Page 25 of Love Me Fearless

Movement in one of the pastures catches my eye, making me jolt. Hot coffee spills over the lip of my mug, burning my wrist.

“Fuck!” I set the mug on the counter and jam my wrist under the cold tap, then lean sideways so I can get a better view of the pasture. Someone’s in the far one, feeding horses. It’s early for my 4H helpers, and I feel bad that they’re out there alone while I’m still tucked into the warm kitchen, leisurely enjoying my breakfast.

I scarf down the oatmeal—no time to root out the brown sugar—then tug on my wool socks and thick coat and step into my boots.

Outside, the cold, dry air scrapes my throat and pierces my skin. A light breeze carries the musky scent of the animals and the rich minerals from yesterday’s mud. I tuck my Falcons ball cap securely in place and take the worn path toward the pastures, the ground stiff from the cold night. The car parked behind Mom’s truck in the driveway is a dark blue SUV with local plates. Not new but close to it, and not familiar.

I stop at the barn to pick up a load of hay. In the dim light from the tack room, I catch a flash of dark brown ponytail and denim as my helper slips into one of the stalls.

My heart quickens in my chest because I know who’s here. It’s the knockout curves and silky dark hair and the fluid way she moves.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Helping,” Ava says from inside the stall.

“I’ve got it handled.” I put my hands on my hips and glance at the row of stalls. Our boarders are munching their breakfast. What time did she get here?

“Then I guess I’ll leave you to it,” Ava says, frustration edging her tone. She steps out of the stall and heads for the exit.

“Wait,” I say, reaching for her arm.

Chapter Seven

Hutch’sfirm grip on my arm stops me in my tracks, and not because he’s trying to keep me from leaving. It’s the steady feel of him, bringing up memories that are making my heart turn end over end.

Hutch loosens his grip. “Sorry. Stay, please.”

I glance over my shoulder. In the glow of the barn lights, the weariness in his gaze and the tension in his strong shoulders reminds me of the heavy, scary burden he’s carrying. He’s out of his element in so many ways. The last thing he needs is my petulance. We can find a way to coexist in this short timeframe. Then he’ll return to duty and I’ll get back to the life I’m building.

“Okay,” I tell him.

We work in silence feeding the rest of the horses, the strain between us like sandpaper on my chilled skin. I knew it was a risk coming over unannounced, but Louisa really does need my help.

“Any updates from your mom?” I ask as we leave the barn and walk toward the pig pen. The sun peeks over the snowy Bitterroots, brightening the fields and pasture.

“She’s not strong enough for the surgery they want to do,” he says.

I release a slow breath. This is not good news. “She’s been feeling sick for a while, hasn’t she?”

He kicks a loose pebble. “Yeah.”

“They kept it from you.”

“Downplayed it.”

“I’m sorry.” I want to tell him that I didn’t know, either, but it won’t help him feel better.

At the pig pen, a sow and her five piglets are snuggled together in their pile of clean hay. We get the feed ready in the neighboring shed, using the chart Louisa has on the wall. The babies get a starter diet of a grain mix and the sow gets a specialized blend to help her produce milk.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask Hutch after the pigs are munching their breakfast, the babies grunting and wagging their little tails.

Hutch rests one foot on the lower fence rail, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. “Tell me how to get her strong again.”

A knot sinks into my stomach. There’s frustration in his tone, helplessness.

I want to fix it for him, but I can’t.

From the driveway, twin beams from approaching headlights sweeps across the field behind us. With a frown, Hutch pushes off the fence and heads toward the driveway. When I see who it is, I follow.

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