Page 11 of Windlass

That was different, and Morgan knew it.

“I’ll go to therapy if you go,” Morgan continued.

She met and held Morgan’s eyes to ascertain if she was serious. “Wait, really?”

Morgan shrugged. “Why not? Can’t hurt.”

“It can, actually.”

In a violation of their unspoken agreement, Morgan reached out slowly and tugged the collar of Angie’s work T-shirt aside. With a touch so gentle Angie thought it should be illegal, because who could suffer such a touch without weeping, Morgan brushed the scab Lana’s teeth had left on her collarbone.

“You should put a Band-Aid on that. You’re spotting through your shirt.”

She flinched away and looked down at her front. Two rusty spots darkened the purple cotton.

“It’s consensual.” The words felt old, uttered too many times to too many people.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” Morgan stood. “Love you, bud. I gotta run. Text me if you need me, and please think about what I said.” Morgan’s eyes dropped to Angie’s front again. The scab still tingled from the unexpected gentleness. Therapy might hurt, she could almost hear Morgan thinking, but how is that any different than what you’re already doing?

That painisdifferent, she wanted to shout,and you know it.

Except . . . Morgandidknow, which meant she knew exactly what she was asking of Angie.

The door shut. Angie touched the sore spot on her chest and pressed hard. The sting grounded her. Well-intentioned as the suggestion was, therapy was not an option. Not yet. A therapist might ask her questions she didn’t have answers to or, worse, ones she did.

The last thing Stevie needed that evening was unexpected company. Ivy was one thing, seeing as she stabled her horse, Freddie, at the farm, and had just finished up a quick workout, looking impeccable in breeches and a white T-shirt. Whenever Stevie tried wearing a white shirt to the barn, Olive immediately smeared it with grass stains or dirt. Stevie didn’t mind. White shirts weren’t meant for barns.

But while Ivy was an expected presence, the teenager standing in the drive was not. Ivy, who was scratching Freddie’s mane as she led him out of the orchard where she’d been putting him through his paces, hadn’t seen the kid yet. Stevie couldn’t feign the same ignorance. The kid in her drive looked up. Stevie suppressed a groan. She wanted to go inside and burrow into her bed with her door latched for a good old-fashioned sulk. Her heart ached, as did her head, and her eyes burned with lack of sleep. Whatever this situation was—and she had a sinking feeling she knew—it wasn’t in her plans. She fixed a smile on her face anyway.

The girl wore a loose graphic T-shirt and jeans that had seen better days, as had her shoes. Bracelets, most of which looked handmade, adorned her wrists halfway up her forearm, and she’d pulled her light brown hair into a ponytail Stevie recognized as it was her own style. The girl’s hunched posture, hands in pockets and head tilted slightly down, however, radiated insecurity.

Stevie winced at a sudden flash of memory of herself at that age. She’d looked a bit like this, awkward in her own body, embarrassed by everything, quick to joke around to distract people from noticing her inadequacies.

“Hi.” Stevie hoped her smile didn’t show the strain it took to keep it pinned to her cheeks. It wasn’t this kid’s fault Angie had taken a sledgehammer to Stevie’s heart the night before. “I’m Stevie.”

“Um, hi.” The girl looked up with the saddest pair of doe eyes Stevie had ever seen.

Fuck.

“I was wondering if you could maybe use some help in the barn,” said the adorable intruder, each word spoken softly and uncertainly. “I don’t need to be paid if you don’t want to.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She didn’t want a kid underfoot in her safe place, especially with the added liability that would put on their insurance, but how would anyone with a heart, damaged or otherwise, be capable of saying no to the request?

Ivy and Freddie reached them at that moment. Ivy unbuckled her helmet and shook out her blond hair, smiling gently. Stevie noted the kid’s sudden blush and didn’t blame her. Ivy was that gorgeous.

“Friend of yours?” Ivy asked Stevie.

“This is . . .”

“Jaq,” the girl supplied.

“Jaq. She wanted to know if we needed any help.”

Ivy’s eyes took in Jaq as she brought Freddie closer. Stevie wondered if they saw the same thing. The girl’s attention shifted away from Ivy, and her posture changed completely as she held out a hand for Freddie to sniff. He lipped her palm, and she smiled shyly with a radiant joy that sealed her fate. Stevie couldn’t turn the kid away now.

“Do you have any horse experience?” Ivy asked.

“A little. My aunt has horses, but she lives in Dexter.”

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