I know the feeling, I thought, and immediately wanted to slap myself.
"Good. Keep at it. I want a full progress report by end of week."
"Yes, ma'am."
There it was again. That ma'am. Delivered with perfect respect and not a trace of irony, even though twelve hours ago he'd had my wrists pinned above my head and told me I didn't get to run the show.
I turned and walked away before my face could betray me.
The morning became a blur of movement and distraction. I checked fence lines—including the section Jack had patched after the storm, which was solid work I refused to be impressed by. Reviewed feed schedules. Reorganized the supply shed for absolutely no reason except that it gave me something to do with my hands. When a stable hand asked me a simple question about hay delivery, I bit his head off so thoroughly that he actually backed away with his hands raised.
"Sorry," I muttered. "Long morning."
"It's only ten o'clock," he pointed out.
"I'm aware."
I was aware of everything. The sun on my face. The wind through my hair. The exact location of Jack Remington at every single moment, even when I wasn't looking at him directly.
He was in my peripheral vision like a splinter I couldn't extract. Working with Dancer. Talking to my father by the cattle pens. Crouching down to check on Sully.
I watched him work a nervous mare who'd been giving us trouble for weeks. His hands moved slow and sure, never rushing, never forcing. Just waiting. Letting her come to him on her own terms. The way he smiled—that barely-there curve—when the mare finally dropped her head and let him touch her face.
The same way he'd handled me last night—right up until he'd decided waiting was over and taken charge so completely I'd forgotten my own name.
Stop. Comparing. Yourself. To. A. Horse.
He knew what it meant to love something and lose it. And he was choosing to love something again anyway.
That was braver than anything I'd ever done.
I shook myself out of it and threw myself back toward productive thought.
I spent two hours with the irrigation contractor discussing pipe specs with an intensity that made the man visibly nervous. It kept my brain occupied. Barely.
By early afternoon, I'd almost convinced myself I had a handle on things.
Then Ivy found me. "Okay," she said, falling into step beside me as I walked toward the main barn. "Spill."
"Spill what?"
"Whatever's got you stomping around like a woman who just found out her ex got hot." She held up a hand before Icould protest. "And before you say you'refine, I watched you reorganize the tack room twice and then yell at a fence post."
"It was in the way."
She snorted. "It's cemented into the ground, Maggie."
I kept walking. Ivy kept walking faster. She had that look—head tilted, arms crossed, one eyebrow doing the thing that saidI will follow you into the bathroom if I have to.
"Is this about the new guy?"
"No."
"Because I saw him walking toward the south pasture earlier and I'm not gonna lie, Mags, that man isunreasonablyeasy on the eyes." She let that hang for a second. "And you're doing that thing where you pretend you didn't notice something you very obviously noticed."
"I didn't notice anything."
"You're clenching your jaw right now.” I unclenched my jaw. "And your ears are turning pink."
