Page 30 of Won’t Let You Get Away

Confusion wrinkles AJ’s face.

“You have a ‘history’ with someone who just moved here a week ago?”

“We actually met over the holidays.”

“Oh.” AJ mumbles, scratching his jaw and fiddling with his beard.

I shrug, kicking a small stone with my foot. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about anything, and I figured it would be easier if I left.”

He nods, pulling out his keys and opening the driver’s side door.

“It seems like she had the same idea since she left right after you.”

With that, he hops into his car and drives off, leaving me to stew on that fact.

Damn.

A pit forms in my stomach at the thought of Bri leaving because of me or what happened in my truck. While I don’t regret having sex with her again, does she? Was giving her space this past weekend the wrong thing to do?

Making my way back to the barn, I stop as I pass the fence supplies. Based on the materials missing, it looks like Mack is trying to beat my estimate of how long the repairs should take.

Deciding to check in on the progress, I grab my cap and the keys to my truck from my office. My impromptu check-in is purely for seeing how Mack is handling being in charge of a project and has nothing to do with the repairs being right behind Bri’s cabin.

Something’s not right.I’m not even halfway to where the repairs are being done and already know it.

Dirt paths crisscross the property, winding their way through the fields and leading to various barns and even Connor’s renovation project hidden among the trees. Normally, these back areas near the woods stay untouched for a month or two during the winter.

Coming across a dirt trail so clean it could pass for a catwalk tells me one of two things: either it’s too early in the season for planting, or Mother Nature just gave this place a good scrubbing. And since we haven’t had rain in ages, seeing no tire marks means this spot’s been off-limits to wheels recently.

Parking my truck along the fence, I force myself to focus on the problem at hand and not the fact that Bri’s cabin is less than a hundred feet away.

“What the hell?” I mutter, my eyes wide as I stare at the same old fence. It hasn’t been fixed at all. Confused, I pull out my phone and quickly locate Mack’s contact information.

As the phone rings, I walk alongside the broken section of fence and stop in the middle where it has completely collapsed. The makeshift repair that was put up during the holidays is now lying useless on the ground, providing no barrier for anyone entering or exiting the property.

No wonder Rosie always found her way to the cabin.

Biting back a laugh, I realize that our sneaky horse had probably figured out a way to escape without even trying. She was just taking advantage of the path.

When the call goes to voicemail, I leave a brief message requesting Mack to call me back ASAP before hanging up. Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm, but it becomes increasingly difficult as I continue to stare at the broken fence. If he hasn’t started working on it yet, where did all the materials go? This is why I prefer doing things myself instead of relying on others.

Cursing under my breath, I turn around sharply and head towards my truck, wanting to leave this frustration behind. But then something catches my eye in my peripheral vision.

Bri appears from the back door of her cabin, pushing a box out onto the porch and then disappearing back inside for. Through the open door, I see her start pushing another one.

Without thinking twice, I make my way over to her.

It’s Monday and I had convinced myself that she wouldn’t be here, trying to keep my anticipation in check and focus on work. But here she is.

She’s just made it to the doorway, pausing to stand straight and catch her breath, when she sees me approaching.

“Noah.” Bri says with surprise in her voice.

I offer her a small smile and gesture towards the box in front of her. “Looks like you could use some help.”

Bri bites her bottom lip, staring down at the box in front of her before glancing back into the cabin. I spot two more identical boxes stacked by the kitchen island.

While she contemplates my offer of help, I can’t help but admire her: dressed comfortably in black leggings that stop mid-calf and an off-the-shoulder oversized sweater. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun with loose waves framing her face.

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