His face falls. “Have head knowledge. Been a while, though.”
Instead of making it a thing, I rise. “Let’s stand him up. It’s easier that way.” Arlo watches raptly as I straddle the calf from behind, still shaky on his hooves. Then, I shove a thumb into his mouth until I get a strong latch. I swap it with the nipple. The sucking grows stronger with each gulp.
Arlo shifts awkwardly, crossing his arms over his chest. I feel his gaze linger. When I look up, he glances away, red traveling up his neck. He clears his throat too loudly.
“Remember to keep his nose below his eyes when he feeds.”
He nods once, frowning.
“Coffee?Tea? Hot chocolate? Seems a shame to let this hot water go to waste,” I ask when we’re at the ranch house again.
Arlo’s mouth twitches. “Coffee, please.”
As the French press brews, something catches my eye at the window. Movement by a tree… maybe. My breath hitches, shoulders tensing before I realize it’s nothing.
While I work, Arlo builds a fire in the living room hearth. Golden light warms the surfaces as we sit in silence next to each other on the couch, both staring at the crackling blaze.
“Thank you for your help tonight,” I say finally, noticing how the coppery light turns his trimmed beard and hair shades of burnished flame.
“Not much help. Not when it comes to reviving the dead.”
I chuckle. “A necessary talent in this line of work.” The creases in his forehead deepen. “It’s okay. I’ve got you covered.”
He stares into his coffee, face torn.
“I feel safe when you’re here,” I confess. “That’s enough.”
He doesn’t look relaxed. He looks ready. “Won’t let anything happen to you.”
Chapter
Four
ARLO
Wood smoke threads the air, mixing with the bitter earth of brewed coffee. I didn’t sleep last night.
Couldn’t.
Not with danger circling this ranch. Circlingher.
I try to shake the last thought from my mind. But it’s the kind that sticks, takes hold, maybe doesn’t let go.
Thick, raven-black hair. Heart-shaped face. That imperious cowgirl expression.
Fuck.
Outside, fog clings low to the ground. As if the clouds have dipped down for a visit.
I scan the treeline, narrowing my eyes to squint through the white veil. In the distance, a great ancient barn looms like a shadow, weather-beaten and gravity-dragged. Half collapsed, but stubborn.
Like its mistress.
My breath comes in puffs as I walk, only subsiding when I enter the livestock-warmed stables. Nutty feed and oiled leathergreet my nostrils. In the corner, I find the new little charge, lying in the thick pile of straw where I deposited him.
He tips his head up weakly, big black eyes with a fringe of long, thick lashes assessing me.
“Made it through the night,” I croon gently, entering the stall, a bottle of warm milk in tow.
