I don’t have to turn to know who it is but I do anyway.
Delta stands in the doorway, sunlight hitting her hair, curls loose around her shoulders, still in jeans and a fitted top like she got ready without trying. She looks… good. Too good for any version of me.
“Morning,” I say back.
She isn’t surprised to see me but something flickers in her eyes. Like she hadn’t expected me here.
Miss Evie doesn’t look up from the sink, but I can feel her paying attention.
I clear my throat and gesture toward the wall. “Just hanging this for Miss Evie.”
Delta moves closer to look, and suddenly I’m aware of everything, the sound of her boots on the hardwood, the scent of whatever she uses in her hair.
“It looks perfect there,” she says.
It shouldn’t matter, but it does. I tighten the screw another quarter turn even though it’s flush. “Just following orders.”
Her mouth curves, not a full smile, but enough to make my pulse jump.
I pack the drill and anchors into the toolbox so my hands don’t betray anything I’m feeling.
Miss Evie finally turns around, wiping her hands on a towel, schooling her expression into something neutral, but the twinkle in her eye is loud as hell.
I look at Delta. I probably could have said a lot more, but all I could focus on was her.
“You too,” she says, and there’s a softness under it she didn’t hide fast enough.
I step out onto the porch. The door closes behind me, morning air hitting my face. I start toward the barn, toolbox in one hand, but my head’s nowhere near fences or chores or the schedule Cash left on the board. It’s been days since the foaling, days since I stood in her office and named the foal Redemption. I told myself it was nothing. I told myself she’s just my boss. I told myself I’m here to fix my mind and not ruin hers.
But three times now, once in a field with a horse fighting to bring life into the world, and once in her mother’s kitchen overa damn picture frame, we’ve ended up in the same space like something keeps pulling our paths into the same line, and I’d be lying to myself if I said I don’t want it to happen again.
Delta
I show up at Mama’s hours house earlier than usual, I tell myself I’m just here to check on her and talk business, so I can get ahead of the day. It’s all a bunch of lies, and I know it.
I push the door open and step inside. Mama is humming at the stove, already moving in her morning rhythm. And then I see him…Trace.
He’s standing by the far wall, lining up a picture frame against the hooks I’m assuming Mama marked. His back is to me, showcasing broad shoulders, sandy blond hair tied at the nape of his neck, dark Levi’s doing devastating things before 7 a.m. Ever since I was a young girl I’ve had an amazing imagination; I could think of things or read things and I would see it clearly in my mind like an internal movie theater and at this moment all I can see playing like a highly anticipated new release is, Trace wearing those jeans—they have to be Levi’s and nothing else but his cattleman hat. They are hanging so low on his hips, his adonis belt is on full display. My gawd… and that happy trail.
Suddenly he turns and those eyes — amber, warm, and way too direct for someone who just woke up—are staring right into mine like he bought a ticket to the same show that is playing on repeat in my head.
Clearing my throat I eke out a “Morning.”
“Morning,” he returns, voice low, warm, unbothered, like he knows my little R rated movie secret.
Mama doesn’t even look up from the skillet. “Baby, I wasn’t expecting you this early.”
“I was up,” I say. “Thought I’d stop by.”
She nods toward him. “He’s helping me this morning.”
Trace tightens the screw on the frame with slow precision. “Miss Evie pointed and told me where she wanted it and I’m smart enough not to argue.”
Mama smiles into her pan, and I pretend I don’t see it.
I look at the frame, then at him. “Looks good there.”
A hint of a grin pulls at his mouth. “Glad I got it right, I definitely don’t want to upset the boss; she may take my breakfast privileges away.”
