“I know.” The words come out softer than I intended. Jesse has always been part of the landscape of this place, as permanent and solid as the mountains on the horizon. But last night, something shifted. The way he looked at me, touched me—it wasn’t the same protective, brotherly affection I remembered from my teenage years.
Cookie slides my breakfast across the table, the egg sandwich perfectly constructed with thick slices of fresh tomato, and the hash browns golden and crispy just the way I like them. “Eat up. Spring’s been mild so far, but we’re expecting a cold snap this weekend. Need to make sure you’ve got your strength up for whatever work Truett has planned for you.”
We talk about inconsequential things while I eat, the early wildflowers starting to bloom in the pastures, Cookie’s ongoing battle with the ranch’s ancient plumbing. It’s comfortable, familiar conversation that doesn’t require me to think about complicated things like failed relationships or uncertain futures or the way Jesse’s green eyes seemed to see straight through me last night.
“This is exactly what I needed,” I tell Cookie as I finish the last bite of my sandwich.
“What’s that?”
“This. Normal. Just sitting here talking about whether the old water heater is going to make it through another winter.”
Cookie reaches over and pats my hand. “Sometimes normal is the most healing thing there is.”
Just as I’m draining the last of my coffee, Truett walks through the kitchen door, his hair still damp from a shower andhis work shirt clean but already wrinkled from the morning’s activities.
“Morning, sis. Sleep okay?”
“Better than I have in months.” I stand up and carry my dishes to the sink, rinsing them out of habit more than necessity. Cookie always insists on doing the cleaning himself.
“Good. I’ve got you paired up with Jesse again today. Just until you get back into the swing of things.”
My stomach does a little flip at the mention of Jesse’s name, and I hope it doesn’t show on my face. “Sounds good.”
But Truett is already studying me with that big brother intuition that used to drive me crazy as a teenager. “Everything okay? You look a little flushed.”
“Just the coffee,” I lie, waving toward Cookie. “He still makes it strong enough to wake the dead.”
“That’s the only way to make coffee,” Cookie declares from where he’s already started washing my dishes, despite my protests.
Truett grins. “Well, Jesse’s probably waiting for you by now. He likes to get an early start.”
“I’ll head out there now.” I give Cookie another quick hug. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“Anytime, girlie. You just holler if you need anything.”
The morning air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of hay and horses and the oncoming spring. The scent of grass hangs in the air, along with the dirt that’s always around. I’m halfway to the barn when I see Jesse walking toward me, and my breath catches in my throat.
How did I not notice yesterday how absolutely devastating he looks? He’s always been handsome, tall, and lean, with those striking green eyes and that dark beard that frames his full mouth perfectly. But there’s something different about him now,something more mature and confident that makes my pulse quicken.
His jeans hug his long legs, and his work shirt is rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms that flex as he adjusts his hat. When he sees me, those green eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes me feel like he can see every thought I’ve ever had.
“Morning, Bree.”
“Morning.” My voice comes out breathier than I intended, and I clear my throat. “Ready to put me to work?”
Something flashes in his eyes. Amusement maybe, or something darker. “Always ready to work with you.”
The way he says it makes heat pool low in my belly, and I have to look away before I do something embarrassing like stare at his mouth and remember how it felt against my cheek last night.
He leads me into the barn, explaining which stalls need mucking out and where to find the tools. It’s work I’ve done a thousand times before, work I did just yesterday, but I let him explain anyway, partly because I’m out of practice and partly because I like listening to his voice, deep and rough with that slight drawl that makes even mundane instructions sound sexy.
“I’ll start on this end,” I say, grabbing a pitchfork. “Work my way down.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be right across the aisle if you need anything.”
We fall into a comfortable rhythm, the familiar work coming back to me quickly. The physical labor feels good after years of sitting behind a desk, and I lose myself in the simple satisfaction of making tangible progress. Clean stall, fresh bedding, move on to the next one.
I’m bent over, spreading fresh straw in the third stall, when I feel eyes on me. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Jesse watching me with an expression that makes my skin tingle.
