Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The bell above the feed store door jingled as Rowan pushed it open.
Enya hesitated for a split second and inhaled a breath, allowing the familiar scent of grain and molasses to remind her that there was nothing to fear here.
She’d been in and out of feed stores almost since the day she’d been born.
Her momma liked to tease her dad about how he’d stopped at the local feedstore on the way home from the hospital when they’d brought her home for the very first time.
Guess I was always destined to have horses be part of my soul.
She followed Rowan through the loading bay and into the store. The place was a maze of towering shelves crammed with sacks of feed, bridles, and buckets of supplements, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over everything.
A man in a dusty apron looked up from behind the counter, his face splitting into a grin when he spotted them. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he boomed, wiping his hands on his apron. “You picking up two orders in a row. I should buy a dang lottery ticket, or somethin’, dude.”
Rowan clapped him on the shoulder. “If you win, you’re sharin’ that shit. Horses are expensive.”
“You’d take food right outta my baby’s mouth if I let you, jerk face.”
The easy familiarity and mud-slinging between them told her this man was someone Rowan actually liked.
The man’s eyes flicked to her, warm but assessing. “Who’s this? Did you go an’ get yourself married up and forget to invite me to the wedding?” Humor laced his voice, “I’m insulted, Rowe. I thought I’d at least warrant a phone call or somethin’.”
The heat in the gaze Rowan sent her way made her heart race and her mouth go dry. Enya fiddled with the closest foal bridle, because if she didn’t distract herself from the scrutiny of both men she might not be able to stop herself from bolting out of the store.
If I start running, I might forget to stop.
“Just because you’re all kinds of loved up, Hay, doesn’t mean the rest of us are in that place yet.” Rowan winked at her. “This is Enya. She’s staying with us for a bit. So if she comes in for shit, put it on the ranch account.”
“You got it,” Hay replied. “Pleasure to meet you, Enya.” He cocked his head to one side as if trying to figure out if he knew her or not. “Hey, you’re the barrel racer, right?” He shot a quick glance at Rowan and cleared his throat. “I-uh…nice ta meet ya.”
“You too.” Seeing as he knew her name, he probably had read about what had happened in the papers, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with that.
An awkward silence stretched between them for longer than she would have liked, and she resisted the urge to scratch at her arms.
Thankfully, Rowan saw her discomfort and jumped in to rescue her. “Hay’s wife just had a baby girl,” he said, steering the conversation like a ship through rough water. “What’d you name her?”
Hay’s face lit up, the pride in his voice unmistakable.
“Sarah-Jane. After my wife’s grandma.” He pulled out his phone, thumbing through photos before turning the screen toward them.
A tiny, red-faced infant swaddled in a pink blanket blinked up at the camera.
“Born yesterday morning. Six pounds, eight ounces.”
Enya leaned in, her breath catching. The baby was so small, so new. A strange ache unfurled in her chest. “She’s beautiful.”
Hay beamed. “Yeah, she is. We’re over the moon, although I think my wife is blind, because she says Sarah-Jane’s got my chin.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t see it, but I’m not about to argue with a woman who just pushed a human out of her without so much as a sniff of gas.”
Rowan laughed, the sound low and easy, and Enya found herself relaxing just a fraction. “Smart man.”
Hay tucked his phone away. “So, what you folks need? I got your order ready to load, but if there’s anything else—”
Enya’s gaze snagged on a display of horse treats near the register. Her fingers twitched. “Do you have any of those in apple flavor?”
Hay followed her line of sight. “Sure do. Last bag on the end.”
The bag crinkled under her grip as she turned it over, checking the label.
Apple Molasses. Rain’s favorite.
Rowan’s voice was quiet behind her. “He’ll like that.”
She nodded, clutching the bag to her chest like a shield. “Yeah.”
Hay rang up the treats, then gestured toward the loading bay. “Y’all need a hand with the feed?”
Rowan shook his head. “We got it. But thanks.”
Ten minutes later, the truck bed groaned under the weight of the last sack of feed as Rowan slammed the tailgate shut.
Enya wiped her hands on her jeans and blew out a breath.
She was out of shape, damn it. If nothing had put it into perspective before, dragging feed bags across the bed of the truck as Rowan lifted them from the pallet waiting next to the door did.
It confirmed how much muscle mass she’d lost while she’d been wallowing in the doldrums.
Maybe it was time to locate all the pieces that made her Enya, gather them up, and start figuring out how they fit together now.
She couldn’t keep on being a ghost haunting the edges of her own life anymore.
Here, with the sweat drying on her skin and the Kentucky sun warm on her back, she felt almost like it was possible.
She jumped off the truck, pushed her hands into her lower back, and pressed against her aching muscles.
Ow.
Rowan dusted off his hands and turned to her, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. “You good?”
She nodded. “Peachy.”
He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but instead just jerked his chin toward the cab. “I’m starving. We’ll do a diner stop before we go home.”
Home. It felt right. Home had always been her father’s house. She wasn’t sure when the lines had blurred, and The Stronghold had become home. “Awesome, I hope they have lemon meringue pie.”
The drive to the diner was short, where you could have walked if you were feeling patient, but she wasn’t going to complain about not having to move more than she had to, until her back forgave her for making it work.
Enya rolled down the window, letting the wind tug at her hair.
She’d tied it back in a messy braid that morning, but strands had already escaped, sticking to her neck.
Rowan glanced at her, then away, his fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel. “We can ask Nora-Mae if she has lemon. She texted back at the house that she’s got peach cobbler for sure.”
Enya raised an eyebrow. “You did the feedstore run because Nora-Mae texted you that she has peach cobbler?”
“Damn straight.” He smirked. “If one of the boys came in, they wouldn’t bring me home any, and then I’d have to shoot ’em for pissing me off. Makes it kinda awkward with the sheriff if I have a stash of bodies filling up the gullies around here.”
Enya bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his consternation, as if having to refrain from shooting the people she knew meant a lot to him was an inconvenience. “I can see how that would be a problem.”
“Right. Nora-Mae’s peach cobbler might just be worth the jail time, though.”
She laughed, the sound surprising her. It had been a while since she’d laughed like that—light, unguarded. Rowan’s mouth quirked up at the corner, just a little, but enough that she knew he’d heard it, too.
The diner was a squat, whitewashed building with a neon Open sign buzzing in the window.
It looked like it had probably been there since the fifties and would still be standing long after they were all gone.
Rowan held the door for her, the bell above it jingling as the scent of coffee and fried grease wrapped around her like a hug.
A woman with her hair piled into a bun and a name tag that read Nora-Mae, looked up from behind the counter. Her face split into a grin when she saw Rowan. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite pain in the ass. Thought you’d forgotten about me.”
“Never,” Rowan said, sliding onto a stool at the counter. Enya followed, perching beside him. “Just been busy.”
Nora-Mae’s sharp eyes flicked to Enya, assessing but not unkind. “And who’s this?”
“Enya,” Rowan said. “She’s staying with us for a bit.”
Nora-Mae’s gaze softened. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. What can I get you, honey?”
Enya hesitated. She hadn’t been in a diner since—well, since before. Since everything. The menu was laminated, the edges curled from years of use. “Are we eating, eating or just having pie?”
“Eating,” Rowan said. “I’d be tempted to eat one of our horses if they came a little too close right now.”
She understood the feeling. Her stomach growled in agreement as she picked up the menu and scanned it. “Uh. Burger, I guess, and some fries.”
“And a slice of the best peach cobbler,” Rowan added, like it was a foregone conclusion.
She poked him in the side. “Lemon meringue, if you have it, please?”
“I sure do, honey.” Nora-Mae smirked. “Coffee’s comin’ right up. If you’re wanting one of those fancy flavored latte ones, you’ll have to wait a few minutes for Lila to make it for you, though.”
“Drip is fine, as long as you have some creamer or milk for it.”
“I sure do.” Nora-Mae called over her shoulder, then pushed open a door that led to a kitchen. “Earl, I need two burgers loaded with everything, and fries for Rowan and his girl, Enya…”
His girl?
“What?”
Rowan visibly winced and shot her an apologetic look. “Nora-Mae…”
“Shush.” Nora-Mae waved a hand at Rowan and hustled to the coffee pot.
“You haven’t brought anyone in here since Sally Johnson in the week before you and Gael left for boot camp, and we all know she didn’t wait a month before taking up with that city boy from Atlanta the second your back was turned. ”