She walked off before they could say more. The gravel crunched beneath her boots as she crossed the field toward the barn. The low sun spilled golden light across the boards, illuminating the dust like flecks of gold. Her father had loved this barn. She took a quick look at it before heading back home for the night.
When she was little, he’d hoist her onto his shoulders and pretend they were knights storming a castle. He used to whistle while he worked, stacking hay like pillows. He taught her how to mend fence posts and warm her hands in her pockets when the frost bit hard.