Any Way the Wind Blows Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Book Details

  Dedication

  Any Way the Wind Blows

  About the Author

  ANY

  WAY

  THE

  WIND BLOWS

  CARLIN GRANT

  Callie lives on the road, trading labor for food and lodging through a farm work-exchange program. She's perfectly content with the life she's created, but it is shaken up when she meets Jo, a mechanic and sister of Callie's latest boss.

  For the first time, Callie begins reconsidering the choices she's made. But Jo's life is far more complicated than her own and as family tensions rise, they threaten to pull Callie in, and her growing bond with Jo might not be reason enough to stay.

  BOOK DETAILS

  Any Way the Wind Blows

  By Carlin Grant

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Leta Hutchins

  Cover designed by Natasha Snow

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition Month 2016

  Copyright © 2016 by Carlin Grant

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781620047415

  To Katey and Jenna, for everything

  ANY WAY THE WIND BLOWS

  "C'mon, Josey, don't be like that."

  I brought my hand up to shield the sun from my eyes, and narrowed them as I took in the scene. The woman was tall, Hispanic, with her long black hair pulled back into a braid; she fit the description of my ride. Some generically yuppie-looking bro had her backed up against a pickup, gesturing as he leaned into her space. She wasn't making eye contact and had angled herself away from him, but when she tried to move out to the side, he smoothly stepped in and blocked the path. She glanced around, and when her eyes locked with mine, she gave me the unmistakable 'save me from this creep' look. It always amazed me that while every girl knew it, guys never seemed to catch on.

  But that was fine. If this dude wanted to play oblivious, well, so could I.

  As made my way over, he said something about them both knowing she was going to say yes eventually—which, gross, dude. I parked in front of them. "Hey, sorry to interrupt," I lied, and shot him a clueless smile before turning to the woman. "You're my ride, right?" I offered my hand out to shake hers, my arm a barrier between the two of them. "I'm Callie Asaad. Should I put my stuff in the back?"

  "Oh, um, yeah." It took a second for her to catch on, but the moment she did, she added a quick, "Here, let me help you with that."

  Together, we pushed him back. I carried my hiking backpack in front of me through the tight space with an "Oh, wow, it's tight in here. Sorry!" He glared and attempted to twist to get by behind me. I dropped my bag and made a face, squatting so there was no way to cross unless he physically stepped over me. I didn't think he'd try it, but if he did, he was fair game for a dick-punch, as far as I was concerned.

  He tried to wait me out, but after a few minutes of pretending to dig for my phone all the way at the bottom of my big-ass bag, he gave up. "Think about what I said, Josey," he said. He waited, like he expected her to say something, but after an awkward silence, finally just left. He'd parked across the street at the grocery store, apparently. Considering the bus depot lot was near empty, it only gave me an even more uneasy feeling.

  Jo watched him go as I stuffed my things back into my bag, and she furrowed her brow. "Don't you need your phone?"

  I grinned and pulled it out of my back pocket, giving it a little wiggle. "Sorry. You seemed like you did not want him to be there."

  She was silent as she shifted her weight back and forth. I was worried maybe I'd read the situation wrong, but how could I? It was so clear. I was about to ask all the same, but she sighed and gave a brisk nod. "Thanks."

  "No problem." She got in the truck and, after I tossed my bag in the back, I jumped in the passenger seat. "Oh, by the way." She paused in backing out to look at me, one eyebrow raised. "Do you go by Jo or Josie?"

  It was subtle, but the corners of her mouth twitched towards a frown. "Jo, please."

  The energy in the car was even more awkward than before, like maybe she expected me to say something about it and hoped I wouldn't. I just smiled back. "Cool. Thanks for the ride, Jo."

  Nothing else was said for a while after that. There wasn't even music to fill the silence, and I desperately hoped maybe she'd turn some on. Hell, even talk radio would be better at this point. Jo looked straight ahead as she gripped the wheel like she was punishing it, and I stared out the window for lack of anything else to do. I'd resigned myself to spending the entire trip acting as if empty fields were the most interesting thing I'd ever seen when she finally gave me a quick look out of the corner of her eye. I wasn't sure what to make of it, and when I glanced back, she acted like she hadn't. The third time it happened, I twisted in my seat to look right back at her. "What?"

  "Oh, I, uh." She seemed startled, and I could see her throat work as she stared back out at the road. "I like your shirt."

  "Oh. Thanks!" It was one of my favorites, a red and white flannel that I'd dip dyed in bleach. I'd thrown it on over a tee and rolled the sleeves up to my elbows. "I made it."

  "Really?" At the next stop sign, she idled long enough to give it an appreciative look. "It's really good. I'm no good at those things." Her tone was a familiar one, as if a couple of stitches and a bowl of bleach was a divine art, bestowed to few and one they could never master.

  "It really is super easy. I only do things that take an hour or two, tops."

  "You do stuff like that a lot?" The hair wrap that I used to keep my curls off my face was handmade, and I'd cut the neck out of my shirt and patched up my pants. She peered over again, curious, and I watched her as she catalogued the obvious hand stitching on each one.

  "Yeah. I get most of my stuff from the thrift store, except my work pants, which are both amazing and stupid expensive. Getting everything else second hand helps me afford them, and then I just customize everything from tutorials online."

  She was looking at my pants now. I'm pretty sure no one had paid so much attention to my clothes in, well… Probably ever. "Why do you need those pants?" Her eyes widened, like she realized she sounded a little rude, and backpedaled in a rush. "I mean, if you're trying to save money, there are probably cheaper ones."

  "Oh, well, I pretty much do this—" I waved vaguely around the truck, trying to indicate the farm work in general "—year-round, and these ones last a long time. They stay cool, dry fast…They're great pants, especially when you can only pack two pairs."

  "You do this all year?" She sounded disbelieving, and I understood. There were a few other long-term workers I'd met, but most people did it for a few months at most. "How do you afford it?"

  "I work like hell over winter doing extra stuff and odd jobs, save up, and then I just travel around working through FarmShare." FarmShare was the 'agricultural tourism' program that people like me used, where you could sign up and pick farms to work at in exchange for food and lodging. Cheap travel and extra hands for sustainable farms all rolled into one mutually beneficial package. "My only expenses are my phone, clothes, transportation, and whatever I eat when I'm not at a farm. That can get expensive, but I pick farms close together so I never pay more than twenty bucks for a ticket, and I eat a lot of homemade trail mix. I'm always feeling pretty strapped by October, but it's bet
ter than having to do… I don't know. Whatever it is most people do."

  "Wow." Jo was quiet for a moment, then said, "I'm not sure I could do that."

  "Yeah. I mean, I'm effectively homeless, so that right there freaks people out." She snorted at that, and I grinned back at her. "I couldn't do it if I had kids, I don't really have any health problems, and I know my parents would let me stay with them if shit hit the fan, you know? It's a really insecure way to live; I'm never sure where I'm going to be a month from now, and that takes some privilege to pull off. But, I don't know. I graduated college and just sort of looked at my life, and the idea of buying a farm, settling down… it scared the hell out of me." A lot of things scared the hell out of me—there was a reason I'd never stayed in a single place for longer than a month for the last four years. "I had to get away."

  Jo was so quiet, I was pretty sure I'd offended her or something. Before I could try to apologize, she said quietly "I know what you mean."

  When we stopped at the light, she frowned, giving me a curious look. "Isn't it hard, with relationships? Don't you want a boyfriend?" She visibly caught herself before adding, "Or a girlfriend?"

  I felt myself bristle instinctively, but something in her tone and the way she didn't automatically assume heterosexuality kept me from retorting with a snotty none of your damn business. She seemed honestly curious and a little confused, instead of the typical judgements that made me uncomfortable telling new people that I was asexual.

  Whatever it was, it made me give a more even response, even if, at least in my head, I was very much on the defensive. "No. I don't date," I said simply, waiting to see what her response would be.

  There was the typical surprise I'd expected, but there was this flicker of… a smile, maybe? I wasn't sure. Something satisfied that didn't feel negative, but that I had no idea what to do with. I definitely had never encountered it before. "Your parents are okay with that?"

  I barked out a laugh, I couldn't help it. "Who gives a damn what they think? I'm the one who has to date the person. But I mean, yeah, I wouldn't say they're thrilled, but they're fine with it."

  She nodded, like she was processing it. "Oh," she said, simple, like it had honestly never occurred to her before.

  Before I could come up with anything to say to that, we were pulling up to the house. It was older, but in good shape, even if it needed a coat of paint. The crops and greenhouses were closing in on the house and, farther out, sheep or some other small livestock grazed. Idyllic. No matter how many farms I'd been on, there was always that rush of excitement, that urge to dig my hands in the dirt, whenever I came to a new one.

  Jo got out of the truck and grabbed my bag out for me. Dog tags fell out of her shirt, and when she caught me looking she hooked her thumb in the chain to show me.

  "Josefina Zepeda," I read aloud. "Spanish or English J?"

  "Spanish, but keep using English for the nickname."

  "Josefina," I repeated, correcting the pronunciation, and the corner of her mouth twitched up in something of a pleased expression. "Where did you serve?"

  "With the Army, in Iraq. 91B—that's wheeled vehicle mechanic. I've got a shop right over there." She pointed over her shoulder, to a dirt road that twisted and disappeared behind trees.

  "That's awesome." Had I ever even heard of a female mechanic? I didn't think that I had. I knew women who had joined the army, but even that still wasn't a big number. "I'll have to come up and see you."

  And just like that, there it was again, that tiny hint of a smile. Every time I saw it, it just made me want to tug another out of her.

  She checked her watch and sighed. "Gotta get back to work. Go up to the house and someone will show you the ropes."

  I hooked my thumbs under the straps of my backpack as she climbed back in her truck. "Okay, thanks. And, hey, thank you for the ride."

  "Don't mention it." She started up the engine and began to back up, but stopped again to lean out the window. "But, if you do want to come up sometime, well. I can talk and work at the same time."

  I grinned. "See you soon, then."

  *~*~*

  "I thought I told you to muck the stalls before cleaning out the coop."

  I squinted against the sun, not wanting to shield my eyes with my chicken shit covered gloves. It was Mark, the farm owner, and he was looking pretty irritated. "Yeah, you did. Already took care of it."

  The look he gave me was openly skeptical, and he made a show out of checking his watch, like he was shocked at the time. "Did you scrub out the feed and water buckets?" He talked slow and patronizing, like he was reminding a child of something he already knew they forgot. Except, see, I hadn't forgotten them, and if they weren't to his standards, then they were impossibly high. It was more likely that he hadn't checked.

  "And the trough." I tried to keep my voice cheerful as I sloughed the waste into the compost. Hopefully, seeing me work would get him to lay off.

  No such luck. "Swept the barn floor?"

  I lowered the chicken roost down and parked myself into a squat. Clearly we were going to be here for a while, so I might as well take a break. "I swept out your cobwebs, too. You can check if you want."

  "Don't think I won't." He said it like a warning, but I just shrugged, so he left to inspect it. Sure enough, he was back five minutes later, his face bright and full of surprise. "Damn, girl, sorry about that. I'm so used to having to hold everyone's damn hands for the first couple days. Finishing quick usually isn't a good sign."

  "It's fine." I knew the type. There were always differences from farm to farm that took time to learn, but you also always had people who were inexperienced, or too proud to ask questions. Still, I just barely managed to resist reminding him that if he wanted professional work, he'd have to pay a little more for it than three meals and a bed. I hadn't noticed many employees, aside from the ones working through FarmShare like me. "I've almost finished cleaning out the coop. Just need to finish scraping this out and lay some fresh shavings.

  Mark nodded, then checked his watch again. "Well, hey, I tell you what. I was going to go run some errands later, but since you're almost done, do you want to do the grocery shopping for me? You'd save me some time."

  "Sure!" It wasn't just the promise of air conditioning that had me excited. The thrift store was right across from the grocery store if my memory served, and I had an idea. I got back to work with renewed enthusiasm. "Give me half an hour."

  *~*~*

  "No, Mom—There's nothing wrong with him, I'm just. I'm not interested? I know, I know there aren't a lot of guys like him around here, but I just—I'm not—"

  I hadn't heard Jo talking until I was already hovering in the entrance of her shop. It was lunch time and when they'd said Jo would be working through hers, I'd jumped at the chance to bring it up to her. I glanced back, conflicted. It was a long way back to the house, and my muscles ached from a morning of hard labor. I wasn't eager to make it again, especially when I'd just have to come back later.

  There was a shade tree not far from the door, but just as I turned to head over to it, she spotted me. Immediately, she switched to Spanish, and I flinched. Definitely wasn't supposed to hear that, then.

  Sorry, I mouthed as I started to back out, but she just shook her head and indicated for me to stay. She spent a minute going through the universal motions of getting your mom off the phone, nodding and repeating "Si, Mama," before finally saying goodbye and pocketing her phone.

  "I didn't mean to interrupt," I said, the words coming out in a rush. I didn't want her to think I'd just been standing there eavesdropping. "I only got here a second ago."

  She just shook her head, and the twitch of her mouth looked amused. "It was open." She waited for a few beats before raising an eyebrow at me." You brought lunch?" she asked, slowly, like she was prompting me.

  "Oh. Yeah!" I tried to pull out her lunch bag, but the whole pile shifted perilously. "Oh, shit," I said, my head full of visions of smushed sandwiches and sha
ken sodas, but Jo rushed in with a chuckle to steady me. Once we'd gotten everything straightened out, I offered her the wrapped bundle in my arms. "And, here. I made you something."

  Jo set aside her lunch, and wiped her hands on her grease-stained jeans. "What is it?" She asked, eyeing it with a curious look.

  "Open it and find out." I gave the package a little wiggle. "It won't bite."

  She accepted it, and eyed me as she carefully pulled away the newspaper wrapping. Once it was out, she just stared at the fabric pooled in her lap for a long moment. "You got me a shirt." She hung it over her arm, examining the gradation at the bottom. It was dip-dyed in bleach, just like the one she'd admired, except hers was a black plaid that slowly faded out to white. "You made this for me?"

  "Yeah. I did the shopping for Mark yesterday, and ran into Goodwill after. If there's one thing that can be counted on in thrift stores, its lots of plaid flannel." It was obvious, with the way she was slowly fingering the fabric, but I still had to ask. "Do you like it?"

  "Yeah." She pulled on the shirt over her black tank, and carefully rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. Taking a step back, she checked her reflection in the truck door, straightening the sleeves and collar before flashing me a smile. "Thank you."

  "No problem." Seeing how much she liked it made it totally worth it. "You just seemed to like mine so much."

  "I do." She shrugged it off again, and carefully laid it on the desk in the corner that housed a decrepit looking computer. "Don't want to get it dirty," she said, when she caught me looking. She settled back a moment later, and eyed me as she unwrapped her lunch. "You want to stay and eat?"

  I had already started digging in to my lunch bag, and froze. "Uh, if that's cool?"

  Her smile felt amused as she nodded once. "Of course."

  "Totally." I dug in, and made a happy sound around the first bite. It was only turkey and cheese with a little avocado, but right now, it was just about the best thing I'd ever tasted.