Black Single Dad Went Looking for Work on a Farm — He Didn't Know a Millionaire Would Make Him Rich
Chapter 9
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Luke worked alone. He would bale a stretch, climb down, and swing the bales onto the flatbed wagon, one after another, in a rhythm that never broke. Sweat soaked through his olive shirt and dripped from his chin. The rough twine bit into his palms until they burned. But he did not slow down.In his mind, every bale was a meal for Toby. Every full wagon was a night in a real bed. Every finished row put a little more distance between him and the worst seven months of his life.Every half hour, without fail, he drove back toward the yard, parked the tractor beside the diesel tank next to the machine shed, and walked to the white oak. He handed Toby the water jug, checked that the boy was still in the shade, admired the drawing, and ruffled his hair. Then he went back to the field.On his fourth trip back, he topped off the diesel tank, left the tractor idling beside the shed, and spent ten minutes at the yard pump refilling the water jug and splashing cold water on his face.40 minutes later, out in the far corner of the field, the tractor jerked. A sharp hiss split the air. A jet of hot hydraulic fluid sprayed across the grass beside the rear wheel. The baler arm dropped, and the pickup reel shuddered to a stop.Luke killed the engine immediately and jumped down. The fluid was pumping from a hydraulic hose running under the tractor frame. He crouched, pulled a rag from his back pocket, and wiped the line clean so he could see the damage.Then he went very still.A hose that wore out on its own split in a ragged tear, or it bulged and cracked along the rubber. This one did neither. There was a neat slice halfway through the outer wall, straight and clean, like it had been made with a pair of cutting pliers. It had been cut just deep enough to hold pressure for a while, then fail somewhere far away from the yard.Luke sat back on his heels and looked toward the distant red shed. Someone did not want this hay in the barn, and whoever it was had chosen the moment the tractor sat unattended by the diesel tank.He thought of the tension spring on the knotter pulled out of its groove. He thought of the water valve left open in the south barn. He thought of a red cap and a toothpick. But he had no proof. And he knew exactly how it would sound coming from the stranger who had walked up the drive that afternoon with $3 to his name.