I hang up on the feed store and shove my phone in my back pocket. My legs are carrying me across the paddock faster than I can think about what I’m going to say. I plant my hands on the near fence and vault over it, which catches Mercy’s attention.
She waves at me. “Hi, Zane.”
I take a deep breath and plant my hands on my hips as I stop in front of her. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve brought Luna some help. Cash mentioned that she has a serious kale problem.”
I rock back on my heels. “He did what?”
“It’s perfect, really, because…” She lowers her voice. “Look, this young mother is incredibly sweet, but she needs somewhere quiet to stay while he’s fixing her car.”
Fuck me. “No.”
“Look, Zane, it’s a complicated situation, but?—”
“This isn’t a good idea.” I cut her off. I’m sure itiscomplicated. And it would only get messier if a young single mother was found out to be crashing at Kincaid’s Refuge. But I don’t want to argue with Mercy about my family’s reputation—and I definitely don’t want to tell her about my inconvenient attraction to her newly adopted pet project yesterday. So I focus on the safest reason. The Luna reason. “You can’t bring a stranger here. You know better than that.”
“She’s not a stranger. She worked for me last night and this morning, but the diner isn’t a good fit.”
Against my better judgement, I frown. “What do you mean? What happened?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I shouldn’t care. I don’t want to care. I find myself caring so fucking much. “What are you not telling me?”
Mercy’s gaze snaps back to my face. Maybe careful, but not timid. “About a stranger? A lot. It’s none of your business. What’s with the third degree? Luna needs help, I’ve delivered her help. Andsheis thrilled, by the way, so whatever this overprotective son routine is that you’re doing, it’s not necessary.”
Fucking hell. This conversation is a runaway train that I’ve lost control over.
She tilts her head. “Do you suddenly want to pretend you vet everyone who comes onto this property? You want a background check on the propane guy? The vet? The kid who delivers hay? You’ve been waving people up this driveway for five years and now. This is a helpless young woman with a kid. What’s your problem?”
I don’t answer. I can feel the heat climbing up the back of my neck.
And then it doesn’t matter, because the greenhouse door opens again, and Hope steps outside.
That glimpse of her wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
You stayed, I want to say.
I also want to ask her if she’s okay, I want to ask about whatever drove her out of Mercy’s diner after less than a day, and if she knows what it means to come here.
But I don’t say anything.
I just stare.
She’s wearing those sandals again today, with black leggings and a floral peasant blouse. Her sunglasses are pushed up on top of her head, and I get my first proper look at her lovely face. So soft, so pretty, so fucking out of place on my ranch.
When she feels my gaze on her, she swivels her attention, her eyes going wide. “Zane?”
Mercy’s head snaps from me to Hope and then back to me. “Do you know each other?”
“We met,” I say. My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. I clear my throat. “Yesterday. On the road. Her car was overheating. I stopped.”
Yesterday I handed this woman two hundred dollars and my word that I’d forget I ever saw her. That didn’t last long.
Fuck.
“He directed us into town,” Hope adds.
