Page 50 of Stables

Dixon

I need something todo to keep me out of that house and away from her.

It was so damn hard not to want to pull her tightly against me and hold her close to comfort her.

She’s dealing with so fucking much it makes me feel…inadequate.

I should be doing more. Maybe Mason will set me straight.

He answers on the first ring.

“Dixon. How are you?” He always sounds so fucking happy now.

“Mason? How do you know when you’re in love?” My voice comes out strained. I hate to even ask.

He sighs. “I don’t know. You just can’t stop thinking about them. You would do anything for them, and you put their needs before your own. You’ll find yourself breaking your own rules to see them one more time…” He trails off.

“So, it’s when you lose control?” I say through my teeth.

“Yea, I guess you could say that.”

“Fuck. I was afraid of that.” I hit the button then stare at the black screen.

I don’t want his questions, but I hate that his answer hit so close to home.

Is this what it is?

Moving all of her hay bales closer to the drop chute seems like a good first step to doing more. They need to be aired occasionally anyway, and is a great way to burn off some of this excess energy that is boiling in my veins.

The heat of the sun catches up to the dusty loft in the barn almost faster than it bakes the back of my truck when I’m sleeping in it.

It isn’t long before my t-shirt is soaked through with sweat and starts binding my shoulders every time I move.

That’s gotta go.

There’s only another twenty or so bales left when I hear the crunch of gravel and a rough engine.

Shit.

I bolt down the steep rough stairs and jog across the main yard.

The beat up old Chevy pickup is missing a rear quarter panel and looks worse for wear. When I see the faded letters of “Taylor Dairy” on the door, my steps slow.

It has to be her friend.

Faltering to a stop on the porch, I’m not sure if I should go in, knock, or just turn around and head back to the barn.

Damn it. My knuckles rap on the peeling paint that flings open before the second tap.

The tall gal with baggy overalls looks me up and down like I’m a slab of grade A beef.

“Wellhello, doctor!”She grins before swinging herself back far enough for me to step in.

“Hi. Libby, right?” I seem to have forgotten my shirt, and the cooler air of the house prickles over my sweaty bare chest.

Char’s head swivels on the couch and she freezes when she sees me. Pink swirls up her cheeks as her eyes bounce between me and her friend.

“Dixon, you don’t have to knock.” Char breaks the silence.

---