6. Cole
Chapter six
Cole
By midmorning, I have prepared myself for Avery to look at me differently, but when she crosses the yard, it is not the way I feared.
There is no pity in her eyes. No careful distance.
She looks tired, medical bag over one shoulder and coffee in hand, but she smiles like I am not a headline she regrets reading.
I stand near the fence line with a post-hole digger in my hands, watching her approach like a fool who forgot work exists.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“So are you.”
“I’m a doctor. Observation is part of the job.”
“I’m holding sharp tools. Seems like observation matters here too.”
Her mouth curves. “Are you calling yourself dangerous?”
“I’m calling myself employed.”
“That was less dramatic than I hoped.”
A laugh moves through me, rough around the edges but easier than yesterday.
“You should do that more,” she says.
“What?”
“Laugh.”
“I’ll add it to the work list.”
“Good. Right under hydration and not bleeding.”
She steps closer, close enough that I catch coffee, soap, and something sweet beneath the dust. Morning sun touches the loose hair near her face, and the world narrows to us. I grip the digger harder.
“You didn’t sleep.”
Her brows lift. “That obvious?”
“To me.”
The words come out too honest.
Avery’s smile softens. “No. I didn’t sleep much.”
“Because of me.”
“Because of what happened to you.”
“That’s not better.”
“It is to me.”
I do not know what to do with the way she turns warnings into reasons to stay.
“You have rounds?” I ask.
“Two house calls this afternoon, Tessa surveillance this morning, and cabin checks before lunch.”
“Surveillance?”
“Declan left me in charge of making sure his wife does not go into labor while he is in Florida.”
“That sounds like something Tessa appreciated.”
“She compared herself to a mare about to foal.”
I blink.
Avery points at me. “Do not laugh too hard. She is pregnant and scary.”
“I respect scary women.”
“You’re learning.”
She takes a sip of coffee, and my attention drops to her mouth before I can stop it. Avery lowers the cup slowly, her eyes on mine, and the air changes, warmer than the morning sun. I look away first because somebody should have sense, and apparently today that job is mine.
“Need help with the cabin checks?”
Her eyes narrow with amusement. “Are you volunteering or hiding?”
“Yes.”
Avery laughs, and the sound does something stupid to my heartbeat.
“Come on then. You can carry the clipboard and look intimidating while I remind grown men to drink water.”
“I can do intimidating.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She says it lightly, but there is heat under the words, and I nearly trip over a shovel. She does not comment. Mercy, maybe.
We start toward the cabins, matching pace without trying. Last night, she held my hand while I told her the worst version of my story. This morning, she walks beside me like that truth belongs in daylight too.
At the first cabin, Avery checks Nolan’s blood pressure and reminds him coffee does not count as breakfast. At the second, she checks Wade’s burn and gives instructions that make him nod before he realizes he has obeyed.
Avery does not soften the truth. She makes it survivable.
The thought stays as we step back into the sun. She checks boxes on the tablet while her coffee dangles from her other hand.
“You’re good at this,” I say.
She glances up. “Bossing men around?”
“Making them believe they can do what comes next.”
“Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“It was.”
“Well.” She looks down, but not fast enough to hide the color in her cheeks. “Thank you.”
I should keep us on safe ground. Instead, I hear myself say, “I thought telling you would make you step back.”
Avery turns fully toward me. “Did you want me to?”
“No.”
Her eyes soften. “Good.”
Like wanting her close is not a mistake, Avery steps closer.
“I’m not going to pretend your past is simple. It matters because it hurt you. But it doesn’t scare me away.”
I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “Maybe it should.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. You don’t get to decide what I can handle before I have a chance to know my own mind.”
That should make me smile, and it almost does. “You always this stubborn, Doctor Stone?”
“Usually more.”
I look at her then, really look, and the want that has been building since the kitchen, the porch swing, and her hand in mine rises sharp enough to steal my breath.
I want to touch her because she is Avery, with tired eyes, sharp humor, and a heart that does not flinch from wounded things.
My hand lifts before I decide to move, but I stop inches from her face.
Avery sees it. Her breath catches, and neither of us moves.
“Cole,” she says, not as a warning and not permission exactly. Something between.
I lower my hand because we are standing in broad daylight between cabins, and if I touch her now, I am not sure I will stop at a careful brush of fingers.
Her eyes flicker with disappointment.
“Not here,” I say, rougher than I mean to.
Understanding moves across her face, then something warmer.
“Oh.”
One small word is enough to set fire to the morning.
I reach for the clipboard because paper is safer than skin. “You have another patient?”
“Mrs. Harlow,” she says.
“The ninety-one-year-old who bribes you with tomatoes?”
“She also threatens people with casseroles.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“She is. You should come.”
I look toward the truck, then back at her. “Me?”
“Unless you’re afraid of tomatoes.”
“I have survived worse.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I should say no. Riding along is an excuse to spend more time beside her, and we both know it. Instead, I set the clipboard on the tailgate and grab my hat.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’ll come.”
“Very enthusiastic.”
“I’m overwhelmed with joy.”
“There’s that almost-sense of humor again.”
I follow her to the truck and climb in before I can talk myself out of it. The cab smells like leather, coffee, and Avery. Medical supplies fill the back seat, and a paper bag looks like bandages but could be snacks. With Avery, either seems possible.
She starts the engine, then pauses with her hand on the gearshift.
“What?” I ask.
She looks at me, sunlight catching in her eyes. “I’m glad you came.”
I give her the truth I can manage.
“Me too.”
Avery smiles and turns the truck toward the gravel road.
As Stone Ridge rolls past the windows, I realize I have spent months surviving one day at a time, head down, hands busy, ready for the next door to close. Sitting beside Avery, I feel something I have not let myself feel in a long time.
I am willing to find out what comes next.