Pope had slept, but not much.
What little sleep he managed came in broken stretches between too many thoughts and the memory of Summer standing in that parking lot looking tired enough to fall over while still trying to push him away.
By the time dawn broke over the ranch, he’d given up on going back to sleep. So he went to sunrise yoga with Zee.
The classes started as an optional program, and somehow they’d become a regular thing for most of the vets. Most days it was held outside so they could commune with nature, whatever that meant. But when there was bad weather, the classes were held in the dining hall in front of the big windows.
Since there was a light drizzle this morning, Zee stood at the front of the room instructing a bunch of former military men with old injuries trying not to complain through stretches they secretly enjoyed.
Pope kept mostly quiet through it, moving through the poses with the same discipline he tried to bring to everything he did. His body had loosened a little by the end, but his head didn’t. Summer stayed right beneath the surface.
The flat tire. The way she looked when she realized she needed help.
The way she sat next to him on the ride to her place, silent, hands twisted in her lap.
After Zee concluded the yoga session with everyone sitting on their mats going through the final breathing exercise as thesun streamed over them, he gave up on getting Summer out of his head.
By eight o’clock he was out with the horses, moving through the rituals he’d performed every day since he came to the Black Heart. He filled his lungs with the sharp, cold morning air, taking in the traces of hay and leather and the bite of Wyoming spring.
One by one he greeted the horses and led them out of their stalls to stretch their legs in the pasture. When he reached Flint, the gelding shook his head and whinnied.
Pope settled him with a low command and a hand along on his neck.
“You’re getting too damn smart.”
The gelding flicked an ear back at him like he understood every word. Pope wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
Training the horse had become the one task where his head quieted down some. Horses didn’t care about complicated emotions or therapy evaluations or whether a woman decided he wasn’t built for forever. They just reacted with trust.
By the time he finished working with Flint, sweat dampened the collar of his shirt despite the cold. He turned Flint loose to graze with the rest of the horses and started toward the lodge.
He slipped a hand into his pocket and felt the set of keys. Willow’s keys. He took a detour toward the security office where she spent her early mornings to return the keys to her. But his phone rang halfway across the yard.
Pope saw the screen and everything inside him gripped.
Summer.
He whipped the phone to his ear. “You okay?”
A tiny pause met the question before she spoke. “Yeah. I just…wanted to thank you again.”
Relief made him stop walking and face the sun, as if Zee’s instruction to ground himself was ingrained in him now.
“For taking you home? Wasn’t a big deal.”
Another silence followed. Then quieter, she said, “I meant for paying for the new tires.”
“What?”
“The garage called this morning. Said there was a credit applied to the account. I know you did it.”
He froze. Because he hadn’t.
Worse, he wished he’d thought of it first.
“Summer,” he said slowly, “I didn’t pay for the tires.”
More silence, not the comfortable kind. The air seemed to be sucked out of the line, and he pictured what her expression might look like on the other end, that little crease forming between her brows she got when she was confused.
