Page 20 of Fall or Nothing

I glanced quickly around, hoping to spot Carter. Voices carried toward us, bits of laughter and conversation, the hum of guitars warming up near the fire. But no sign of him.

A few of the guys broke off from the group the moment they saw Daisy, heading her way with concern written all over their faces.

“How’s Knox?”

“Is he doing all right?”

“That bullet didn’t do too much damage, did it?”

Daisy answered them calmly, her strength admirable as always. “He came through surgery okay. His shoulder’s going to take time to heal.”

There were murmurs of relief, a few jokes about Knox being too stubborn to stay down long, and bets on when he’d be back to work. Slowly, Daisy’s shoulders relaxed, and she even had a cup of Eldon’s strawberry wine to sip.

I couldn’t relax one bit, not until I caught sight of Carter. At the hospital, I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d made out on his first day.

At last, I found him. He stood a little off to the side, a beer in one hand, his other shoved into his pocket, shoulders slightly hunched, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Far from the polished, confident man who captured my attention at the barn dance. He wasn’t even the half-frozen disaster I’d picked up on the side of the road.

His flannel and jeans were wrinkled, the sleeves of Dad’s jacket pushed up to reveal strong forearms, and the golden stubble on his jaw caught the firelight. He looked exhausted, a little lost, and still impossibly more handsome than any man had a right to be after one day on the ranch.

I wanted to walk over, slide my fingers through that messy hair, and tell him it would get easier. Instead, I stayed rooted in place, heart beating too fast.

Was it so selfish of me to want him to plant roots here when I didn’t really know a thing about him?

“Hi. You have rough first day written all over your face.” I approached with a grin.

Helet out a quiet puff of laughter. “Define rough.”

I glanced over the general state of him again. “You survived. That’s something.”

“Barely. I think one horse despises me. Kept knocking over the muck bucket.”

“Which one?” I chuckled.

“Silver.”

“Oh, he’s a sweetheart, but can be naughty though. He came to the ranch in critical health at first. Now his personality seems to come out more and more.”

“At least the pregnant mare in quarantine likes me. Wouldn’t leave me alone, following me around.”

“Sassy? I adore her. The poor thing, a really sad rescue. She’d been a highly regarded broodmare who’d birthed several champion offspring. But then she was sold a few times as she aged. Her latest breeder fell ill and couldn’t afford care for the horses. Ash found her nearly starved and pregnant when he got the rescue call. Such a fall for her from having it all to having nothing.”

His mouth twisted into a tight smile at that, but with an edge underneath it somehow. “You seem to know a lot about the horses.”

“I babysit for Ash and Willow one afternoon every week for their daughter Ro, and for Dusty, the vet, with his son Eli. I pick them up after school, and they race to the barns here. They love the horses, so we like to ride when the weather allows. And Daisy is the farrier, so she’s around often enough. I hear things from her, too.”

He rolled his shoulders, groaning. “My back is staging a quiet mutiny.” One word from him and my hands would gladly knead out his knots.

“Is the work so different from your previous job?”

A quick thing passed through his eyes—unguarded, there and gone—and then he nodded toward the fire. “What’s the story with all of this? Ash had called itchurchand then offered no further explanation.”

“No collection plate or hymns. Just people.” I gestured around the clearing alongside him, seeing it the way he probably was—the beautiful chaos of it, the noise, the fellowship. “Ranch hands. Neighbors. People who matter and don’t have anywhere else to go. We eat, we talk, someone always ends up on a guitar. There’s often dancing. We look forward to it each week.”

“Dinner is ready,” Eldon shouted, presenting the usual spread of potluck dishes and barbecue. The men of the ranch rushed to the tables, cutting our conversation too short.

“Well, I should eat something, not that I could hold a fork,” he muttered, staring down at his hand.

“Oh my God, didn’t you wear gloves working today?” I exclaimed, taking his hand in mine, examining the blisters forming there. His skin was rough against mine, sending little sparks racing up my arm. For a second, neither of us pulled away.