“Guiding,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Does he ever listen to your guidance?”
“No,” I admitted. “Not once.”
“So perhaps it is chasing.”
I groaned. “Don’t take the zebra’s side.”
He shrugged lightly. “She seems confident in her choices.”
“Oh my gosh,” I whispered. “You and Barcode are a united front.”
He folded his arms, a quiet warmth settling into his expression. “Are you worried I cannot handle things without you here?”
I froze, because the worst part?
It sounded dangerously close to the question I had asked him.
How have you gotten along without me?
Heat shot straight up my neck.
“No,” I said too fast. “Obviously not. Why would I worry? I don’t worry. I don’t… think about… things.”
“You don’t,” he echoed, clearly unconvinced.
“I don’t,” I insisted.
“I see.”
“Stop saying I see.”
“I see.”
“Carson.”
He finally laughed a soft, low sound that made the cold morning air feel warmer, and my brain short-circuited.
I turned abruptly toward Barcode, who was stuffing her face into a hay pile like she hadn’t caused chaos five minutes earlier. “Okay. Enough distractions. You, ma’am. You are going home.”
Carson followed as I marched across the paddock.
“Do you need help?” he asked.
“No. Yes. Maybe. But not from you.”
“Why not from me?”
“Because I’m being professional.”
He nodded solemnly, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Of course.”
“And because I am not letting Barcode witness my emotional vulnerability,” I added.
“That seems wise.”
