Page 17 of Open Arms

“Uh-huh!” Abby nodded vigorously. “We were talking about Mr. Snuggles’ new haircut!”

“Mr. Snuggles, huh?” I played along, but my attention drew back to Chloe, who stood slowly, dusting off her jeans, her scar catching the light as she moved. There was an uneasiness about her, like a deer aware it’d wandered into unfamiliar territory.

“Hey, Mason,” she said, her voice soft, almost lost in the office sounds around us. There was a hesitance there, a flicker of something in her blue eyes that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“Chloe.” It comes out gruffer than I intended, the confusion getting the better of me. “What brought you by?”

Her lips parted, maybe to explain, but we were interrupted before she could speak.

Abby’s teacher rushed into the room, her eyes locking onto me. She had that look. The one that said something was up but she’d been trying to keep it all sunshine and rainbows.

“Mr. Bridges?” Her voice was even, but there’s an undercurrent of ‘this ain’t protocol.’

“Something wrong?” I asked, my watchful gaze sliding fromAbby’s bright smile to the teacher’s carefully neutral expression. She motioned with her arm to follow her out the door and I did.

“Chloe here,” she gestured with a tilt of her head, “came to pick up Abby a little while ago.”

“Is that right?” My eyes find Chloe again, who was now fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“Thing is,” Miss Parker continued, “she isn’t listed as an authorized person for pick-up. We couldn’t release Abigail into her care without your written consent.”

“Ah.” A single word, heavy with understanding. “Thank you for that. Do you know what happened to Mrs. Henderson?”

“She had an accident, apparently. She fell and was taken to the hospital.”

“Why the hell didn’t she text me?” My anger was tinged with shame now, and I immediately regretted my words the second I saw Miss Parker take a step back.

I sighed. “Sorry. I was just worried. It’s not like her, is all.”

“That’s my fault. I told her I’d contact you to let you know. Which I did, assuming it was your cell phone. But apparently it wasn’t.” She looked at Chloe, who had joined us.

“Sorry, I just—“ Chloe started, her voice trembling like a leaf in a breeze. “I was doing laundry at your place, like you said I could, and I heard the message she left. About Mrs. Henderson and no one being there to pick up Abby. And you were?—“

“Out with the horses,” I finished for her, nodding slowly.

“Yeah.” She looked down, then back up, those blue eyes holding mine. “You were out at the ranch and I didn’t want her to be alone, stuck here, waiting.”

“That wasn’t your call to make. You don’t even know us.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, but before I could think about it, the words spewed out. “You can’t just show up here. There are rules for a reason.”

She flinched, like I’d struck her, and it felt like a bucket of cold water down my back. Her eyes, usually so bright, dim with an emotion I couldn’t quite place—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. I could see her retreating behind that wall she puts up when she’s scared.

“Sorry,” she murmured, her voice quivering just enough to knock some sense into me. “I was just trying to help.”

“Chlo, I—“ I started, but the words knotted up in my throat. The sight of her standing there, so small and wounded, hit me hard. I’m a protector by nature, and here I was, causing pain to someone who’d only tried to help. Someone who I just knew had been through too much already.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” I reached out, wanting to take it back, make it right. But she’d drawn into herself, and I’d never felt more like a bull in a china shop. “I appreciate it, really. Just caught me off guard, is all.”

Her gaze flicked away, as if unable to look me in the eye. I felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. Abby was sweet on her, and I reckon I wasn’t far behind. Wasn’t the time to dwell on that, though. Had to fix this mess first.

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing away and turning to leave.

A lump formed in my throat, heavy like a lead weight. I watched Chloe’s back, the way her shoulders curved inward—a shield against the world, maybe even against me now.

Dammit.

The words hung, delicate and final, and she stepped forward, away from me. It was like watching the last ray of sun dip behind the horizon—something vital slipping away.

“Chloe, wait!” My voice cracked, rough as old leather. My hand shot out, an instinct I didn’t know I had, fingertips brushing the sleeve of her shirt. Contact. It’s brief, fleeting, but laden with a silentplea.

---