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Justice broke a bale of hay up between the last two stalls, King and Penny nosing into it immediately, neighing and snuffling as they ate. He leaned a moment against the wood before checking to make sure they both had fresh water.
He stopped on his way out to rub Dilly's nose and feed him a couple of carrots. He was going to need to pick some more carrots up at the grocery store. He was out. And if he didn't get his hay cut soon, he was going to be buying that soon, too. Damn it, there was just too much for one man to do.
Rubbing his forehead, he gave Dilly another stroke along the nose and headed up to the house, Jig barked at his heels, the silly mutt nearly tripping him up before he told her to get on back to the barn. The sun had just set, but he knew the way in the dark and soon was washing up in the mud room, shedding his boots and his muddy jeans. He had a pair of sweats hanging over the back of a chair in the kitchen and he slipped them on, the material worn and soft, comfortable.
The kitchen light was soft and homey, comfortable. He checked the fridge and took out the pork chops and barbeque sauce. Back out on the deck, he grilled the chops by the light from the kitchen. He was generous with the sauce--when he reheated the extra chops over the next few days, that sauce would keep them from getting too dry.
He had leftover mashed potatoes and sliced carrots. Adding them to his plate, he grabbed a beer and a fork and headed into the front room, sat in his chair and pulled the little TV table over.
The news was over, but there were some sports on the TV; a baseball game. Though neither of the teams playing were ones he followed, it was something to watchas he made short work of his food. He was too hungry to stretch it out and in five minutes he was back out in the kitchen, cutting off a piece of apple pie and heating it up in the microwave. He didn't have any ice cream left--he'd used the last of it the other day and there wouldn't be any more until he got some cash flow happening. Which meant bringing in the hay. It would likely be a couple more weeks before it was ready and then he had to take a day or two to get it cut. He sure wished he could hire on some help, but he just didn't have the money. At least there hadn't been any debt when his father had left him the farm, but any money there was had gone to inheritance taxes and funeral costs, which saw him living from cutting to cutting, hoping to keep everything together.
His pie didn't take any longer to eat than his supper had, but by the time he was finished his belly was full and he had that post meal haze going on. His tiredness was aggravated by the hard day's work he'd put in that had started well before dawn and he soon dozed off, the TV's drone giving him the illusion of company.
When he jerked awake sometime later, the game was over and it was time for bed. He tossed his dishes in the sink--they'd keep until morning and it wasn't like there was anyone to take offense to how dirty things got around there. There was only him and right now he was too bushed to care.
He brushed his teeth and washed his face and his hands, before stripping down and getting into bed. Of course, now that he was lying down and it was past the time for any man who began his work day with the sun to be asleep, he was wide awake. That's what he got for napping after supper.