Chapter 10 #3
The woman was tall and gaunt, dressed in a long cardigan despite the heat, her grey-streaked hair twisted into a tight bun. Her eyes were a watery green, and they darted from the horses to Brianna, then back again, as though processing everything in slow motion.
‘I’m Edna. Graham’s wife,’ she said softly, her voice barely audible above the creak of the old stable swelling in the morning sunshine. ‘You’re the vet, I gather.’
‘Yes,’ Brianna said, offering a smile that went mostly unreturned. ‘The two horses are a bit unwell, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. I’d like to start some treatment today, if that’s okay with you and Graham.’
Edna nodded slowly, her hands wringing at the hem of her cardigan. ‘You won’t give them anything that will hurt them … you’ll be kind to them?’ she asked, voice trembling just a touch.
‘Of course, Edna.’ Brianna found her comment, and body language, a little odd, but she forced a smile. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
There was something about Edna Matthews – her stillness, her hesitation – that sent another flicker of unease crawling up Brianna’s spine.
The woman didn’t seem frightened of the horses.
No, it was something else. Something deeper.
She kept glancing back towards the house as if worried someone was watching.
‘I’ll get started, then,’ Brianna said gently, giving the woman an out from the awkward silence. ‘Your horses will be better in no time.’
As she walked back to her Hilux, the man who hadn’t spoken still stood by the post and was now lighting a cigarette. He met her eyes this time, and his weathered lip curled into the semblance of a smirk.
Odd.
Actually, the whole place was odd.
By the time she returned with the tubing gear, Edna had vanished, and Graham was brushing hay into the corner of the stall half-heartedly.
As for the silent man, he’d disappeared, thankfully.
Focusing on her patients, she worked quickly, competently, but as she did the back of her neck prickled with the same alertness Sherlock had shown that morning.
Her instincts, usually sharp and balanced, felt slightly off.
Not everyone was polished and polite, she reminded herself.
She needed to stop being so paranoid.
However, as she drove away an hour later, with instructions left and the two horses resting, she couldn’t shake the heaviness sitting on her chest. Bumping over a cattle grid, she told herself it was just the residual stress from the morning.
From the week. From Molly’s break-in. But even as the Sweetwater township reappeared in her windshield like a balm, her thoughts lingered on that odd man’s smirk, and the eerie silence of Pebble Creek, and how the stables were too quiet for a property that size.
And then she considered how she might be losing her marbles, and reprimanded herself for letting her mind get the better of her.
Her nerves were frayed. She needed a decent night’s sleep.
The rest of the day rolled by in a series of dust-coated paddocks and homespun animal dramas – some frustrating, some heart-warming.
After leaving Pebble Creek, she’d made a quick stop at the Lawson property just north of the township.
Their rescue goat, Maple, had taken a turn.
Thankfully, the issue wasn’t too serious – mild bloat and a case of overzealous snacking on socks tugged from the clothesline.
She’d administered antifoaming agents and left strict instructions about feeding.
Next up had been a heavily pregnant kelpie named Queenie.
Her owner, a wiry stockman named Lee, was practically vibrating with nerves as she’d checked the dog’s vitals and then assured the anxious owner that everything looked right on track.
The pups were moving well, and Queenie’s breathing and temperature were normal.
And then there was Gloria.
The spoilt-rotten chicken belonged to a retired florist named Sheryl, who was convinced her feathered love was going bald from the heartbreak of losing her companion, a rooster named McCluck.
Brianna had crouched in the coop, gently examining the hen under a string of fairy lights that had been lovingly strung through the rafters.
‘It’s not heartbreak, Sheryl,’ she’d said kindly. ‘It’s probably a combination of moulting and mites. I’ll give you a dusting powder. You’ll see improvement soon.’
Sheryl had been so happy she’d hugged her.
And now, as she climbed back into the Hilux and started driving towards her cottage, her shoulders ached, and her stomach reminded her she’d skipped lunch. Yet again. Her phone buzzed in the console. She pulled over and saw a message from Hayden.
Hey Bri, I took Molly and Sherlock back to my place. I had a few jobs to do and thought she might feel safer with me. Hope that’s okay. Hope YOU are okay.
Relief and something warm uncurled in her chest as she texted back a quick, Thanks, truly. I’ll swing by soon to collect the pair of them. :)
When she pulled up at Hayden’s property, the golden light of late afternoon bathed the homestead in a dreamy kind of glow.
The familiar, white-trimmed verandah welcomed her, and she spotted Molly seated in a wicker chair on the verandah, with a mug cradled in her hands.
Sherlock was laid out beside her, belly exposed, clearly spoilt and smug.
Brianna smiled at the sight as she stepped out of her Hilux and shut the driver’s door more softly than she normally would.
Hayden emerged from the side paddock, wiping his hands on a rag. ‘You’re just in time,’ he called. ‘I was about to check on Duchess and Maverick.’
‘Oh, I’ll join you, if you don’t mind,’ she called back, moving to meet him. ‘And then I’ll steal back my dog and Molly, of course.’
He offered her the same easy smile that had been unsettling her more and more lately, not because it was unwelcome, but because it felt like home. Like comfort. And something dangerous, if she let herself lean into it.
The smile turned into a grin that almost buckled her knees. ‘They’re not too keen on leaving, just so you know.’
‘With surroundings like this,’ she glanced around her, her smile soft, almost whimsical, ‘I can’t say I blame them.’
Hayden’s mouth pulled into a half-grin, the kind that never quite gave everything away. ‘Can’t argue with their taste. Peace and space are hard to walk away from.’
For a heartbeat the words hung there, heavier than they should’ve been. Brianna’s chest tightened at the double edge of them, but before she could respond, he tipped his hat back and motioned towards the stables. ‘Come on then, Doc Steele, let’s have a look at your patients.’
They walked towards the paddock beside the stables, side by side.
Duchess was grazing lazily, and Maverick bounded at her side with the kind of energy that made Brianna’s tired feet ache.
Ducking beneath the railings, she did a once-over of the mare, her hands methodical and gentle, noting the solid muscle and clean legs, and then she moved on to Maverick, observing the foal’s alert movements and his bright eyes.
‘She’s thriving, and so is Maverick,’ she said with satisfaction, brushing a hand down Duchess’s side. ‘Whatever you’re doing, Hayden, keep doing it.’
‘Mostly it’s letting her boss me around,’ he said with a husky chuckle, stepping in to rub the mare’s neck. ‘Which I suppose you can relate to.’
Brianna smirked. ‘Was that a jab at me?’
‘Maybe.’ His grin tugged sideways, crooked and dangerous in its ease. ‘But if the shoe fits …’
Her pulse skipped, sharp and unbidden. She forced her hand to stay steady on Duchess’s side, but the warmth of this comfortably dominant man’s gaze burned hotter than the setting sun.
‘Careful,’ she said lightly, trying for humour though her voice came out thinner than she meant.
‘You keep throwing lines like that around, and I’ll start charging you double my callout fee. ’
Hayden chuckled, low and genuine and downright sexy, and he didn’t look away.
Not right away. And in that heartbeat of silence before he finally tipped his chin towards Maverick, the air between them felt heavier, charged with something neither of them dared to name.
Then, thankfully, he crouched to tighten a strap on the gate.
Brianna fussed over Maverick a little longer than needed.
Neither of them seemed in a hurry to leave as the conversation wandered from feed mixes to trail riding, drifting easily, comfortably, until the silence between words began to feel just as full.
When Duchess finally nosed at Hayden’s pocket and Maverick bounded off towards the fence line, Brianna’s laugh broke the spell, soft and unguarded.
Hayden straightened, brushing dust from his hands, and for a moment their eyes caught, just long enough to make her chest tighten before she glanced away.
How did this man make her want him more and more, every time she was near him?
The walk back towards the house was unhurried, their conversation still weaving in and out, the kind of small talk that wasn’t really about the words at all.
By the time the homestead came into view, a thin ribbon of smoke curled from the barbeque set up by the railing, the scent of rosemary and marinade drifting on the air.
‘Mmm,’ Brianna said, inhaling. ‘That smells amazing.’
Hayden shrugged casually, like it was nothing. ‘I threw a brisket on my new Traeger this morning. Thought I’d see how it turned out. Ten hours, low and slow, I’d almost forgotten about it, to be honest.’
‘A Traeger hey, very snazzy.’ She smiled, a little caught off guard by how easily she could picture it – him and her, plates in hand, eating slow-cooked brisket together on his verandah as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The thought warmed her chest and unsettled it all at once.