I blink. “You think so?”
“You don’t look at people like that often,” he says simply. “When you do, it’s worth paying attention.”
I clear my throat. “I’m… not great at this part.”
Willy laughs. “Shocking.”
“I mean it,” I say. “I’m good in emergencies. I’m good when things are broken. But asking someone to dinner feels… invasive.”
Emmett pats my shoulder. “You just saved a horse from a panic spiral. You’ll be fine.”
“Those are not the same skill sets.”
“They’re emotionally adjacent,” Willy says confidently.
Red steps back, signaling the conversation’s done in his mind. “Just don’t overthink it.”
I almost laugh.
That ship sailed somewhere around the third honey jar.
As I pack up my kit and move on to the next animal, my pulse steadies. The decision sits quietly in my chest.
Tonight, when I get home, I’ll ask her.
A plan is supposed to make you feel calmer. You’ve placed the bedlam into a container with a lid.
Instead, it makes my stomach do a slow, nauseating roll as if I just climbed onto a carnival ride I did not agree to.
I finish the rest of my rounds on Dusty Spur with the tight, mechanical focus of a man trying not to think about hazel eyes while palpating a tendon.
A mare with a mild fetlock strain gets cold hosed and wrapped.
A yearling colt gets his vaccines and a stern lecture about biting, mostly for my own emotional satisfaction.
A goat has a suspicious rash that turns out to be normal. That little bugger gets in everywhere.
And when I finally wash up, stow my kit, and climb into my truck, it’s late afternoon and my shirt is stuck to my back and my brain is still stuck on Abilene Kentwood.
Emmett leans into my open window as I’m about to pull away.
“Hey,” he says, grin bright. “If you chicken out, I’m telling her you think she’s cool.”
“I will run you over with my truck,” I tell him pleasantly.
He beams. “Love you too!”
Willy appears behind him, a gremlin summoned by pandemonium.
“Get her somethin’,” he advises. “Women like gifts.”
Red, passing by with a lead rope over his shoulder, tosses, “Don’t make it weird,” as if that’s easy to do.
I drive away, and at first, I tell myself I’m going straight home.
I really do.
I even pass the first turnoff with conviction.
