11. Dawn
Chapter 11
Dawn
T he sun was relentless, beating down as if it were trying to prove a point. From my spot on the wooden fence, I watched Nash lumbering up the path from the stables, hay clinging to his jeans and his boots kicking up little clouds of dust. He’d been here a couple of weeks now, and while he wasn’t exactly born to ranch life, he didn’t look quite so awkward anymore. I could even admit—privately—that he was getting the hang of things.
I couldn’t say I liked his presence here… yet. At first, it had even felt like another burden, not helping at all. Not only did his presence remind me how I couldn’t manage the family ranch alone, but I also had to teach him everything—from how to clean the stables to how to feed the animals. But Nash was surprisingly a quick learner, and the residents liked him.
Clara always made sure she was on the same task schedule as him, smiling relentlessly and trying to impress him with her knowledge of the ranch. Ben loved teasing him, talking about Celine Dion’s entire discography. Simon seemed to tolerate his presence, offering a half-smile when Nash complimented him on his choice of shirt—an old Chris Stapleton tour T-shirt.
Nash stopped by the fence I was sitting on, squinting up at the sky as he dumped a bale of hay for the horses. The day was shockingly hot for the end of May, and I had to take a break from training. Celine, my mare, was relaxing in the shade, licking her treatcicle.
Billie and Simon had made them early this morning: ice cubes filled with kale, kiwis, apples, and sea salt. These helped the horses replenish their electrolytes during training in the summer heat.
Then, as if the day weren’t already hot enough, Nash grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it off over his head.
“Oh, come on,” I muttered under my breath, though I couldn’t stop my eyes from lingering. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a man shirtless before, but... well, it was Nash Rhodes. The man was a country singer carved directly from the desires of women. Masculinity transpired from every pore, and his defined jaw, thick thighs, and muscled arms were the result of hard work on his image.
Maybe it was the way the sunlight carved golden highlights across his defined abs, or the way he smiled as he tossed the shirt onto the fence post, but I couldn’t stop watching. Catching me mid-stare, a slow, knowing grin spread across his face, and I immediately regretted everything.
“See something you like, princess?” he called, resting his hands on his hips, his cowboy hat throwing shade on his face.
“Just wondering how long before you burn,” I shot back, trying to sound unimpressed. “You’ve got city skin, Rhodes. You’ll be a lobster by noon.”
“Good to know you’re worried about me.” He sauntered closer, confidence oozing from every step. “Guess you don’t hate having me around as much as you say you do.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said, folding my arms to hide the way my heart was suddenly racing. “It’s just less entertaining now that you’ve stopped falling on your face.”
“Falling on my face?” He laughed, leaning against the fence right beside me, his shoulder brushing against my knee. “I’ve been nothing but a natural.”
I repositioned my hands on each side of me, regaining my composure. “Natural disaster, maybe,” I said, arching an eyebrow.
He grinned, running a hand through his hair before replacing his hat on his head. “You’re tough, Dawn. But I’m starting to think that’s just your way of flirting with me.”
I snorted, rolling my eyes even as my cheeks heated. “In your dreams.”
“Oh, you’d be shocked about my dreams, princess,” he said with a wink, turning back toward the barn like he’d just won something.
I watched him go, and as much as I hated to admit it, I caught myself smiling. Maybe he wasn’t as out of place as I thought. Or perhaps I didn’t mind him being here as much as I’d let on. The change of scenery seemed to be doing wonders for my anxiety.
As soon as I hopped off the fence to return to training, I heard a familiar song resonate in the stables. I couldn’t fight my curiosity, stroking my mare’s body gently as I passed by on my way inside.
That’s when I recognized “I Drove All Night,” one of Ben’s favourite Celine Dion songs, blasting on the radio. Just there, in the last empty stall, Nash and Ben were dancing. Nash was using a fork as a makeshift microphone, while Ben was wearing his hat and throwing his best moves. Laughter bubbled out of me before I could help it, and the boys simultaneously turned toward me. Nash advanced toward me without stopping his show, extending his right hand.
I let go of my guardedness for a moment, taking Nash’s hand and following my brother’s footsteps. Ben’s happiness was contagious.
Celine Dion’s voice resonated within the barn walls as we danced and sang. I tossed some hay at my feet in the air as if it were confetti. As the song ended, Nash took me by the waist and lowered me backward, creating a dramatic effect for our home performance.
My breathing halted as I took him in: his straight nose, his thick mustache and short stubble, his strong jaw. A moment passed as my eyes locked with his, the deep blue of his gaze clearly dancing on my face before he lifted me back to my original spot. Ben started to clap, applauding our show-stopping dance move.
I shyly stepped back to the ring, a strange sensation gaining ground in my body. I pressed the back of my hands to my too-hot face. Damn, this spring’s heat really was like no other…
* * *
After dinner, the air turned heavy, the kind of stillness that precedes the sky breaking open. I found Nash in the barn, leaning against the doorframe and looking out at the horizon. The clouds were dark and restless, lightning flashing silently in the distance.
The rest of the day passed quickly. Ben accompanied Nash in his afternoon tasks while I trained in our home ring with Willow and Billie. The girls were always encouraging me, being my biggest fans. Willow once proudly wore a tiny shirt reading “Save A Horse, Ride Dawn Taylor” on her chest. She made it herself and even considered commercializing it before I stopped her. She was an original woman, but I loved her that way.
“Storm’s coming,” I said, walking up beside Nash.
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice low. “Looks like a big one.”
We stood there in silence for a while, watching the first fat drops of rain hit the dirt. The scent of earth and ozone filled the air, and the wind started to stir the trees at the pasture’s edge.
“Do you ever get tired of this?” he asked suddenly.
“Of what?”
“This.” He gestured toward the open fields, the storm, the stable. “The quiet, the routine. Doesn’t it ever feel... small?”
I shook my head, leaning on the wooden frame opposite him. “Not to me. It’s not small. It’s steady. Grounded. People don’t come here to escape; they come here to find something to do with their life.”
He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I think I get that.”
The rain came faster, drumming on the roof, and thunder rumbled overhead. I felt a shiver run down my spine, but I wasn’t sure if it was the storm or the way Nash was looking at me. His deep blue eyes were fixated on my profile, and I didn’t have the courage to turn and face him. My heart started to beat a little faster, and I couldn’t explain why.
Nash was a distraction. Yes, he was helping, and the money earned from the concert would support us in the long run, but I couldn’t let him disrupt my steadiness. I had to remind myself of my goals and my tasks. I couldn’t get sidetracked by a beautiful country singer right now—and probably not ever.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the storm outside.
“Like what?” he replied, his voice low and entirely too smooth.
“Like you’re about to say something that’ll make me regret letting you stick around,” I shot back, finally glancing at him.
Nash’s grin was instant, his dimples flashing like he’d been waiting for that exact opening. “Maybe I was just admiring the view.”
I rolled my eyes, even as heat crept up my neck. “The storm’s out there, cowboy. You should be looking at that instead of making cheesy comments.”
“Oh, I was,” he said, leaning a little closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “But then I got distracted.”
“By what?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“You, princess.” His voice was teasing, but there was something softer beneath it, something that made my breath catch.
I shook my head, laughing to cover the flutter in my stomach. “You really don’t know how to quit, do you?”
“Not when I’m onto something good,” he said with a shrug, his grin turning cocky.
“Careful, Nash,” I warned, trying to sound firm but failing miserably. “You’re getting too comfortable around here.”
He raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as if to get a better look at me. “And you’re pretending you don’t like it.”
The audacity of this man. I turned to face him fully, narrowing my eyes. “I tolerate you, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” He leaned closer again, his tone playful. “Then why are you smiling?”
“I’m not smiling,” I shot back, even as the corners of my lips betrayed me.
“You are,” he insisted, his voice dropping just enough to send another shiver through me. “It’s a little one, right in the corner—what do they call that? A smile en coin?”
I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. “You speak one word of French, and suddenly you think you’re irresistible?”
He smirked, clearly enjoying every second of this. “It seems like you think I’m irresistible. And it was two words.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but a crack of thunder interrupted, loud and sharp. I flinched despite myself, and Nash’s grin softened into something gentler.
“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s just a storm. Nothing to be scared of.”
“I’m not scared,” I muttered, though I wasn’t entirely convinced. Thunderstorms always made me cry when I was little. Now, they still stressed me out.
“Sure,” he said, leaning back against the frame. “But if you were, I’d offer to stick around until it passes.”
I gave him a sidelong look. “Stuck on an old ranch, far away, with me and the residents?”
“Not the worst place to be,” he said, his smile easy and his tone warm.
The rain poured down harder, blurring the world outside, and for a moment, it felt like it was just us in the barn, the storm sealing us off from everything else. And maybe, just for tonight, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
After a long moment, we finally made our way back to the main house. The rain pounded against the windows like it had a personal vendetta; the sound was so loud it almost drowned out the radio playing in the kitchen. I stood near the door, watching Nash pull his jacket on over his already wet clothes, ready to head back to the motel in the nearby village. He looked at me over his shoulder, his hair damp from the rain, and gave me a slight nod.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said, a hand on the doorknob.
Before I could respond, a piercing scream cut through the downpour. My stomach dropped as I recognized Clara’s voice, followed by Ben’s.
“Dawn! Dawn!” they were yelling, their voices frantic.
Nash and I bolted for the door at the same time, yanking it open to find Clara and Ben running toward us, their clothes soaked and clinging to their bodies.
“The roof!” Clara cried, tears streaming down her face. “It—it fell in! It’s raining inside!”
Ben nodded frantically, his hands fluttering as if unsure where to go. “The water’s everywhere! It’s bad, Dawn!”
I felt like my heart had stopped mid-beat. The residents’ lodgings were old, but I never thought something like this could happen. My mind raced as I grabbed a flashlight and threw on my boots. Nash was already beside me, his jacket zipped and his jaw set.
“Show us,” he said firmly, and I followed Clara and Ben as they led us into the storm.
When we reached the residents’ quarters, my worst fears were confirmed. A gaping hole in the roof let rain pour in, soaking the beds, the floor, everything. The sight of the damage hit me like a punch to the gut. This place was supposed to be safe—a haven. Now, it looked like a disaster zone.
I could feel the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes as I stood there, frozen. “This can’t be happening,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
“It’s okay,” Nash said, stepping closer. His hand was warm on my shoulder, grounding me. “We’ll fix this. I promise.”
“But—” I started, shaking my head. “It’s too much. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“You don’t have to know,” he said gently. “We’ll figure it out. Right now, we just need to get everyone somewhere dry.”
He was so calm, so steady, that I couldn’t help but believe him. Together, we herded everyone back to the main house. Clara clung to Nash’s arm while Ben carried his pillow like it was a lifeline. Simon, who had stayed inside when the roof gave way, was sitting quietly in the living room when we returned, his expression unreadable but his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
“We’ll all sleep here tonight,” I announced, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “It’ll be like a big campout. Blankets, pillows, everything.”
The residents perked up a little at the idea, and I caught a glimpse of a smile on Clara’s face as she helped Ben spread out some sleeping bags. Billie and Willow had already started moving the furniture to make more space, and their movements were quick and efficient. Nash was helping with the inflatable mattresses we found in the basement.
I stood back for a moment, watching him work, and felt something shift inside me. The devastation of the night was still there, heavy on my chest, but his presence made it bearable. He didn’t have to be here, didn’t have to stay and help, yet here he was—steady, capable, and kind.
When he looked up and caught my eye, he gave me a small, reassuring smile. “We’ve got this, Dawn. One thing at a time.”
I took a deep breath—one thing at a time.
* * *
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the warm glow of the overhead light and the occasional flicker of the fire from the living room. The air smelled of fresh coffee, its earthy scent mixing with the lingering dampness of rain on clothes. We sat in silence for a while, the four of us—Nash, Billie, Willow, and me—each nursing a mug as the events of the night hung heavily around us.
I glanced toward the doorway, where the soft sounds of the residents’ breathing filtered in. Clara and Ben had finally calmed down, Simon was quietly settled, and the house had fallen into a tentative peace. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely empty, though. It carried the weight of what had happened and the quiet reassurance that we were here together.
Nash broke the silence first, his voice low but steady. “You handled that well, Dawn.” He looked at me over his mug, his eyes softer than I’d seen them before.
I wanted to argue, to tell him I’d been on the verge of falling apart, but his tone didn’t leave room for doubt. Instead, I just nodded, the knot in my chest loosening a fraction.
Willow leaned back in her chair, her hair pulled into a messy bun that was starting to come undone. She gave me a small smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “This place has been through worse, and we’ve always come out stronger. The roof is a mess, yeah, but roofs can be fixed. What matters is everyone’s safe—and that’s because of you.”
Her words settled over me like a warm blanket.
“Not just me,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “All of you. I couldn’t have managed without you.”
“You don’t have to manage alone, Dawn,” Billie said, her voice gentle. She was swirling the last bit of coffee in her mug, her fingers tracing the ceramic handle absently. “That’s why we’re here. None of us signed up for easy, but we’re in it together. Always.”
I blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. Billie’s kindness always had a way of sneaking up on me, softening edges I didn’t even realize were sharp. In moments like this, I couldn’t help but think back to my parents and wonder what I would give to have them here, taking care of everyone, taking care of me. I felt small tonight, distraught. I just wanted to lean on my mother and feel her warm hands on my head, her reassurance.
I looked around the table, at Willow with her fire and Billie with her steady compassion, and felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude. These were my people. They were my anchor, my support, my family in every way that mattered. I looked at Nash, who took matters into his own hands even though he didn’t have to.
I took a long breath, letting it all sink in before I spoke. “Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “For being here. For everything.”
I still felt like a house of cards, though, as if a soft blow could destroy me entirely. Tonight, I put a knee down on the ground. Tomorrow, I’d need to show them that I was back. The steady force they could always rely on. That was my role.
They didn’t say anything, but the way Nash’s hand rested briefly on my arm, the way Willow reached across the table to squeeze my hand, and the way Billie gave me that knowing smile—all of it said enough.
After a while, the silence turned easy, and we finished our coffee without rushing. When the mugs were empty and the night seemed just a little less heavy, we all stood almost in unison. Without a word, we moved toward the living room, where the residents were curled up on makeshift beds, their soft breaths filling the space.
None of us even glanced toward our bedrooms. It wasn’t a question, really. We grabbed blankets and pillows and settled onto the floor among them. Willow and Billie whispered softly as they claimed their spots on the last air mattress.
“I’m gonna get going. Call me if anything happens,” Nash said softly.
“Stay.” The words escaped me before I had time to think. I didn’t want to pressure him to stay with us, but I didn’t want him to leave either.
“The storm is still raging outside, and the roads will be slick…” Yes, that was it. I didn’t want him to have an accident, that’s all.
“Okay,” Nash responded after a while, taking off his jacket and sitting on one of the couches.
I lay on the other couch, the sound of rain easing into a steady rhythm outside, and felt the weight of the day start to lift. We were a mess of people crammed into one room, but we were here together. And in the quiet darkness, that was all I needed.