Page 89 of A Reckless Memory

I didn’t ease out of her right away. I planted lazy kisses on her, letting the aftershocks of her body roll over my spent hard-on. This was just for us. A way for us to communicate what we were afraid to say. What I was afraid to admit to myself.

She meant a lot to me. I had nothing to give her, but at the same time, I’d have to give up everything to be with her.

Nineteen

AGGIE

I got home from work, put on my long johns and some jeans, and went outside with Tex. Daddy’s funeral had been a month ago. Ansen and I had snuck out of the house early in the morning before my brothers had roused. I messaged Sutton I was leaving to avoid more confrontations, and we’d driven home.

Ansen said he didn’t mind leaving when I did, but he was willing to face my brothers.

I hadn’t been.

I found him leaning by the door of the older barn. We’d worked to make it a temporary enclosure for the hopefully temporary ducks. The ability to close the crooked barn door at night made it the best option to keep foxes and coyotes from making a meal out of my rescues. I’d need an outside dog, and the way I was collecting rescues, I’d have one in no time.

The barn itself wasn’t dead yet, but it needed some structural care and TLC. I wouldn’t want anyone in there for long periods of time or during bad weather, but Ansen had insisted on putting it to use. The ducks had been left after a family moved and were skating on their frozen water, hadn’t had a food source, had few warm areas to bed down on, and two had already succumbed to the elements during the brutally cold stretch we had after the new year.

Ansen had built a quick and dirty separation so the six ducks didn’t use the entire interior of the brown barn and so we didn’t have to mess with much of the inside. He’d had to purchase more straw for them to bed down, and we got creative with the water for them during the winter using storage buckets and straw. For now, Ansen hauled fresh water every day.

Preparing for the new arrivals had been a welcome distraction for both of us. I woke each morning wondering if Ansen would find his bank account bursting and be gone.

Tex ran to Ansen’s side and shoved his head under his hand. Ansen’s deep chuckle reached me, warming me on the already unseasonably warm February day, hovering right at freezing. For whatever reason, he hadn’t left yet. He’d told me in words I meant something to him, but I inspected every action to make sure.

He grinned at me. “Did you look in your fridge?”

“I just got home. Why?”

His smile widened. “I found eggs.”

“Seriously?” I peered over the haphazard chicken wire fence enclosure he’d dug into the snow. Something more permanent could be built later—if we still had the ducks. “Should we have duck eggs for supper?”

“Let’s do it.”

I watched two white ducks waddle around, pecking at the mix of grains and cracked corn Ansen spread out for them. Four of the ducks were white and two were a dappled gray. If they had names, we didn’t know them.

They had personalities, though. The white ducks ruled the roost. One of the dappled gray ducks was a goof and somehow had straw sticking out of its feathers in random places. Another would get a case of the zoomies at least once during chores like our activity excited her.

The sun was dipping on the other side of the barn, and the chill crowded back in. I warded off a shiver that didn’t have to do with the temperature. “I put an ad out for Gingerbread.”

Ansen jerked his head up from scratching Tex. “I’m not done with him.”

“You’ve rehabilitated him, and he’s healthy.”

“He’s also smart and strong. Look at the engine on him.”

Gingerbread was in one of the smaller corrals by the barn, watching us. We’d discussed him last week. Ansen wanted more time to train him, said he could be an excellent roping horse, but that was the thing. I wasn’t in the business of training roping horses. “We rescued him, Ansen. That’s what AKA is. Now that the weather’s nicer, Dr. Jake messaged me again about that draft horse he mentioned on New Year’s Eve.”

A muscle jumped in the corner of his jaw. We’d had Shelby and the four she came with for months, but their health had been worse. The pinto had needed rehab to correct postural and mobility issues that had been trained into him. Ansen worked on his behavioral problems from the abuse, but Gingerbread hadn’t faced the health issues the others did. Selling our first rescue horse wasn’t turning out to be easy when we were both horse people who could see potential in the animals and wanted to keep working with them. Yet I had a business to run and limited funds. I needed a sale before we accepted the draft horse. I needed it for the bottom line, and I needed it as a businessperson whose doors weren’t anchored open.

“He’s a good horse,” I said. “He’s had training, and it’ll be easy to find him a home with people who know what they’re doing.”

“Why now?” Ansen crossed his arms and faced me. The shadow of the barn added edges to his face.

“The temperature the next two weeks looks seasonal with no storms. It’d be a good time to transport the retired draft horse, and I need the revenue to buy feed and provide vet care for him. He has arthritis, and former drafts often need several chiropractor visits for their chronic pain.”

He wasn’t fazed by my litany. “Just like it’s time to sell Skinny instead of looking to purchase another Mangalitsa and breed her yourself? Their meat is like the Wagyu of pork. You could make a lot of money breeding her.”

“I already work full-time.” Since Ansen never made resounding statements about making Crocus Valley his home, I had to plan for being the only one to care for these animals. He told me I was his, but he also didn’t have options at the time. He’d have millions soon.

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