickup, legs crossed at the ankle, he looked relaxed. A cigarette dangled loosely between his fingers and a battered tan cowboy hat was pulled low over his forehead.

Despite the fierce sun, crisp autumn air pinked Sam's golden cheeks as he trotted across the yard. Hands met in a firm grip, calluses already feeling familiar against smooth palm. A gust of wind set up a rattling in curled leaves, knocked a fluttering handful free to scatter before the sharp breeze.

"Sorry I'm late," Sam said with a small smile, fully aware the apology was nearly a ritual by this point. "Just came up from Calgary this morning and traffic on highway two was a nightmare. Did you want to do the walkaround right away, or--"

"That's the thought. Okay with you?"

"Of course, whatever works best for you. I've got some other documents we should go over, too, but we can do that after."

Gord squashed out his cigarette butt against the door of the truck, then tucked it into the pocket of his worn black leather jacket. The door creaked open at his touch, and as he climbed into the driver's seat Sam hurried around and hopped up into the other side, settling his briefcase on his lap.

"Was it an accident?" Gord asked, keys rattling on their chain as he extracted the correct one.

"On the highway?" Sam buckled his seat belt and scuffed a hand through his hair. "There was, earlier. Pickup crossed the median and took a semi head-on. Haven't heard yet about casualties, but it shut down all the northbound traffic for nearly an hour. It was cleared by the time I passed it, but you know how traffic is on that road. That kinda backup takes ages to move through."

"Just wait 'til the first real snow." The engine roared to life, the old truck shivering around them ominously.

"Oh, I know, it'll be cars in the ditch all the way to Edmonton," Sam sighed, as Gord executed a precise three-point turn in the farmyard. "It's like people forget how to drive every summer. Have you been to look at it yet? I know they only finished construction yesterday."

Gord shook his head. The engine rumbled comfortably through the switching gears. He reached over to flip on the radio; classic rock swam moodily out of the speakers.

"Just the access road. Wanted to see it with yer survey for reference."

"Of course."

"Not tryna inconvenience you."

"No, no," Sam insisted. "It's not a problem. That's why I'm here." He laughed. "Although I think I'm starting to see why Mark thought you'd be trouble. You certainly ask a lot of questions."

"Hm." Green eyes held fast to the dusty gravel road ahead.

Sam studied Gord's solemn profile. "You doing okay?" he asked, dark eyes wide and earnest.

"Sure." There was a pause, and then Gord admitted, "Could be better."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, tone sincere. "I can't imagine losing a parent so young. Were you close with your father?"

Big shoulders rolled uncomfortably. Fingers flexed, tightened again on the steering wheel. "Not really." Shame roughened his voice.

Sheepishly, Sam murmured, "I'm not trying to pry. Please, if I'm ever making you feel uncomfortable, tell me so. I know I can be a little much, sometimes."