PART 3 — THE UNSPOKEN DIVIDE

Over the next month, Victoria came back four times.

She never called ahead.

Partly because the cell service around my farm was terrible, but I suspected there was another reason too.

She liked arriving without warning.

Sometimes she brought groceries. Sometimes work folders. Once, she showed up wearing a brand-new pair of boots specifically because she had decided my pastures were going to stop ruining her shoes.

I gave her a hard time about that.

She told me they were practical.

I told her they were still too expensive to step in cow manure.

She told me I was impossible.

I told her she kept coming back anyway.

That usually made her quiet.

And I secretly loved it.

We started spending hours together.

We walked the boundary lines of my property. We checked the cattle. We sat on the porch in the evenings while the seasons slowly changed.

I learned things about her that I never would have guessed from that first rainy afternoon.

I learned about the pressure she carried as the head of her family’s company.

The endless meetings.

The board members.

The expectations.

The responsibility of running a business her grandfather had built.

And Victoria learned about my world.

She learned how expensive diesel had become.

How carefully you had to plan hay harvests.

How one broken tractor could ruin an entire week.

She learned that there was a strange kind of satisfaction in watching a newborn calf struggle to stand for the first time.

We came from completely different worlds.

But somehow, when we were together on my farm, those worlds didn’t seem to matter.

At least, that’s what I believed.

Until the first Friday in July.

It had rained for three straight days.

The low ground had turned into a swamp, and my second hay cutting was already delayed.

That morning, I was underneath my John Deere tractor trying to patch an oil leak while thinking about a loan payment due at the end of the month.

I was covered in grease.

I was exhausted.

And I was in no mood for anything.

Then Victoria’s SUV came up the driveway.

I wiped my hands on a rag and stood.

But this time, Victoria wasn’t alone.

A tall man in a perfectly tailored suit stepped out of the passenger side.

He looked at my muddy yard.

Then my leaning barn.

Then my old equipment.

Then my tractor.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

Victoria walked toward me with a hesitant smile.

“Caleb! This is Julian Myers. He’s our chief legal counsel.”

She gestured toward him.

“We had a meeting in Jefferson City that ended early, so I offered to drive back through here.”

Julian extended his hand carefully, making sure his expensive shoes didn’t sink into the dirt.

“Caleb. Victoria has told me… a bit about your assistance last month.”

I wiped my hand on my grease-covered rag before shaking his.

“Julian. Welcome to the farm.”

He looked around again.

“Charming place.”

He paused.

“Very… traditional.”

I said nothing.

Then he added:

“Must be a challenge to turn a profit on this acreage with current equipment costs.”

He probably didn’t mean to insult me.

That was the worst part.

He was simply analyzing what he saw.

A farm.

Old equipment.

Expenses.

Profit.

Numbers on a spreadsheet.

But his words hit the exact place my ex-wife had spent years wearing down.

“We manage,” I said.

Victoria noticed my tone immediately.

“Julian was actually just leaving for St. Louis.”

She looked at him.

“His driver is waiting at the crossroad.”

Julian checked his watch.

“Yes.”

Then he turned toward Victoria.

“Don’t forget the board packet for Monday. The board is still uneasy about the Midwest expansion numbers.”

He walked away.

I watched him disappear down the driveway.

Then everything became quiet.

Victoria stepped closer.

“He didn’t mean anything by it, Caleb.”

I turned back toward the tractor.

“He’s right.”

She frowned.

“About what?”

I picked up my wrench.

“It’s small. It’s old. And it’s expensive to keep running.”

“That’s not why I came here.”

“No?”

I dropped the wrench into my toolbox.

The heavy sound echoed across the yard.

“You came here because it’s a nice weekend distraction.”

Victoria froze.

“A quiet little rustic getaway from the real world.”

Her face changed.

The second I saw it, I knew I’d gone too far.

But I couldn’t stop.

I gestured between us.

“Look at us, Victoria.”

I looked down at my oil-covered shirt.

Then at her custom boots.

“You run an empire.”

I pointed toward the tractor.

“I’m arguing with a thirty-year-old machine while worrying about next week’s feed bill.”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed.

“Caleb—”

“Your lawyer looks at this place and sees a failing line item.”

I swallowed.

“And deep down, you know he’s not wrong.”

Her face hardened.

“I have never looked at this place—or you—that way.”

“Maybe not yet.”

The words came out quietly.

“But eventually, everyone does.”

She stared at me.

I couldn’t look at her anymore.

I had spent years learning how to protect myself.

When my marriage ended, I told myself I didn’t need anyone.

When money became tight, I worked harder.

When loneliness came, I convinced myself that quiet was peace.

And now, somehow, I had allowed myself to care about a woman who lived in a world I couldn’t even begin to afford.

Victoria’s voice finally broke the silence.

“I thought you were braver than that, Caleb.”

I looked up.

She turned around.

Walked to her SUV.

And drove away.

She didn’t look back.

For the first time since I’d met her, I wished the mud had held her fast.