“You like blueberry jam, right, Ash?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I scrunch my nose on instinct, my stomach turning at the mention of blueberries.
“You’re still unable to hide your emotions, Tilly,” Faye snips.
Meeting Ash’s humoured gaze, I mouth, “How did she see that?”
He discreetly points to the back of his head with two fingers, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from letting her see me find humour in her kitchen. Laughter? In this house?Blasphemy.
Mrs. Carrigan gathers two rolls onto two tiny plates painted with wildflowers. She rips both open but only slathers one of them with jam. The other, she smears butter over. Steam evaporates from both of them. They look damn near as good as they smell.
With a blunt exhale, she hands us each a plate. “Sit at the table.”
Not wanting to get a wooden spoon to the ass, we both do as she says. Once the plates are in front of us, I take my hat off and set it on the table while Ash dives right in. The only hat he ever wears is a ratty old baseball cap that is currently getting bleached in the sun on his dash.
“You should know that I didn’t send Ash out to get me a job. I’d have shown up here myself instead,” I tell Faye, needing to fill the quiet.
“Oh, I would have expected nothing less. Everything was done much too politely to have your fingerprints on it.”
Yikes. “Right. Well, I don’t need the job.”
“Yes, she does. And she’ll take it,” Ash speaks for me, not noticing the crumbs on his chin and collar.
I try to extend my spine as much as I can in this hard chair. With my shoulders pinned back, I meet Faye’s narrowed eyes. They’re the same shade of grey as her son’s.
“I’m really?—”
She lifts a hand, cutting me off. “The job is already yours, so you can stop arguing. Jed’s out, but I’m assuming you already know what you’ll be doing without needing him to explain it. You’ve always been good with the horses here, and I expect that you’ve only gotten better over the years.”
I clamp my teeth together once before nodding. Ash’s stare is heavy on me as I wrangle back every single snappy comment that wants to spew from my lips. Her choppy, no-bullshit tone leaves little room for me to try and argue further, not that I’d want to keep going anyway.
Faye isn’t a woman who takes shit from anyone, let alone the woman who she believes is completely responsible for her son’s criminal record and time spent in prison.
“Right. I have.” I nudge the roll in front of me, and Ash takes it without me needing to ask. “When do I start?”
“Tomorrow. Be here at sunrise, and I’ll make sure someone is outside the house to help you move into your trailer.”
My mouth pops open, nothing but hot air escaping me. It’s Ash who speaks, half choking on a bite of buttered roll.
“Her trailer?”
“The groomer’s trailer is sitting empty. Why wouldn’t Tilly move into it?” Faye asks like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Scooting my chair closer to the table, I say, “I don’t need a trailer. I’m back at home with my parents. The drive here isn’t long from the lake.”
“It comes with the job. You can take it or walk away.”
“Really, Mrs. Carrigan, there’s no need for me to stay here. Let someone else move into the trailer,” I ramble.
Her features tighten as she takes the empty plate once covered with a jam-slathered roll. She digs her eyes into mine and nearly has me apologizing for daring to argue with her over this.
“You’ll live in the groomer’s trailer. It’s settled.”
I fold my hands in my lap and tap a finger to my knuckle. Something teetering into panic territory expands in my chest, leaving no room for anything, let alone my lungs. I glance behind me and through the archway, half expecting Rowe to jump out with that rugged laugh of his. There’s nobody there. Just this heavy silence that’s sticking to my skin.
Ash knocks his knee against mine beneath the table to try and snag my attention, but I ignore him. When I push to my feet, I take the now empty plate that was in front of me and silently carry it to the sink. It clatters loudly enough to cut through the room.
