Page 6 of A Bittersweet Summer

I carry them with me, scooping the feed into the stalls before filling water buckets with a hose.

By the time I’m done, impatient whinnying sounds from the side door of the barn, followed by loud hoof scrapes on the siding.

“Settle down,” I holler, knowing Macy is the most likely culprit. I cannot bear to fix another thing in this damn place—not before I get some more consistent help.

My muscles ache dully, and my boots are coated with a thick layer of dust by the time I check my watch. 6:34. Cass, the new hire, should be in around seven. Unless she, too, lied about her criminal record. Though I highly doubt that.

With plenty of time to get the main herd inside the barn, so long as everything goes to plan, I assure that all doors are closed and tuck Rory into the office before opening the barn to horses streaming in.

For the most part, everyone ends up where they should be, save for Mocha, who seems to think parting with his best friend, Pitter, would be the end of the world.

After a bit of musical horses, I close up stalls, grab my coffee off the mounting block, and take a long swig as the barn fills with sounds of horses blowing out relaxed snorts and huffing sounds—as if spending all night out at pasture amounted to the same levels of stress I endure while trying to organize a beginner riding lesson for small children who are most assuredly afraid of horses.

In terms of a morning on the farm, this one has been pleasantly uneventful. The hope of accomplishing some extra tasks eases the ache in my muscles. I might be able to repair the back of the fence by the colt’s field over the hill. With any luck, I may even get to mowing, or I could weed whip around the shed’s outside.

All I need is the smoothness of today to continue, and a little bit of focus.

“Hello?”

I choke on my coffee, holding the hot liquid away from my body as a blonde head pokes through the door by the office.

My hand wipes the coffee from around my mouth, and I cough to recover as Cass steps in. There are no handcuffs around her wrists, and I don’t hear the distant blare of a siren, so that’s a good sign.

I frown when I see her yellow rubber boots. They look more like rain boots than muck boots—something she will need to remedy if those things are going to last longer than a week.

As for her outfit, lean legs are covered with sleek black leggings. Tucked into the waistband at the front is her somewhat oversized, pale blue shirt. There’s a hole in the seam by her collarbone, and my gaze catches there before taking in her neatly pulled back hair. The ponytail hangs midway down her back, putting on full display the high cheekbones and soft pink bow of her lips.

I look away. The outfit should be fine. It’s far better than the college student I hired before, the narrowly avoided criminal who showed up in his basketball shoes and spent eighty percent of the day trying to clean them with a rag, also dirty.

“That pale blue color won’t make it to the end of the day,” I grunt, placing my coffee back on the mounting block with a bit too much force. Black liquid sloshes over the side of the mug, and I wipe my hand on my jeans. I hope it’s not a sign that my peaceful morning is about to take a rapid turn. As a creature of habit, I’d hate to upset the flow of this place.

I pass the woman and reach for the office door handle.

“Oh,” Cass breathes, following the statement with a nervous chuckle. “It’s old. I’m fine if it gets ruined.”

“Mm.”

When the door opens, Rory slinks out, weaving her way between Cass’s ridiculous boots. “Aurora,” I supply, keeping my gaze away from theoldshirt or really anything relating to Cass. I’m not blind, but Iamprofessional. I keep strict boundaries around what I will and will not allow on my farm—same as the strict walls I’ve built around my life. Everything fits neatly inside the confines I created. It’s a fine pasture—the life I have. I can’t afford to have anything upset the balance.

I’ve upset that balance before with one of the trainers a client had hired out five years ago. Scarlett had entered my life swiftly. I had been new to the farm, working to fulfill my role in the best way I could, and even though I’d spent my entire life around horses, I watched her work with such confidence and capability, I started hanging around more than I should have—admiring her skill and ability to handle one of our most difficult horses.

When we’d started dating a few months later, I was drowning in paperwork and projects that always seemed to demand my attention, but I’d felt fulfilled. I had the farm, and I’d gotten the girl. I assumed she cared just as deeply about this place as I did.

It wasn’t until she’d confronted me during a lesson that I realized my mistake. We had nothing in common outside of horses, and while Scarlett was a fantastic trainer, she still viewed the horses as herjob. She wanted more than I could give her.No. She wanted me to be someone different, entirely.

It reminded me too much of my parents. They’d been blinded by this place my entire childhood. It wasn’t until they retired that they realized exactly how incompatible they were.

And for Scarlett? Dating a man whose life was molded to every facet of his job didn’t bode well, so she ended things.

Rather publicly.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with any woman working around this place after that. And since I spend so much of my time here, that means I haven’t been involved with any women at all.

“Come on in,” I say without waiting to ensure Cass has followed me. “I’ve got a map and some basics to cover before we head over the hill to the breeding barn and feed some more horses.”

The small office at the front of the barn could use a good cleaning. I’m suddenly aware of the dust coating the windowsill that overlooks the front paddock, the wilted flowers I never replaced in the center of the table I have pushed against the wall, and the dirt smudged along the disorganized fridge.

It’s a testament to all of the problems I can’t seem to fix—a reminder of just how badly we need the extra hands.