Page 60 of Saddle and Scent
Like figuring out how to win back the only woman I've ever loved, one carefully constructed moment at a time.
Time to stop stress-baking and start living.
The thought terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure, but as I hang up my apron and reach for my work clothes, I can feel something shifting inside me.
Something that feels suspiciously like hope.
Here goes nothing.
11
HEATSTROKE AND CHILDHOOD ECHOES
~JUNIPER~
The sun is trying to murder me.
I adjust my baseball cap for the fifteenth time in the last hour, pulling the brim lower over my eyes as I squint up at the merciless orb blazing overhead. The sky is that particular shade of blue that promises no mercy—not a cloud in sight, just endless, punishing sunshine that turns the air into a shimmering furnace.
Oregon isn't supposed to be this hot in late spring.
But here I am, sweating through my tank top like I'm training for a sauna competition, staring at the pitiful amount of progress I've made since Piper left this morning.
Which is pretty much nothing.
The fence post I've been wrestling with for the last hour stands exactly where it did when I started—crooked, stubborn, and apparently welded in place by pure spite. The wire I managed to untangle from the blackberry vines lies in a coiled heap at my feet, looking about as useful as my college degree in this particular situation. Three broken fence slats lean againstthe barn like casualties of war, and the gate still hangs at that drunken angle that makes opening it a full-contact sport.
Who knowshow many fucking hours of backbreaking labor, and I have precisely jack shit to show for it.
I groan, a sound that's part frustration and part heat exhaustion, and lean against the fence post that's been winning our wrestling match all morning. The metal is hot enough to brand cattle, and I jerk my hand back with a hiss.
Brilliant, Juniper. Add burns to your growing list of injuries.
Pickles watches my misery from his preferred spot in the shade of the barn, one ear flicked forward in what I'm choosing to interpret as concern rather than judgment. Though knowing Pickles, it's definitely judgment. The mule makes a sound that's somewhere between a snort and a chuckle, then deliberately turns his back to me and walks further into the shadows.
Even the livestock thinks I'm pathetic.
I side-glance him, realizing with growing certainty how absolutely stupid it was for me to think I could handle all of this on my own. The sanctuary isn't just a fixer-upper—it's a full-scale disaster requiring actual skills, proper tools, and probably a team of professionals who know the difference between a fence post and a telephone pole.
Instead, I have enthusiasm, stubbornness, and a rapidly depleting bank account.
With a sigh that comes from somewhere deep in my soul, I wonder if I should take a break. I've been out here since after breakfast when Piper left, working through the morning heat with nothing but determination and a growing sense of impending doom to sustain me.
The smart thing would be to go inside, drink some water, maybe figure out if I have any aloe vera for what's definitely going to be a spectacular sunburn.
But the smart thing feels too much like giving up, and I've been giving up on things for ten years. Moving from city to city, job to job, relationship to relationship—always finding reasons why this place or this person or this life wasn't quite right, wasn't quite enough.
I can't give up on this, too.
Not when it's the only thing Aunt Lil left me.
The only chance I have to prove I can build something lasting…
The next time I see Piper, I'll have to get her number or something so we can chat. It would be nice to have someone to complain to who doesn't bray judgmentally or require grain as payment for listening. Someone who understands the particular hell of being an Omega in a town full of Alphas with opinions about everything.
Though my phone never has service anyway.
I pull the ancient device out of my pocket, squinting at the screen through the sun's glare.Zero bars, as usual.The thing is older than most of the fence posts I'm trying to replace, a hand-me-down that I use strictly for emergencies—assuming I can find enough signal to actually make a call when an emergency arises.
