Sunny's reply comes back in under a minute:
You're obsessed with those ducks.
I type back:
Lies. I'm documenting ranch assets for tax purposes.
She answers:
You took fourteen duck photos yesterday, Charlie. That's not documentation. That's a love affair.
I smile at my phone and glance at Kevin, who is glaring at me from across the water with the outraged posture of a bird who has already bitten three people this week.
"Don't look at me like that. I have a reputation to maintain."
Yesterday, between checking on the yearlings and reviewing feed orders, I sent Sunny a video of Pearl nosing at the fence rail looking for apple slices, a photo of Biscuit asleep on top of Wadsworth, and a sunset shot where the light turned the pastures the exact shade of gold that reminds me of her hair.
I almost didn't send that last one. It felt like too much, the kind of thing a man sends when he's past the point of playing it cool and feels more like a declaration. But the memory of Sunny curled against my shoulder overrode whatever caution I had left.
Now I'm showered, caffeinated, and pulling into the Willow Sage parking lot with two coffees and a spring in my step. The lot is quiet this early, just Tabitha's car, Sunny's truck, and a delivery van near the side entrance. I grab the coffees and head for the production room.
The scent hits me first, oak and steel and the fruity sweetness that I've come to associate with Sunny's world the way saddle leather and hay belong to mine. The hum of the climate control fills the room with the low, constant hum that Sunny once told me she finds more soothing than music.
She's at the worktable, bent over the production log with her pen moving in quick, precise strokes. Her hair is in a tight braid and a faint purple stain runs along the outside of her forearm. She's wearing the faded navy tank top and jeans that have become her uniform in my mind, and is utterly absorbed in her work. I could stand here and watch her like this all morning.
I set her coffee at her elbow the way I always do.
"Morning, Sunshine."
She picks up the cup, takes a sip, and the smile she gives me is soft. "Good morning. And thank you." Then she sets the cup down and taps her pen against the log. "You sent me a photo of Pearl at six forty-five this morning."
"She looked cute and the light was perfect. I also sent you some great shots of the ducks. I thought you'd appreciate them."
"I was pulling samples." She takes another sip of coffee. "My phone buzzed on the worktable and I almost knocked a line of glasses over reaching for it because I thought maybe you missed me."
"Sunshine, I missed you before I hit the end of your street yesterday morning."
The flush that creeps up her neck tells me that landed exactly where I aimed. She recovers by pointing her pen at me. "So instead of saying that, you send me a photo of Pearl."
"Pearl is very photogenic."
"She's a horse, Charlie. She doesn't need a publicist."
"Have you seen her mane? She absolutely does." I lean against the worktable and take a sip of my own coffee, watching the twitch at her mouth turn into something she has to actively fight. "Besides, I needed to document the duck situation. Gerald's been standing on that bridge every morning like he's posing for a portrait. I think he knows he's handsome."
The fight is lost and the grin that breaks across her face sends a jolt through me that I feel all the way to my boots. "You love those ducks."
"Ido notlove those ducks."
"Charlie." She sets the pen down and turns on her stool to face me fully. Her blue eyes are bright with a teasing warmth. "You built them a pond. You commissioned a pink bridge. You send me multiple photos a day of individual ducks doing mundane duck activities. The slow-motion video of Karen splashing in the water trough was a masterpiece."
"First of all, Evie would have disowned me if I hadn't given those ducks a proper home. And second, that was a cool video."
"It was great, and you are completely, hopelessly in love with those ducks."
"I'm in love with the idea of not being attacked by Kevin. There's a difference."
Her laugh echoes through the room. Three weeks ago it was something I had to pry out with patience and well-timed jokes. Now it comes freely and often, and the change in her is something I notice every time I walk through this door.
