“I’ll grab us a couple of poles. There’s probably a container of worms in the barn fridge.”
Her eyebrows rose in amused horror. “You keep worms in your fridge?”
“The guys do,” he said, chuckling as they bounced onto the two-lane out of town. “In the barn fridge.”
“I’d be afraid I’d grab one in the middle of the night by mistake.”
“You’d have to be pretty desperate for that.”
“True.” She folded her hands in her lap.
They left Clifton behind and followed the ribbon of asphalt toward the farm. Cole wrestled his thoughts back to neutral. This was a friendship outing, nothing more. But when he glanced at Aftyn’s profile, the soft curve of her jaw, the line of her neck, his chest tightened. He knew the last thing he wanted from her was friendship.
“Heard from Chuck yet?” he asked, shifting in his seat.
“Not yet. I might walk over Monday to see if he’s started.”
“He’s busy but tries to finish up before the holidays. Sells Christmas trees on his lot.”
“I hope I’m gone by then,” she murmured, voice flat.
Cole’s chest sank. You knew she wasn’t sticking around. He kept his eyes on the road.
“Returning to Colorado?”
“Probably.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Though I’m not sure why. I don’t have a job there anymore.”
“How long had you worked there?”
“Thirteen years.” She sighed, as she looked at fields of grazing cattle roll past. “They let me go for taking time off. I didn’t have a choice.” She massaged her temples. “The head surgeon had it out for me because I wouldn’t go out with him. Married, two kids. People reported him but nothing stuck. Honestly, I was already thinking of leaving. I’ve sent my résumé to a few hospitals.”
“In Colorado?”
“Yes. Though there are compact nursing states too.” She offered a thin smile.
Cole tapped the steering wheel and said nothing. He needed to hold his tongue until he could sort out his own tangled thoughts. Today was supposed to be simple. Horses, fishing, fresh air. Not broken hearts. Not goodbyes. Not yet.
****
Aftyn sat up as Cole slowed into the driveway, tires crunching over gravel. She’d seen the house before, but only briefly, the day he’d pulled her out of that field. She shivered just thinking about it, the ground trembling beneath her feet as the bull charged.
The single-story log home came into view and she smiled. A wide porch ran across the front and along the sides, rocking chairs and hanging ferns swaying in the gentle breeze. A stone chimney rose against the blue sky, leaded glass windows flanking a hand-carved oak door with Western motifs worked into thewood.
Cole parked beneath a sprawling cottonwood at the side of the house and climbed out with a stretch. She did the same, breathing in fresh-cut hay and distant wildflowers.
She was shading her eyes to look across the yard when she froze. The bull stood behind the weathered rail fence, obsidian eyes fixed on her, unblinking.
“Yeah, I don’t like you either,” she called out. He turned and walked away with surprising dignity, and she laughed.
“Let’s head inside and I’ll make sandwiches,” Cole said.
She looked at him, wishing he’d take those sunglasses off. “I can help.”
The steps creaked under his boots as he led her up to the porch, opened the door, and nodded her inside, hanging his hat on the peg. The kitchen smelled of lingering coffee, copper pots gleaming from a ceiling rack. A Golden Retriever came skidding across the hardwood and planted himself at her feet, tail sweeping.
“Oh, you are precious.” She crouched to rub his ears. “Where were you the first time I was here?”
“Probably out with the guys. They take him to run by the creek. His name’s Ollie.”
