Adam just stared after her, long after the door closed behind her, thinking, thinking, thinking. Dammit all, he had to stop trying to save every damsel in distress that came knocking on his door. Kylie hadn’t said it, but he’d be willing to bet the farm on the fact that she was running from someone or something. Nothing else made sense.

Hell, all she’d need to be was pregnant, and then she could just be a younger version of Chloe. He could stand around and wait in the wings for nine years until baby daddy came swooping back in, and then she could run off with him, leaving Adam behind.

Again.

Well, Kylie wasn’t pregnant, thank God, so at least that part of it wasn’t going to happen.

And anyway, he needed to stop renting his farm out to beautiful, if poor-as-church-mice women for virtually nothing. His bank account was telling him loud and clear that another revenue stream would be greatly appreciated. So he couldn’t offer the place to Kylie.

Case closed.

After a stop to check on a newborn colt on the way, and then another stop to check on a rabbit with pink eye, he finally made his way to his mom’s house.

The thought drew him up short. He’d moved back in with her nine years ago so he could help her out, what with her debilitating arthritis and all, but even after all this time, it was still her house. Not his.

It was starting to get old, that. At 38 years old, he was still living with his mother, in her house. Granted, he owned his own home and business, so it wasn’t like he was living with his mom because he was incapable of making it on his own, but whatever the reason for the situation, it still wasn’t easy.

Ruby Whitaker may be slowly having her vitality and ability to move taken away from her by an insidious, severe case of arthritis, but it had done nothing to affect her mind. It was her house and her rules and although he respected that, it sure as hell wasn’t ideal.

He pulled into his spot in the gravel driveway with a sigh, looking up at the grandmotherly house that’d been his home since he was born. The late evening rays were lighting up the baby blue planks, casting a golden light on them. He was late getting home, again. He’d moved in with his mom to help her out, but honestly, the only reason they hadn’t killed each other yet was because he was gone so often. Which didn’t exactly mean that this plan was working out the way he’d thought it would.

Good intentions, bad execution.

He pulled himself out of the truck and headed inside, noticing distractedly that the lawn needed a haircut in a pretty bad way. Maybe he’d have Ollie come out here and mow his mom’s lawn tomorrow after feeding and cleaning out the animal cages at the clinic. God only knew that if it was up to Adam to do it, the grass would be long enough to cut with a scythe and bundle as hay before he got around to it.

“Hey, Mom,” he said tiredly as he came through the baby pink front door. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, hiding a yawn behind his hand as he headed to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat. Sassy was rubbing up against his ankles, begging for loving, when he spotted a pot of stew bubbling on the stove. He silently thanked the heavens that his mom had felt well enough to cook today. He would’ve been eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner – again – otherwise.

“Hi, baby!” his mom called back cheerfully from the dining room table. Sassy gave up on getting his attention and wandered back over to Ruby instead. “You spotted the stew, I see,” she said as he began scooping the food into a bowl. “So, you hired a new girl today?” she continued on.

Adam had to wonder for a moment how his mother knew that, but then mentally just shrugged. Even though she was housebound, she still managed to stay firmly planted in the flow of the Sawyer gossip chain. It was a skill, really.

“Yeah, Kylie VanLueven, Carol’s daughter,” he said, sliding into a creaky wooden chair next to her and blowing on the soup. It smelled amazing – not surprising, considering his mom was an excellent cook – and there was a part of his brain that was all for discarding the temperature level of the soup and instead begin just shoveling it in.

Had he eaten that day? He couldn’t remember. His stomach was saying, “Hells to the no” loud and clear, but it quite often lied. Like a fat, lazy horse, Adam’s stomach was a bottomless pit that was never full.

“Well, I heard she’s doing an excellent job. Much better than that boy.”

Adam bit back his smile. His mom was no fan of Ollie, not after he told her that a cat didn’t care if its collar had jewels on it, when she’d cooed that her baby “looked like a princess” with its pink crystal-studded collar on.

Ollie was right, of course, but sometimes, there were thoughts best left unspoken. The teen hadn’t exactly discovered the joys of tact yet.

“Ollie’s specialty definitely isn’t…humans,” Adam finally said.

His mom sniffed. “Understatement of the year,” she muttered under her breath. Adam ignored that. Convenient deafness was a game both of them could play, and she was surely the queen of that trick.

“Well, it was only Kylie’s first day,” he said, moving back to safer topics, “but she seemed to do real well, even without me needing to show her every little thing. The animals love her, I can actually read her handwriting, and she knows more about computers and smartphones in her little pinky than I do in my whole body. She’s going to drag me, kicking and screaming, into the 21st century yet.”

His mom let out a belly laugh. “It sucks to get old,” she said ruefully, “but the good news is, no one expects me to learn how to run those things – they’ve all given up on me getting that through my thick skull. I’m afraid you got your computering skills from me.”

“At least I know who to blame,” he said with a wink as he stood up and began collecting the dishes from the table. He’d clean up and then head to bed.

Another day, another dollar. He wouldn’t say that his life was boring – there were too many kicking cows and ornery horses for that to be true – but it was stagnant. As he lay in bed that night, staring up at the patterns cast by the full moon on the ceiling, he began to wonder what he was living for. He was working hard – getting up early, going all day, only to collapse into bed at night – and the animals he helped take care of appreciated him. The kids at the therapy camp appreciated him even more. But still…

What did it all mean, in the end? Would he lie on his deathbed and say, “I’m sure glad I got that calf castrated for the Cowells”? He would look back on his life, and…what? Be proud of what he’d accomplished? Wish he’d found his purpose? Wish he’d done something else?

He turned in bed, punching the pillow into submission before trying to settle in. It seemed like 38 was a little young to be hitting a midlife crisis, but that’s all this whining and complaining seemed to be. He had a good life, for the most part. He was doing what he loved. He owned his own business. He was his own boss.

So why did it all seem so pointless?