She relaxed a little in the seat, tucking her foot under her other leg. “I haven’t spent a lot of time around animals, especially large ones. I only had dogs and cats growing up.”
“Same for me. Before I came to the ranch, I’d never been within ten paces of a horse. But I seem to get on fine with them. One of my jobs is to brush them and give them baths when they need it.”
“That sounds rewarding.”
“It is—except the horse I had to bathe today doesn’t like baths.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “What happened?”
“Well, first she took the scrub brush right out of my hand.”
Fern’s shoulders shook on a laugh that was the cutest sound he’d ever heard.
“Then, when I got near her with the hose, she bit it and took that too. It ended up whipping around and around under the pressure and soaked me clean through.”
She giggled again, that flush settling in her cheeks again. “Naughty horse.”
He told a few more stories about that particular mare, who enjoyed playing in the mud but then bested him every time he tried to clean her up.
The radio was playing on low volume, but suddenly, she straightened in her seat. She reached for the dial. “Mind if I…?”
“Go for it. I love this song too.”
She turned it up, bobbing her head to the beat. Crew didn’t want to be the creepy guy staring at her, but her energy was so contagious that he kept stealing glances at her.
Without the sun to brighten it, her auburn hair took on a darker, sultry tone. Each tilt of her head sent the thick strands swaying, the motion as rhythmic as the music itself.
Crew gripped the wheel tighter to keep from reaching out. Suddenly all he wanted to do was thread his fingers in that beautiful hair, tug her head back and kiss her until she was writhing against him.
Hell. The photos on the board back in the lodge didn’t tell anyone that this was how it felt to emerge from the fog of trauma—like the world had beauty and sunshine and country songs that pretty girls bounced on the seat to.
Pretty soon, Fern started humming along with the radio.
Crew kept his eyes on the road, but his attention kept returning to the woman beside him. She’d relaxed into the drive now, one knee pulled up, her fingers tapping against the door panel in time with the music.
Then she started singing.
It was off-key and unselfconscious, and he found himself smiling before he could stop it. She wasn’t trying to sound good or impress him—she was just being herself, lost in the moment.
When had he last been that present? That free?
Crew realized with startling clarity that he was absolutely in the present with Fern. Not thinking about what came before this moment or what might come after. Just here, in the truck, with sunshine streaming through the windows and a woman who made him feel like maybe he could have something normal after all.
He glanced over at her, and she caught him looking, her cheeks flushing again as she stopped mid-verse.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he said.
“I’m a terrible singer.”
“You’re perfect.” The words came out rougher than he intended, weighted with truth he hadn’t meant to share.
She looked at him for a long moment, then smiled and went back to singing, quieter but no less genuine.
After they arrived at the garden center, Fern pulled out the cute pink measuring tape again.
“I’m surprised that thing doesn’t have pink numbers too.” He held one end to help her stretch it from one side of a heavy wooden bench to the other.
She laughed, and the sound did something to his insides. “Girly things are perfectly functional.”
