Page 57 of Love Me Fearless

Toby lopes down from the porch to greet me, tail wagging a mile a minute. I should start on the hours of transplanting waiting for me, but I don’t even try to talk myself out of walking to the barn, with Toby trotting along beside me. Inside, the scent of sweethay and animal musk and leather collides with my senses. So comforting and complex and real compared to the antiseptic staleness of the hospital. The thud of my hiking boots on the floor vibrates up my spine, echoing in the quiet space. Otis pokes his nose over his stall door, no doubt missing Mom. I pause to let him sniff my knuckles, and when he gives me a gentle huff of approval, I stroke up his nose and lean closer, drawing on his warmth and companionship.

Ava comes out of Taffy’s stall. She’s dressed in the same jeans and pearly gray sweater as earlier, with one of Mom’s vests likely borrowed from the tack room to ward off the evening chill.

We lock eyes, the energy between us charging like a lit fuse before she turns away and disappears into the tack room. I rub Otis’s forelock and behind his ears, then force myself to get started on the rest of the chores.

Only there aren’t any. Ava’s cleaned all the stalls, fed and watered all four of our horses. With a grimace, I head to the far pasture, my boots thumping on the soft ground. But when I get there, our boarders are taken care of too. I tear back down to the greenhouse, but inside, the chicks have fresh water and feed. When I check on Petunia and her babies, the fresh hay and empty trough tell me Ava’s already handled this chore, too. So I go to gather the eggs, but the hens are all roosting on empty nests.

“Fuck!”

I storm back to the barn but Ava’s not there. I slam my fist into a bale of hay stacked outside Otis’s stall, hitting it so hard it bursts open, making a mess.

I go to the tack room for the pitchfork but once I’m inside, it’s like the walls box me in. I brace against the counter and try to control the emotions eating me up inside.

I don’t hear Ava, but when I look up, she’s standing in the doorway.

“She’s not getting better,” I say.

Ava’s dark eyes search mine. “Is that what the doctors told you?”

Looking away, I bite back my anger. “It’s more what they didn’t say.”

“Medication can only do so much, and for so long. She needs that valve replacement.”

“The doctors don’t think she’ll survive the surgery.”

Ava releases a heavy sigh. “I was afraid of that.”

“We’ve been doing everything they said. She’s laying low. Reading, watching TV, eating well and resting. She shouldn’t be getting weaker.”

“Her heart’s been under stress for a long time.”

I risk a glance, but it’s too hard. I can see the truth in Ava’s eyes and I’m not ready for it. “She’s tough. She’ll recover. I’ll make sure of it.”

Ava walks closer, her expression tender with grief. “It doesn’t work like that, Hutch. Not all broken things are fixable.”

“No. It’s not too late.” Panic works into my jaw and makes my eyes burn. “You’re just being pessimistic. Good things happen all the time. People like Mom get better.”

She places her hand over mine and laces our fingers. “I want to believe it too.”

The warmth and softness of her touch is like a shock but I don’t dare let go. “Then we’re not going to let anything stop us.”

With another sigh, she leans against me. “Okay.”

Emotions churn hot and sharp inside my chest, making me wince. I pull Ava into my arms and hold her. The warmth from her body radiating into mine feels so good. Safe and welcoming and so very real and yet terrifying, too. “Promise me we’re not broken for good.”

Her breath catches, and her arms tighten around me. “I don’t know the way back to you, Hutch.”

The ache for her explodes inside me, making my pulse thump harder and my skin prickle. I caress her cheek with my thumb and savor the flicker of desire in her eyes.

“Let me show you,” I say, and press my lips to hers in a soft kiss.But I’m hungry, and scared and frustrated, and so much is pent up inside me that soon I’m lost to her mouth and the way her body fits so perfectly against mine. She grips my waist and kisses me back, her soft little tongue like a tease. I caress under her sweater, where she’s warm and strong and so soft. She hums a contented sigh as I stroke her lower back. In a gentle tug, she pulls my shirt tails free and runs her hands up my chest.

Her touch lights up every part of me, blasting my last shred of control to bits. I unbutton my shirt and tug off her sweater. In the low light, the pearly white bra against her perfect curves has me mesmerized. I caress her over the fabric, tracing her hardening peaks with the flat of my palm. Memories of that night so long ago spill into my thoughts, spurring me on. I don’t want to be careless like I was then. But there’s no going back now. What we have is too good.

Too rare.

I don’t know the way back to you.

Is this the way?

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