“Ouch,” I hissed and looked at the large sliver that felt like a tree branch sticking out of my palm.

Looking up at the baler and tractor still running, I caught a glimpse of my father’s boots as they walked toward the wagon.

“You’re too slow. It’s going jam up.” His face pulled down into a scowl, his eyebrows almost touching and his nostrils flaring like one of the angry bulls. He swung his leg up on the wagon and towered over me. “You drive,” he snarled.

“You’re supposed to give a warning if you stop. I could’ve fallen off the wagon,” I said as I slowly stood.

My father fixed me with a hard stare. “Maybe that wouldn’t have been a bad thing.”

It was the first time my father openly voiced concern about me to my face. In fact, I thought he was perfectly oblivious, living in his bubble of denial after all my therapy sessions, but looking into his eyes now, I realized he knew. That meant he had to die sooner than I’d planned.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I lied and cocked my head at him the way Abel had taught me.

Anger was volatile in my system, and it took all my effort to keep my behavioral control issues in line. I was tempted to grab him by the shirt and throw him onto the PTO shaft, but that would likely only break an arm or leg. The probability that it would snap his neck was slim, and the plaid shirt and already torn jeans would rip off his body. Of course, I could hold his face to the shaft, but he was still taller, had more weight on me, and I needed it to look like an accident. My handprint on his face most certainly wouldn’t create that illusion.

A moment of stillness and understanding passed between us while the tractor continued to rumble steadily like a spectator. A subtle jerk of the wagon back and forth felt like it was trying to lull us into a calmer place.

“You don’t need to play your games with me, Cain. I’ve seen the dead in your eyes. The good Lord made you wrong, and the devil crawled into your soul and has never left.”

I lifted an eyebrow at him and proceeded to pick the large piece of wood from my hand. “You’re mistaken. The doctor said that I’m cured.” I pulled out the sliver and tossed it into the wind the way I wanted to do with this annoying sack of flesh in front of me.

My father stepped close to me, and my muscles flexed, ready for the fight. I instantly ran through every possible scenario in my head. At that moment, I knew I’d been too relaxed and given away far too much of myself. That was a mistake I’d never make again.