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“Ma has an apple pie for you to take home.”
    â€œYou folks keep feedin’ me every time I show up, and I’m going to be five hundred pounds.”
    â€œWait ’til you’re my age and see what a good woman’s cookin’ does to ya.” Her father chuckled. A moment of silence followed. By the motions of their shadows, she could tell her father leaned against the truck. “You talked to Miya yet?”
    â€œYes,” Shawn answered. “And she’s still stubborn as hell.”
    â€œThat’s a fact. Just like her momma.” Her father chuckled. “You plan on tryin’ to get her to stay on?”
    Shawn’s shadow stiffened. “Sir, we haven’t ever spoken about what happened, and I’ve always appreciated that fact.”
    â€œThat yer way of tellin’ me it ain’t my business?”
    â€œNo, sir.” Shawn leaned against the truck as well, and she edged closer until she could make out his profile. He’d removed his shirt, revealing smooth tanned skin that glistened under the brutal heat of the midday sun. A simple glance set her pulse to a frantic race, infusing her mind with the memory of touching his hard body the night before. “I appreciate your willingness to continue to speak with me. Even after I hurt your daughter.”
    So he’d admit it to her father, but not to her. What the fuck?
    â€œAlways wondered what happened ’tween you two.” She could see her father’s profile now too, and he removed his hat to swipe his forehead with a handkerchief. “Figured it weren’t my place to question.”
    â€œYou’d have to ask Miya.” Shawn grabbed another bale from the side of the truck and flung it to the ground. “And honestly, I wouldn’t have known what to tell you. I never understood her leavin’.”
    She didn’t miss the past tense of the comment. As if he understood now…
    Her father’s gaze wandered to the house where the scent of apple pie drifted from the windows. “Seems to me, you only got a little time to figure it all out.”
    Miya bit back a curse. The last thing she wanted was for her father to encourage him. She was about to step out from the side of the barn when Shawn placed a hand on his shoulder. “You should rest. Go on up to the house. I’ll finish this.”
    When her father nodded and eased away from the truck with a heavy groan, her legs nearly gave out. She hadn’t noticed the pallor, or the strain etched on the hard lines of his face. He wore his sixty years well. Tall, with broad shoulders, George Jackson had always been busy with their family farm. Years of daily labor and the physical demands of running a farm had streamlined his body. He’d been her hero for as long as she remembered, and now the salt and pepper of his hair, and the deep lines around his eyes were more noticeable. Much more so than when she’d left.
    His slow gait was marred by a slight limp, and she pressed a fist to her mouth to hold back a cry. How had her father aged so quickly? Four years wasn’t that long. She searched her mind for the memories of their times together. She’d never noticed him slowing down.
    â€œHe’s fine.” Shawn’s voice broke through the memories flittering in her head. “Just getting on in years.”
    With concern for her father pressing in on her, she couldn’t feel embarrassed at being caught listening. “I don’t know how it happened so quickly. He’s never left a job unfinished.”
    Shawn hooked another bale of hay and maneuvered it into the barn. “Lot can change in four years.”
    â€œWe’re talking about my dad. Not us.” She followed him into the cooler recesses of the barn. A huge row of hay bales lined the farthest side of the barn. “But thank you for helping him.”
    â€œNo thanks needed.” Every muscle strained as he lifted the