Page 35 of Peaches

He turns to look at his brothers and I follow suit. Wells is curious beneath his dirty backward hat, not all that different from the way he looked at the bar last night. Kasey’s expression is a little harder to read, but something tells me he’s not happy about me being here.

Rhett pivots to face me again, his smile widening in a way that saysfuck it. “It’s farrier day,” he says, like I know what that means. When I don’t say anything, a quiet chuckle escapes him and he tilts his head toward the barn. “Come on.”

* * *

Farrier day,it turns out, isfun.

Between the whinnying horses, the hammering of steel, the smell of the forge burning, and the music that plays from an old-school stereo perched on a trailer bed, it’s a coordinated dance of overstimulation that feels comforting in a way only the café has ever felt. I slip right into the rhythm and movement of it, focused on every quiet instruction Rhett gives me as I give the horses a wide berth.

I’ve never been this close to such a large animal, but everyone else here looks like they’ve been handling them their whole lives. Even Rhett’s nephew—Liam, I soon learn—collects them from where they wait in the corral and guides them confidently to the farrier for new shoes.

I’m not exactly surprised to find Layla Hayes here. Not after learning she moved onto the ranch with Wells after coming home from NYU last year—a piece of gossip that swirled through the café with a level of gusto I hadn’t seen since the town gazebo burned down. But itdoessurprise me to see an honest glimpse of what ranch life is like for her, the way she happily chases the smallest boy around in well-used boots stitched with yellow flowers.

When Layla and Wells started dating so soon after the tragic death of her years-long boyfriend (and Wells’s best friend) Jason Moore, it was like the threat people believe the Bennetts’ wield became stronger. As if Wells had somehow worked some conspiratorial outlaw magic to snare Layla to him. Nosey Maeve, in particular, presented new warnings to any single woman in town: stay away from a Bennett man or they’ll bound your life to theirs on this ranch.

Rumors of all the illegal things the Bennetts are up to out here have been as cemented in our history as every important town tradition. But to be here now, to see an honest day’s work playing out right in front of me, I have a hard time believing anything nefarious is actually happening.

Eventually, Rhett is pulled away by a blonde woman with the farrier’s logo embroidered on her polo, and I hang back with Liam. I’vedefinitelynoticed the way the woman has kept a hungry blue eye on Rhett all afternoon, so it’s hard to fight the urge to watch him with her now.

But every time I give in, I find him focused on the horse in front of him, or on a clipboard that gets passed around, or on his quick conversations with Hank and the team working in tandem with each other.

It’s hours before the last horse is finished, when everyone lets out a collective whoop and claps, and I can’t absorb the feeling of it fast enough. I’m sweat-slicked and dusty, but I feel like I was a part of something real. Something important.

Rhett makes his way toward me, his black collared work shirt ripe with sweat and just as dusty. His face is flushed, hot and bright, like he’s wrangled the sun and swallowed it whole. Liquid pools of silver hook into my marrow and tug me toward him.

“Hey,” he drawls, the low rumble of it like the engine of his bike. I want to feel the shape of his voice vibrate against my skin.

“Hi,” I say back. A chilly breeze winds between us, cooling the skin on my face, but the heat of the day still smolders beneath my jacket.

“Rhett,” Kasey calls from outside the barn. “You got Champ?”

He turns and nods with a silent thumbs-up, and Kasey disappears back into the depths of the barn. I look at the lone horse left in the corral, his golden back stretching wide beneath the late afternoon sun. “Can I help?” I ask.

Rhett gives me that slow smile that I’m growing more and more addicted to and dips his chin toward his chest in a nod. “You confident enough to lead him in yourself?”

I look at the horse again, taking in the depths of his dark eyes. His hair is near-white, the opposite of Rhett’s coloring in almost every way. I’m tempted to ask if the horse is nice—some of them today were pretty resistant to being handled—but I have a feeling Rhett wouldn’t ask if this could turn dangerous.

Then again, everything about Rhett always feels alittledangerous.

I push open the wooden gate into the corral and slowly walk toward the horse, careful to stay in his line of sight so I don’t spook him. “Hey, Champ,” I murmur. “I’m just going to bring you back inside, okay?”

The horse chuffs.

When I get close enough, I offer out my hand for him to sniff. He leans his head forward and brushes his nose along my fingers before straightening again with a regal posture. I smile, taking another step forward to glide my hand over his shoulder. “Good boy,” I whisper.

Once I’m sure he’s not going to attack me with his teeth or squish me with the sheer force of his muscle, I grab hold of the rope slung over his back and turn toward Rhett. To my surprise, Champ takes two sure steps, edging closer to my side.

We walk together back through the corral, to where Rhett waits at the open gate. “He goes to the second barn.” He points to the twin white building that stands about ten yards beyond the first, and I steer Champ toward it. Rhett closes the gate behind me and then trails closely behind, but he doesn’t intervene or give any further direction.

When we approach the second barn, Rhett jogs ahead and opens the last stall gate on the right. I guide Champ toward it, and he eases himself in without any drama. I watch with rapt focus as Rhett removes the lead rope and bridle, leaving Champ’s face bare before us. “He’s beautiful,” I say, awed.

Rhett angles his attention on me. “So are you.”

I whip my head to look at him.

The right side of his mouth lifts. “Your bravery,” he explains, though for what I’m not sure. For leading Champ? For being here at all? “It looks good on you.”

My cheeks heat with a burning eagerness that, until now, I’ve really only felt with crushes back in school. But even that doesn’t hold a candle to the way this spears into me like a sharp craving, aneedto feel Rhett’s hands on me again. To feel his body pressed against mine the way it was last night. Which . . . is a problem, considering Ispecificallytold him sex was off the table.

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