Oh, I liked it. Liked it way too much. She smelled like warm skin and something sweet that’d been driving me crazy for the last week. I wanted to back her up against the wall and find out if she tasted half as good as she smelled.
“Doesn’t matter if I like it, Starlin’. The yellow jackets do. They think you’re breakfast. You smell like a goddamn flower bed out here."
“Well, that’s a shame.” Her voice had gone cold. “Because I made it.”
"You made it?"
“Yeah. It’s just a hobby.” She said the word like it left a bad taste.
I stared at her. She’d made that scent, the one that had been messing with my head for days. I wanted to ask a dozen questions, but I shut that shit down fast. I couldn’t afford to care about her hobbies. She’d be gone in a few weeks anyway.
I turned my back so I didn’t have to look at her mouth anymore. "Well, keep your hobby in the house. I won’t always be around to swat wasps off you."
Behind me, she let out a sharp, frustrated breath. Good. I needed the distance before I had to be stuck with her all day at Cody. Fortunately, I only had to see her at dinner, and she didn't speak to me at all.
The silence between us followed me into the next day.
The temperature plummeted hard during the afternoon. Colt and I were out by the tool shed when the first gust hit, smelling of rain and kicked-up dust. The blue sky bruised dark in the distance.
"Here it comes," Colt said.
We ran for the house as the sky opened up. Rain came down in sheets, hammering the shingles, and we hit the mudroom soaked.
Wren came in from the kitchen, frowning. "Have you seen Sienna?"
"No," I said. "Why?"
"She went for a walk about an hour ago, toward the gate." Her eyes flicked to the open screen door, where rain was slanting sideways. "She should've been back by now."
Colt grabbed his hat off the hook. "She shouldn't be far."
I was already at the door. "Wren, you and Colt check the barn and near the greenhouse. I'll take the truck down the driveway."
Rain hit me like a wall as I stepped outside. The truck was only ten feet away, but I climbed inside drenched all over again. The windshield was a blur even with the wipers on high.
I threw the truck into gear and headed down the driveway. It was a mess of puddles swallowing the ruts. I drove slow, scanning the treeline, the ditch, the road ahead. Nothing.
Stupid, taking a walk with a sky like that. Didn't she have any sense?
I hit the gas a little harder. Muck sprayed up behind the tires.
I found her standing at the edge of the washout ditch, staring at it with her back to me, rain plastering her hair down.
I cut the engine and got out. "What the hell are you doing out here?"
She turned. "There's a calf stuck."
I looked past her. A small calf, maybe four months old, hip-deep in mud at the bottom of the washout. Bawling, legs churning uselessly.
"Get in the truck," I said.
I grabbed the rope from the back of my truck and walked to the edge. It was slick and crumbling under the downpour. The calf was thrashing down in the washout, sinking deeper every time it lunged. I built a loop, swung it once, and threw it clean around the calf's chest, pulling the slack tight.
Then the rope jerked behind me. I turned to find Sienna had taken hold of it too. Her white blouse clung to her skin, her chest, practically transparent in the rain, and I damn near lost my grip on the rope.
I forced my eyes back to the calf. "I didn't ask you to help."
"I want to. I'll pull too."
