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didn’t have your love of the land, your work ethic, your sense of adventure, your devotion to your family. They didn’t understand me the way you did. They didn’t push my buttons, they couldn’t give me a stupid nickname like Squeegee and make it sound like the most tender endearment.” “You couldn’t talk them into jumping from the top barn beam?” She snorted. “That too.” “They didn’t quit talking to you when you broke their leg?” “I did not break your leg. You—” His phone buzzed again, and she remembered that she’d never looked at it to begin with. She held it up. “It’s from your sister.” Half of the message was cut off, so she pressed the button and entered his password. It was the same as hers: Tella’s birthdate. They’d gotten their first phones about the same time she was born. Ames still remembered sitting in the hospital waiting to go in to see Louise and Tella, Palmer and her trying to figure out the newfangled technology together, wondering what a good password would be. She’d had three or four phones since. Palmer hadn’t been around when she’d gotten any of them, and now she used her thumbprint to open it most of the time, but her numerical passcode had stayed the same on all of them. Palmer’s phone opened. Apparently his had too. She pulled Louise’s text up and read it out loud. “‘Pap fell. He’s coherent but wobbly. I think he might have had another stroke. I’m taking him to the hospital in Rockerton. Gram and Tella are with me. The stock is fed for tonight, but the waterer in the far corner pasture is leaking.’” Palmer’s jaw set. His finger tapped the steering wheel. Ames set his phone down and put her hand on his leg. He jumped a little, and his mouth turned up, despite the worried look on his face. That slow grin that made her heart do cartwheels spread across his face. “I can get used to this,” Palmer said, looking at her hand before
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