“Yeah.” My voice feels rough. “You handled that well.”
She looks at me, her smile soft. “It’ll be fine.” Her look tells me she has more on her mind than the bird.
The afternoon quiet settles around us. A loose banner flutters. Someone in the distance laughs. For the first time all day, Milly sinks onto the edge of a hay bale and exhales.
I stand there a beat too long, memorizing her silhouette against the dusty light. She’s not fragile. She never was. I think about Penny’s letter, about walls and safety, and how maybe I’ve been building the wrong kind of shelter.
I sit beside her, elbows on my knees. “You know,” I say, “you’ve got a talent for making chaos look calm.”
She tilts her head. “Careful, that sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”
“It’s an observation,” I say, then grin. “A complimentary one.”
She laughs, leaning against my shoulder, light as breath.
Above us, a hawk circles—one wing slightly uneven but catching air anyway.
By the time the last crate’s loaded, the fairgrounds look like a battlefield after a happy war. Stray ribbons cling to fences, and the air hums with the sweet, heavy quiet that follows laughter.
Milly’s perched on the tailgate, hair loose and tangled with hay. She’s got that tired glow—the kind you earn, not the kindyou fake. I hand her a bottle of water and lean beside her, the metal warm against my back.
Doc Wilson passes by on his way to his truck. “Heard you didn’t burn the place down,” he says.
“Not yet,” Milly answers, smiling.
“Then I’ll sleep easy.” He tips his hat and goes, whistling.
The sun drifts low over the fields, turning everything gold. From across the square, I can hear Cassie laughing with Levi while they dismantle the tents. Somewhere, Mrs. Winslow’s voice rises in a dramatic retelling of how she saved the rooster from espionage.
Milly nudges me with her boot. “You’re quiet.”
“Taking inventory,” I say. “One very successful clinic. One mildly sunburned vet tech. Zero disasters.”
“And?”
“And you were incredible out there.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile betrays her. “I know.”
“I’m impressed.”
She leans her shoulder into mine. “As you should be.” She bumps her shoulder against mine and laughs. “Besides, you helped.”
“I mostly watched.”
“That counts as helping. Without you, who knows. The goats and pigs could have banded together and staged a coup.”
The silence between us feels easy, and doesn’t need words.
Then Mason’s voice cuts through the fading light. “Austin!” He strides over, dust on his jeans, phone in hand. “Levi got a call from a guy near the county line. Said he saw Arnie talking to someone yesterday—didn’t catch much, but the guy wasn’t local. Big truck, tinted windows.”
I straighten. “When?”
“Yesterday afternoon.” Mason shrugs. “Could be nothing. Could be something.”
Milly looks between us, calm but alert. “You think Harold’s stirring the pot again?”
“Maybe.” I glance at her, then back toward the darkening road. “Whatever it is, we’ll find out.”
