It’s that mom-mode panic. Eyes wide, trying to assess the damage, already finding a million ways to blame herself for letting me take him into the damn stables.
But this wasn’t her fault. This was on me.
I step forward, ready to help, but Dakota’s already there, lifting Charlie into her arms and embracing him tight. Her eyes don’t leave him, even when he’s clutching at her neck, his sobs quieting as she rubs his back.
But she’s not even looking at me, and that’s when I realize—this is gonna be bad. She’s gonna shut me out over this. She’s gonna blame me for not being more careful, for thinking I could handle the kid.
“Let me help…”
But she doesn’t even acknowledge me, just keeps her focus on Charlie. Her face is tight, the kind of tight that tells me she’s one second away from breaking down and blaming herself.
I know that look. I’ve seen it a thousand times in people who can’t stop taking responsibility for shit that’s out of their control.
“I’ve got it, Reid,” she snaps, the words sharp, but she cracks just a little at the end.
Yeah, she’s scared.
And I get it. I do. She’s terrified, trying to stay strong for Charlie while holding it together herself. But the way she said it, so closed off, I could tell she didn’t want me around. That stings.
I get it, though. I really do.
“I should’ve been more careful,” I mutter under my breath, watching her turn and move toward the door with Charlie still cradled in her arms.
I feel damn foolish. I wanted to show off. Wanted to be the guy who could handle this, who could be the fun one. But now? Now I’m just the biggest idiot. I didn’t just mess up; I probably made it worse.
She’s already stressed, already has a thousand things to worry about with the ranch, and here I am making it worse.
I step back, running a hand through my hair, watching them head out of the barn. Charlie is still in Dakota’s arms, but he’s not crying anymore.
I’m sure she’s just trying to keep it together for him, but damn, I wish she’d let me help.
She’s gonna be pissed. I know it. And she’s not the type to yell, but she’s definitely the type to put up a wall and shut me out, and that’s exactly what she’s doing now.
Hell, maybe I deserve it.
By the time I shake off my own self-loathing and jog after them, they’re already halfway across the yard. Dakota’s clutching Charlie close, on some kind of mission, and I’m just this awkward shadow trailing behind, feeling about as useful as a fence post.
And then Clint appears, because of course he does. Big, broad, all coiled energy, a storm about to break. His eyes cut to me for half a second, but he focuses on Dakota and Charlie.
“What happened?”
“He fell,” Dakota blurts out, breathless, not even looking at Clint. “In the stables. His knee’s bleeding.”
“I’ll get the door.” Clint’s already ahead of her, pushing it open before she can fumble with the handle.
He’s not asking questions, just moving. Efficient. Protective.
We step inside, and I’m hit with that smell that’s so different from the barns. Warm wood, clean linens, coffee that’s been sitting too long.
The place is huge, a sprawling ranch house that’s the size of a mansion, but right now all that space feels small. The walls are closing in.
Dakota sits Charlie on the long kitchen counter under the bright lights, murmuring to him softly. He’s still sniffling, but he’s calmer now, his little hands gripping her shirt.
Clint’s already got the first-aid kit open before I even register he’s moved. I hover, feeling like a third wheel and a screwup rolled into one.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Clint says to Charlie. “We’ll have you patched up in no time.”
Dakota brushes Charlie’s hair back, checking his face. She needs to see him whole to believe it.
