“Uh… is the sheep supposed to be here?”
“Apparently.”
I wrap his ankle while Ragnar watches with visible disapproval, as though treating humans is an enormous waste of time.
Nate shows up a few minutes later carrying two sandwiches and two beers.
“Hey, cousin! Brought you food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Yes, you are. And you also look like you need to talk.”
He drops into the patient chair, sets the sandwiches on the table, and waits.
I say nothing.
Ragnar, still glued to my feet, lets out a low grumble.
“So,” Nate says while unwrapping his sandwich, “how’s your day going?”
“Fine.”
“Finn.”
“It’s busy. Lots of accidents during the Games, you know.”
Nate bites into his sandwich, chews slowly, and watches me with the expression he reserves for moments when he knows I’m lying through my teeth.
After swallowing, he asks casually:
“Seen Mary today?”
I stiffen instantly.
“No. She’s busy with the animals.”
“With Jamie MacNeil, you mean?”
My jaw tightens.
I stare down at my hands like they’ve suddenly become fascinating and grab the second sandwich way too quickly.
“I don’t know,” I answer vaguely.
“Finn.”
“Maybe.”
Nate follows my gaze as it drifts helplessly back toward the paddocks again.
From here, we can see two silhouettes near one of the fences.
I bite into my sandwich.
“He seems… close to Mary,” Nate comments with suspiciously perfect neutrality.
I remember that I’m still technically supposed to maintain the fake-boyfriend façade, although apparently not for much longer.
