A Secret to Shatter by Katie O’Connor
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ira hopped into the backseat of Ken’s truck. Ken and Flint sat in the front. Slowly, careful not to hit any big ruts, Ken drove them, and a dual wheel trailer out into a field.
“I can’t believe we’re picking bales by hand,” Flint grumbled.
“Stuff it man. I prefer round bales as much as you do. But the only neighbor with time to bale for us does small squares. We need to put an end to this baling issue. Toting bales by hand is pure bull.” His words may have been angry, but his voice was exhausted.
“You got those numbers done yet?” Flint asked Ira.
Ira had spent all his spare time on the computer. Compiling facts, checking the math, and working out a budget. Thankfully he was nearly done.
“As near as I can calculate,” he said, “The first year is probably a wash. The second will seem like a loss because we’d want to increase the herd. There’re four sections of crown land adjacent to yours which we could request a lease on. If we bid and got it, we could increase the herd. You’ll need capital. We won’t get much for the old equipment, even selling it piecemeal for parts. But, once we start selling calves for meat and breeding, we should be able to turn a tidy profit, year after year. That’s assuming prices stay stable.”
“Stable? Prices have been climbing for years. The overseas market is huge. Beef prices are likely to continue to climb for the foreseeable future. I say we do it,” Ken declared with sudden enthusiasm.
Ira hoped the news lightened his brother’s less than positive opinion of him. Being on the same side of an issue could bring people together.
“All we have to do is convince Dad that it’ll work,” Ira offered.
“Dad?” Ken snapped. “Now you’re calling him Dad? Don’t you even have the decency to wait for the test results?” He slammed the truck into park, nearly giving the other occupants whiplash. He jumped out and stomped around the truck to yank open Ira’s door.
Ira stared up into Ken’s irate face. This wasn’t going to end well. This was going physical. Right here, right now. He slid out of the truck and stood facing his opponent. “Yes, I call him Dad. My mother told me he’s my father. He admitted it. I look like him. For God’s sake, I look like you. We’ve got the same damned eyes. I look at you and I see what my father would have looked like as a young man. He. Is. My. Father. Your stubborn damned attitude doesn’t change anything.”
He kept his arms loose at his sides, awaiting the blow he knew was coming. This wasn’t just about him. This was about anger with Robert for his evasions and refusal to consider new ideas. It was about Lindy leaving him alone with a farm and three kids. Ken was mad at life and Ira was taking the fall for everything.
So be it.
He was so caught up in pity for his brother, he almost missed the first swing. He dodged left just in time.
“Coward,” Ken taunted.
“Not in this lifetime. I don’t want to fight you, bro.” He didn’t. He also knew it was inevitable. Someone had to bear the brunt of Ken’s anger and disappointment. He’d known guys like this in the army. One fellow sniper got into a fist fight after every kill. It was how he unwound. Three times, Ira had taken his comrade’s blows to protect citizens of a foreign county and to keep him out of jail. Foreign prisons weren’t fun.
“Bro? Now you’re calling me bro?”
The next blow landed on Ira’s left shoulder and set him staggering back two steps. He stepped left to avoid a left hook. He ducked a jab.
“Are you going to fight like a man or dance like a damned pussy?”
“You don’t want to do this, man.” He was trained in martial arts. Karate and Krav Maga kept him sane. Sparring wore off a lot of stress. He doubted Ken had any training.
“Chicken shit.”
Vaguely, Ira heard another truck door slam. Flint must have gotten out. He ignored the peripheral sound. It was irrelevant.
The next time Ken swung wildly, Ira countered with a jab to his stomach and a soft left to his chin. Ken cussed and dove forward.
Ira met him, blow for blow in a free for all. Ira fought to calm his brother. Ken was obviously fighting to take all his frustrations and anger out on someone who could take them without damage.
He didn’t know how long they fought. It could have been two minutes; it might have been ten. They were on their feet, on the ground. He was under Ken, then on top, raining blows onto his arms and chest.
A shot rang out and they froze.
“Enough,” Flint declared. “Idiots.”
Ira climbed off Ken and offered him a hand up. Ken glared then accepted it. They stood facing each other, panting and dripping blood onto the hay stubble. Suddenly Ken grinned and clapped Ira on the back. “You’re all right, Ira. You’re all right.”
They shook hands.
“Welcome to the family,” Ken said. “I’m still not sure you are family, but I guess I’m stuck with you.” He nodded decisively. “Come on, we’ve got hay to haul.”
They climbed back into the truck after Flint safely stowed the rifle they kept handy in case of predators. “You are both idiots,” Flint repeated with a laugh. “You know he was taking it easy on you right?” He pinned Ken with a stare.
“Not in this lifetime,” Ken disagreed.
Somehow, Ira knew Ken was fully aware he’d fought for a stalemate, not to win. He also knew doing so had earned him a modicum of acceptance.