“Always got a damn book in your hands,” I mumble under my breath.

It’s been a long day of on-and-off working in the field, and this is the fifth time I’ve come into the bunkhouse to see you on your bed with a book in your hands. You read too damn much.

I take my hat off and bat the dust off of it, setting it down on the cards table. I lower myself into a creaking wooden chair with a groan. I look over at you.

“The hell are you readin’, anyway?”