Chapter 10
“I can’t believe you did that!” I call out to Tabitha as soon as I’m in the door, toeing off my shoes and teasing her as I head down the hallway on the main floor to her studio.
“Unless I need to brush up on my Morse code, I am fairly certain that I requested you be the one to rescue me, not the grumpy man who hates—”
I jerk to a stop as I step through the French door. Tabitha is hunched over an empty table beside her pottery wheel, hands braced, head hanging low.
She knows.
Did Dad tell her? I still haven’t stopped dodging his calls; maybe he got sick of waiting for me and just told her the truth.
I swallow hard, pulse pounding in my temples. “What’s wrong?”
I know she knows, but I still can’t bring myself to say it now. The following words on the tip of my tongue are I’m sorry—but then she lifts her head.
“Oh, hun, I’m so sorry I didn’t come get you myself.
I’ve been working on this stupid vase all day and the damn thing decided to collapse on me again right before you called.
I asked Parker to borrow his truck, but he insisted I stay to keep working.
Not that it made much difference.” She gestures at the table where she usually keeps her ceramics before they’re fired in the kiln. It’s empty.
The relief I feel is instant, but short-lived. “Can you try making something else?” I suggest. “Sometimes when I’m stuck on something, switching projects helps to get the creative juices flowing again.”
She sighs. “I wish I could, but this is a custom order. The commissions are piling up, which is a good problem to have, but I can’t seem to deliver anything.”
Tabitha slumps down on the stool before her pottery wheel, staring at an unformed lump of clay.
The walls in this room are beige and natural light pours in through the large windows behind her onto the hardwood floor and the shelves lining the walls with her pottery—no two pieces are the same.
The ceramics offer splashes of color, but most of the shelves are empty too, and I realize this problem goes far beyond one bad day.
“Is this why you haven’t been sleeping?”
She gives a resigned nod. “The holidays are right around the corner, and at this rate, I’ll have nothing to sell.”
“But I mean … you’ve had slow years before, right?” That’s the life of an artist, she advised me when I first told her about the business Lyla and I wanted to open. Fulfilling, but unpredictable.
“Yes, but it’s different now with Parker here. The people I hire tend to come and go, so I’ve never had to pay a consistent salary to someone. When they left, I managed the farm just fine on my own. At this rate, I’m not sure I will be able to afford him past next spring.”
I swallow, surprised at feeling mildly guilty about Parker possibly losing his job here.
It’s odd, considering a few days ago I was convinced he’d be gone soon anyway.
It’s different, though, imagining it caused by factors outside his control.
I’m too familiar with that to take any pleasure in the possibility of it happening to him.
Tabitha pushes to her feet. “Okay, enough self-pity. I promised you we’d go for a trail ride this afternoon.”
Immediately, I lift my hands to stop her in her tracks. “Not a chance. You need time to work.”
“I’ve had nothing but time for months!” she protests.
“Ever since Parker started working for me, I have way more time on my hands because he has the horses under control all alone. It’s why I let my friends talk me into joining the farmer’s market committee—I needed something to do that wasn’t staring at nothing in here. ”
Moving closer, I place my hands on her shoulders and guide her back to her seat. “Creative blocks are no joke. I can’t give you any tips on pottery, but I can tell you that sometimes when you’re staring at a wall, the worst thing to do is back away from it.”
That’s what I’ve been doing for the past two weeks, and it’s gotten me nowhere.
Today, I looked at what I’d been avoiding in the face, and I finally felt like I could do something about it.
I had to figure that out for myself, the hard way.
The stakes are higher for Tabitha, and it’s not just about her—this affects Parker, too.
Maybe I can help Tabitha find her way quicker than I did.
“Are you sure?” Tabitha looks up at me, guilty, but her fingers are already inching towards the clay on the stationary wheel before her. “We haven’t gone riding since you got here.”
I nod, moving to the door. “Positive. I’ll be fine on my own, and by the time I get back, you will have something beautiful to show me.”
She scoffs. “Let’s not push it.”
“Fine, how about you’ll have something to show me. Keep it simple at first.”
She shakes her head at me, but at least she’s smiling again. “For you, Sloan, I will do my best. And take Bailey.”
I pause in the doorway. “Not Zeke?”
“He was lame again last week. I want to make sure he gets enough rest before we put any extra strain again, and Bailey could use the exercise.”
“Is she …”
“Don’t worry, you can handle her and she’s great on solo rides,” she says, sensing my hesitation.
I have some experience riding, but it's been almost a year.
Tabitha knows her animals better than she knows herself though, and she also knows me.
Her confidence in me erases my worries immediately, and as I head to the barn, my first ride of the season has excitement and adrenaline buzzing under my skin.
Beyond the barn sit two large pastures with a dozen horses between them, grazing behind a white fence.
Next to the closest one is a large outdoor riding ring with ancient trees providing shade over one side.
Interrupting Bailey’s lazy afternoon, I take the gentle horse into the barn and saddle her up as quickly as possible.
Parker doesn’t even acknowledge me whenever he wanders by, except to scrutinize my every move with his silent glare.
I hardly notice, too distracted by thoughts of Tabitha.
I’m combing through every one of our conversations since I arrived, wondering if I missed how stressed she was because I was too caught up in my drama.
Plus, now I’m sure that telling her about my dad could cause even more stress, worsening her creative block.
This is her livelihood on the line—not to mention Parker’s—telling her now would be selfish.
Deep in my thoughts, I pull my copper waves into a low ponytail.
I shove on a helmet and then lead Bailey outside to the mounting block.
The steady palomino stops short when we get close, backing up a few paces.
I cluck my tongue and try pulling her forward.
She tosses her nose up. I rest my palm on her forehead to steady her and try a third time; she spins around it, but not close enough for me to climb up.
“You’ll be there all day if you keep trying that.”
Startled, I whip around to find Parker watching me from the barn door. How long has he been standing there? Focusing my attention back on Bailey, I gently pat her and try again.
Grumbling something incomprehensible, he marches over and takes the reins out of my hands. With the mounting block a safe distance away, Bailey stands perfectly still for him, unbothered.
“Here.” His hand is outstretched to give me a boost, palm facing up.
I drag my disbelieving eyes back to his face. Will I ever understand this man? His mood swings are giving me whiplash. Honestly, if he decided to hate me, this would be so much easier.
Slowly, because I don’t know what else to do, I grip both sides of the saddle and bend my left knee.
His hand closes around my shin and lifts in one swift movement, hoisting me into the saddle like it’s nothing.
Slightly winded, I clear my throat, looking down at him for the first time after I get comfortable.
“Um … thanks.”
He gives a curt nod. Heat radiates through my thigh where his hand is now sitting.
And he’s making no moves to back away. When did it even get there?
He slides his hand down to my jean-covered calf and swings my leg back.
Bailey protests when he cinches the girth tighter, adjusting her stance under me.
I reach forward to soothe her with a pat on the neck.
“You don’t have to—” I stop when I realize how much he can tighten the saddle. “I thought I tightened that,” I say with a frown, annoyed at myself for leaving anything for him to fix.
“She’s a sneaky one with that,” he says, gripping my foot by the ankle and tucking it securely into the stirrup. “Likes to bloat. Could happen to anyone. You know what you’re doing?”
Well, isn’t that the million-dollar question? I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. But he’s not asking about my life. He’s asking if I know what I’m doing up here.
“Do you honestly think I’m dumb enough to climb on the back of a twelve-hundred-pound animal without knowing where the brakes are?”
I glance down, expecting him to fire back some snarky comeback, but his eyes have no evil smirk or mischief. He looks … invested in the answer, somehow. The same way he was outside the diner earlier when he found out I’d broken down on the side of the road and had to walk into town.
When he asked if I was safe.
Holy crap. He’s concerned. About … me?
There is a heart somewhere in this beautiful Frankenstein monster. Maybe his attitude is some form of hazing I’m not aware of.
As the thought spreads roots in the back of my mind, I register that his palm is still resting on my leg. It’s flat, warm, and solid … and not going anywhere.
Kind of like the errant thought that wants me to imagine that hand in other places.
“Don’t worry, I know my way around a horse,” I assure him.
Parker seems taken aback by the gentleness in my tone. He clears his throat, pulling his eyes away to check the length of my stirrups one last time, and I instantly miss the warmth of his hand on my thigh. “Good. You have a phone with you, just in case?”
Nodding, I pat the pocket of my puffy red vest to double-check.
“Can I come with you later to the Tractor Trailer?” I blurt out.
He tips his face up to mine, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. “You mean The Cabin?”
“Yeah, whatever,” I say. “If the invitation still stands, I’d like to come.”
“Technically, I’m not the one who invited you.
Whether or not it still stands depends largely on whether Sam has found another lady to set his sights on since we saw him …
” he pretends to check an invisible watch on his wrist, “forty minutes ago.” He lifts his eyes to mine.
“The odds of that are higher than you’d think. ”
I give him the flattest look I can muster. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Why do you want to come? I thought the one thing you and I agreed on was that we spend far too much time together as it is. Plus, who will do the night feed if you and I are both gone?”
“I think Tabitha needs to spend some time in the barn. She hasn’t needed to since you started working here, and—” His eyes harden immediately, but I cut him off to explain before he blows a gasket.
“Calm down, it’s a compliment. She told me that ever since she hired you, she’s been able to leave the horses to you completely.
She’s never been able to trust anyone to that extent, but with you, she doesn’t have to keep an eye on things. ”
“That’s what she pays me for. If she has to check on things, I’m not doing my job.”
“Right, but she likes being in the barn. I think getting back into some of her old routines might help her with her art. It’s counterintuitive, but sometimes it’s easier to do more creative work when you have less time to do it.”
He lifts his left hand to block the sun from his eyes.
It’s a fight to keep my gaze from drifting to his hand on my jean-clad thigh, but I do in case acknowledging it spooks him.
I chew my lip, waiting for his response.
This is the actual test to see if he cares about Tabitha more than he hates me.
You’d think by now I’d be used to rejection, but relief courses through me when he finally nods.
Before he can change his mind, I gather the reins and nudge Bailey into motion with my heels and a tongue click, heading for the break in the yellow, orange, and red trees across the expansive lawn.
“Hey, Sloan,” he calls after me.
I glance back over my shoulder as Bailey’s hooves clip-clop on the gravel driveway towards the trailhead. I expect him to rescind his offer at worst, at best to offer another quip about my skills, or a promise to send a search party if I’m not back by tomorrow.
“Be careful,” he says instead. With a lingering look, he backs away and disappears inside the barn.
Oh boy. This is dangerous.
Because now that I know there’s a heart in there, I’m determined to find out exactly what makes it beat.