Chapter 19
Sebastian
Dreams - Fleetwood Mac
“Alright, Superintendent,” she says, tossing me a mock salute. “Lesson one of running gates: speed is key. Hesitate, and Kevin will ruin your life.”
As if conjured by his name alone, a hulking brown goat with murder in his eyes and a stance like he’s ready to throw hands appears at the gate. Kevin.
“Right,” I murmur, eyeing him off. “Seems friendly.”
“Oh, he’s not.” Olivia jerks her chin toward the paddock like it’s nothing. “One time, he chased my brother onto the hay bales and then climbed up after him like some deranged mountain goat. Mum had to bribe Kevin with a bucket of pellets just to get him down.”
Kevin’s pacing the fence line, snorting like a prize bull seconds before a rodeo. I blink. “You’re kidding.”
“Not one bit. Scared, Officer Daniels?”
“Of a goat? Please.”
“Good.” She tips her hat like we’re in some kind of showdown, and I swear that stupidly simple move shouldn’t hit the way it does. “Then you can run first.”
I arch a brow. “You’re serious?” But my hands are already moving, flannel shrugged off, muscles tightening against the early morning chill. Her eyes subtly track the movement, but I catch it anyway. I roll my neck and adjust my cargos.
“Deadly,” she says, backing toward the fence. “Come on, Daniels. Let’s see that police agility training in action.
“What am I even supposed to do?”
She jabs her chin toward the paddock. “Grab that bucket, dump it in the troughs, and get your ass back here.” Before I can argue, she lets out a sharp whistle. The gate groans open, and Kevin charges. Straight. For. Me.
“Jesus Christ—”
My boots slip on the packed dirt as I take off, heart hammering, adrenaline kicking in like I’ve been dropped into some farm-themed fever dream.
Kevin barrels after me. What kind of goat moves like that?
I hurl a scoop of feed into the trough, praying it buys me a second.
It doesn’t. The bastard’s locked in. Snorting. Charging again.
“Bit quicker, Daniels!” Olivia yells through laughter, no help whatsoever.
I twist to the side, barely dodging Kevin’s horn, my curses loud enough to rattle the gum trees.
My chest burns, lungs raw, dust stinging my throat as I sprint back toward the gate.
I slam it shut just in time, the latch vibrating under the impact of Kevin’s headbutt.
Olivia is doubled over, laughter spilling out of her so freely, it knocks the breath from me harder than the sprint did. I lean forward, bracing my hands on my knees, dragging in air.
“You happy now?” I grumble, though the grin’s already tugging at my mouth.
Olivia tips her head, eyes still dancing with laughter. “I will be,” she says, voice softer now, “once you admit you had fun.”
And then she’s off. This time it’s her boots skidding in the dirt, feed bucket swinging, hair wild and tangled in the wind. Kevin barrels after her like a heat-seeking missile.
“Piss off, Kevin!” she shouts through fits of laughter. She throws feed into troughs with a precision I can’t comprehend, ducking, dodging, whipping around corners like she’s playing tag with the devil. She’s chaos. Untouchable. Glorious.
And when she dives back through the fence, Kevin hot on her heels, my heart nearly stops. She makes it, just in time, all breathless, cheeks flushed, and hair stuck to her skin. Christ, she’s glowing. Lit up like adrenaline itself kissed her. I can’t stop staring.
“Told you it was fun,” she pants, beaming.
“You’re insane,” I say, still catching my breath.
She shrugs like that’s old news. “Maybe. But you’re smiling, so who’s the real lunatic here?”
The wind suddenly shifts, with more of a bite to it, just as a damp scent rolls in.
Olivia glances skyward, squinting toward the horizon where dark clouds have begun to crawl in. “That’s not good,” she mutters, just as the first low rumble of thunder cracks across the field.
Kevin, this so-called terror, bolts like a coward toward the shelter. The rest of the herd follows. Olivia throws her head back and laughs, wild and loud, rain starting to pelt around us.
“Yeah, not so tough now, are you, Kev?” she calls, shaking her head.
I should be moving. Helping. Saying something. But all I can do is stand there and watch as the rain clings to her, soaking through her shirt, thin enough now to outline every curve. Her shoulders flex, her stomach tight, the line of her spine visible through the damp cotton.
I look away, then back again, but it’s futile. This time, she catches and grins, eyes gleaming through the rain. “Dance with me.”
“Pardon?”
“Dance with me in the rain, Daniels.”
“Now? Out here?”
“Yes.”
Is she insane? This woman is going to ruin me. “There’s no music,” I offer weakly, already knowing I’m losing.
She pulls a corded earbud from her back pocket like it’s 2005 and hands me one. “I always come prepared.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you.” Her smirk is wicked. “Now shut up and take the damn headphones, Grumpy, and dance with me.”
Fleetwood Mac hums low in my ear, all smoky and nostalgic.
Dreams. It’s a song I’ve heard a thousand times, but right now, standing in the middle of her chaos, soaked and breathless, it’s different.
She sways like she doesn’t have a care in the world—hips and arms loose, with rain dripping off her hair.
Before I can come up with a half-decent excuse, she grabs my hand to pull me in.
Reflex takes over. I catch her wrist instead and spin her under my arm.
She twirls through the rain like she’s done this a thousand times, her laughter cutting clean through the storm, and fuck me if it doesn’t make my heart skip a beat. Just for a moment, everything slows… Her, the rain, the music. It’s all her.
“See?” she breathes, grinning. “Not so bad.”
Not so bad? It’s fucking dangerous. My pulse is all over the place. The space between us vanishes, and the way she’s looking up at me… Christ. I used to believe control was easy. Turns out, it’s a myth when you’ve got Olivia Mitchell in your arms.
“Didn’t think you could dance, Daniels,” she teases, her voice smug and sweet.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Trouble,” I mutter, and my thumb finds her hip before I can stop it.
Just a slow drag across the soaked denim that makes her suck in a breath.
The music thrums low through the single shared earbud, and then she starts to sing—soft, husky, just a little off-key.
Her voice threads through the deluge, the lyrics about thunder and rain.
I almost laugh at the irony because we’re literally standing in the middle of a downpour, soaked to the skin.
Olivia’s fingers trail down my forearm, torturously slow, tracing the veins like she’s studying me.
Every muscle of mine coils tight at the contact, instincts screaming at me to move, to do something, but I can’t.
The rain is relentless now. We’re drenched. Shirts stuck to skin, hair plastered down, but she doesn’t even flinch, until lightning cracks too close for comfort.
Olivia jumps a little, blinking up at the sky. “Alright!” she shouts, laughing as the thunder rolls. “Guess the universe thinks that’s enough dancing for one day!”
“Finally, something we agree on.”
I snatch my shirt off the fence and sling it over my shoulder. She smacks my arm on the way past, that damn grin still lighting up her face.
“C’mon,” she calls over her shoulder. “Before we both drown.”