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“Let me check back with you on that. I’m trying not to work. don’t want to rile Jamie up.”

“I would not,” he agrees. “I gotta call that bastard. It’s been a while. He’s more of an email guy now, it seems.”

“He’s pretty busy,” I agree.

He starts talking about something else. I’m quiet, glad to just listen. My eyes keep drifting to my side, where Sabrina sits, her silver hoop earrings dancing as she moves her head, laughing and talking. I’ll be thinking about that spot on her neck tonight, staring up at the ceiling.

I’m going to break one of my rules.

Either the work or the girl.

I kind of think I know which one it’ll be.

CHAPTER FIVE

SABRINA

We were all full from breakfast at the diner, so we skipped lunch. Then, he said he was tired, that he was going to get unpacked. I don’t doubt it. I’m a little worried what he needs isn’t here, but in a therapist’s office. He seems a bit depressed. A few days ago, I was convinced he was being sent out here to get clean or something. Now, I’m thinking it’s something more complex. But what do I know? Realistically, he’s probably already been to a bunch of therapists.

Is he sad?

Or just…tired?

Whatever it is, it sits heavy on my mind. I spend my afternoon cleaning out stalls before doling dinner into each feed bin and locking up the barn early. In the kitchen, I make chicken salad sandwiches with the recipe I’ve been working on for years. Every time, I tweak it a little bit, and it just keeps getting better. Today, I add a little bit of chives to the blended chicken and whip it up with all the seasoning before spreading it evenly over white bread. Serena doesn’t like crusts. I cut those off hers and stack everything on a plate. We don’t need a fancy side tonight. Chips and celery sticks are fine.

We eat. Dad goes to bed.

Still, Coen doesn’t appear.

It’s getting on toward eight. Serena has already fed the dogs and gone up to her room to bother Colin on her phone. Worried, I stand in the kitchen for a minute before deciding it’s better to be safe than sorry. Carefully, I pack a little basket of food and a thermos of decaf coffee and cross the yard to the guesthouse.

My heart is hammering.

Why is my heart hammering?

I hesitate, then knock. There’s a long silence, then boots on the floor. The door cracks, and he appears, wearing the same thing he was in this morning, just more disheveled.

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Hi. You missed dinner. I brought you something.”

He pulls open the door, ushering me through. Hesitant, I go down the hall with him at my heels and set the food on the table. He loiters by the stove. Something feels different, like there’s a brand new ripple of tension that wasn’t present this morning.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods. “I was on the phone with Jamie, then fell asleep with all my clothes on. Got up and decided to clean the place up a bit.”

“It wasn’t clean?”

“No, no, it was. I just needed something to do.”

I smile. “I thought you were a cowboy. Go out to the pasture, pick a horse, and get your hands dirty.”

He smiles. “I will if you’re alright with that.”

I nod. “Knock yourself out.”

“Don’t want to get in the way,” he adds.