Page 55 of The Cowboy's Second Chance Bride

“That would be awesome.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, here she comes. I think she likes you too. She watches you like you watch her. Abigail doesn’t like Bobby—I can tell.” He raised his arm and waved. “Hi, Ms. Sabrina.”

Sabrina crossed the barn, carrying a basket. “Rod, Mrs. Claudia is looking for you. Dinner is ready, and she made lemon meringue pie.”

Rod slid off the hay. “That’s my favorite.” He headed out the door, getting his hair tousled by Sabrina as he went.

She was lovely, standing there in the evening shadow of the sun, her long hair flowing over her shoulders. Something had passed between us the other night at line dancing—a truce at worst, a fresh start at best. Whatever it was, I liked it.

She sat next to me and handed me the basket. “Dinner for you. How’s it going in here?”

“There are seven new calves, and they’ve bonded with their mothers. I have two I’m watching to make sure they progress. They’ve been at it awhile now.”

“How do you know when to intervene?”

“When they start showing signs of fatigue. Sometimes you’ll see them stop trying for long periods, like fifteen minutes. Other than that, though, we try to let them do their thing. They know better what to do than we do.”

“Which one are you watching?”

I pointed them out. I showed her the old-school clipboard we kept to mark progress.

“Mind if I stay out with you?” She chewed her lip as she waited for my response.

“I’d love that.”

Sometimes I was caught off guard when I realized Sabrina was within reach. Like this moment. I’d never thought she’d ever be in my life again.

“How did you get into matchmaking?” I asked as I snacked on treats from the basket and watched the cows.

As she pondered the question, she twisted and untwisted a lock of hair around her finger over and over again. It was mesmerizing.

“I think being able to read people came from my dad. He was always talking about paying attention. Kind of like your situational awareness. But he always noticed different things, like the cut of their clothes or where their attention was drawn to. He looked for what they were trying to ignore. He was so good at it.” She paused in her twirling, probably remembering something, because she smiled as she blew out a breath through her nose, then started the twisting again.

“But pairing people up…?” I asked.

She was next to me on the bale, leaning back on her elbows, one leg swinging out and in.

She shook her head at me. “You don’t want to hear it.” Then looked at the calves.

So it had something to do with me? Now I really wanted to know. “I do actually.” But she wasn’t going to tell. “Did it have something to do with us?”

Her eyes swept over me, then she dropped her hand from her hair so she could push off the bale. She walked to the gated portion, where the mamas and babies were kept. “Yeah, it does.”

“Okay, so…?”

She looked at me over her shoulder and grimaced. “We’ve just found good space between us. Talking about it feels like dredging it all up again.” Her hair was falling all around her, and she kept pulling it together, twisting it, then tucking it over one shoulder. But it didn’t stay like that for long, coming unraveled. She did this a few more times before pulling it into a ponytail, and I was hit with a flash of a memory I’d long forgotten.

“Come here.” I crooked a finger at her. I patted the space between my legs. She came back to stand in front of me, so I grabbed her hand and turned her around, pulling her by the hips to sit. “I’ll braid your hair.”

And just like that, we were back in time, in college, at Christmas break during an unexpected snowstorm we’d gone out to enjoy. Sabrina had fallen on a patch of ice and hurt her shoulder. Highlights of that time included showering together and washing her hair, after which she’d taught me to braid to make things easier for her.

“Cal.” She grabbed my hand to stop me.

There was a push-pull dynamic between us. I could feel it. I knew she could feel it too. Though we both wanted to push together, heartbreak made pulling back a natural reaction.

“Come on, maybe this right here—us reconnecting and healing the past—is the best revenge against my dad.”

She narrowed her eyes as she thought about all that I was asking. It was old us meeting new us, and that didn’t come without a little sadness. She let go of my hand, and I let her hair out of the ponytail.

“Tell me about matchmaking.” I made three sections. I was not a master French braider, but I was decent.

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