Page 46 of His Tenth Dance

“So that’s why you put the two bottoms of the bread together.” She pointed to where they met in the middle.

“Yep,” he said.

She turned her head and beamed up at him. “This is genius, Mission.”

He smiled on a day when he didn’t feel like smiling, because Kristie made everything warmer and brighter. “It’s an egg sandwich, kitten.”

“I’ve never seen anyone make an egg sandwich like this.”

He looked back into the pan. “It’s how my grandmother made them. It’s great if you don’t want a runny egg.”

He slipped a spatula under the whole thing and flipped it over.

“Now the bread will start to toast,” he said, reaching for more cheese.

“Genius,” Kristie said.

He finished putting on more cheese, then folded up the sides of the scrambled egg patty, and laid bacon on the top half, anda slice of tomato on the bottom. Sometimes he didn’t wait long enough for the bread to get toasty, and he forced himself to wait.

With a hot pan and bacon grease, it didn’t take long, and then Mission folded the top piece of bread over the bottom one and pulled the whole sandwich out and put it on a plate.

“It’s pretty toasty,” he said, pleased with the crisp brown outside of the bread. “And you got it fried in bacon fat, so it’ll be doubly delicious.”

She didn’t move away from his side, and he looked at her with the plated sandwich in his hand. “Do you want to sit on the couch or at the bar?”

“Couch,” she said.

She finally moved that way, and even in someone else’s clothes, the sight of her struck lightning through Mission’s heart.

“There’s pajamas in the bedroom,” he said, glancing at the clock on the microwave. Ten-thirty already. He should’ve been in bed an hour ago, as tomorrow would dawn at the same time as always—and it would be another day on the farm as usual.

The sun and stars and rotational gravity of the earth didn’t seem to care when someone got thrown from a horse and had to stay in the hospital. Or that a beloved equine now had to be monitored around the clock to ensure her survival.

Life marched on. Mission had learned that from his granddad.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll sleep here,” she said.

Mission handed her the plate and cocked his eyebrows. “No?”

“Someone will have to go check on Lady at….” She peered around him. “Two-thirty.”

“Gerty can do it,” Mission said.

“Gerty has a three-year-old.” Kristie picked up her sandwich and took a bite.

Mission turned his back on her and went into the kitchen. He’d managed to eat a protein bar about seven o’clock. Having Matt come out to help pick up the slack Gloria had left when she’d stuck by Lady’s side for the past several hours had been a real help.

He scrambled together a couple more eggs and poured them into the pan. “I think they already have a schedule for tonight.”

“Well, no one told me about that,” Kristie said. “I’m the vet.”

“And you’ve got Lady exactly where she needs to be.” He didn’t want to argue with her, but his frustration started to foam within him. Why couldn’t Kristie just accept that she didn’t have to do everything?

“Gerty came over, and she’s going to be here until five, when Deacon is going to go out and sit with Lady. They both know how to check bandages, and Gerty can administer the meds. Gloria will be here by six-thirty to do the next round of antibiotics and medicine. You said nine-thirty, two-thirty, and six-thirty, right?”

Mission knew he was right. He had paid close attention to what Kristie had said. He, Deacon, and Gloria had put together the whiteboard she’d asked for, and she’d filled it out with the columns she wanted to keep track of—antibiotics, pain meds, bandage checking, what Lady ate and drank, and her temperature.

Everyone was perfectly dedicated to making sure Lady made a full recovery.

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