Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Hazel
Morning comes quietly.
No alarm. No rush. Just soft gray light pressing through the bathroom window and the sound of pipes knocking awake beneath the floorboards.
I stand under the shower, letting the water run hot against my shoulders. My muscles ache in places that have nothing to do with ranch work. My thighs. My hips. The base of my spine where his hands gripped last night.
Three days since I went to his cabin and didn't leave until dawn. Three days of falling into a pattern I'm not ready to name.
Work until sunset. Then night comes, and I'm at his door again.
I wake up tangled in him every morning. Warm. Heavy-limbed. Safe in a way I haven't let myself feel in years.
If Mae's noticed, she hasn't said anything. Just coffee in the pot every morning and questions about fence posts and whether the colt ate his grain.
I shut off the water and step out, steam curling around me. Pull on jeans and a clean shirt, braid my hair while still barefoot.
Today I'm paying the Fall Classic registration fee.
The envelope sits on my dresser. I count the money again even though I already know the number. The last of my savings. Everything I scraped together before I came back here.
Everything I told myself I wouldn't touch unless there was no other choice.
I tuck the envelope into my bag and head downstairs.
The scent of coffee reaches me before the sound of voices. Mae's laugh carries from the kitchen, easy and unguarded, mingling with another voice that makes my steps slow without permission.
When I turn the corner, he's there.
Eli stands at the counter, one hip leaned back against it, mug in hand. Worn t-shirt. Hair still damp. Comfortable in the space like he's always belonged here.
My breath catches.
The memory hits without warning. His hands last night. The way my body arched into them. The sound he pulled from me when I lost control.
Heat rushes my cheeks.
His eyes lift and meet mine.
I stop short in the doorway.
His mouth curves slowly. That smile. The one I haven't seen in far too long. The one that used to be reserved just for me—soft at the edges, dangerous in the middle.
There's relief in it. Desire. Something earned.
And something knowing. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.
His gaze lingers, dark and steady, and I feel it in my body before my brain can catch up. The unspoken truth hums between us. He's thinking the same thing I am. Last night. My hands on his back. His mouth at my ear. The way he made me come apart and held me there while I shook.
And he's enjoying the hell out of it.
I pull my face into what I hope passes for indifference, like I haven't just been caught mid-thought.
"Morning, Eli."
I reach past him for the coffee pot, brushing against his side just enough to be accidental. Just enough to spike my pulse and make my breath hitch. His warmth is immediate, familiar, grounding in the most dangerous way.
"Morning, Hazel," he says simply.
His voice does things to me that should be illegal before caffeine.
Get it together, I tell myself.
I turn quickly, putting space between us before I do something catastrophically stupid. Like kiss him. Like drag him down the hall. Like forget that Mae is standing three feet away and very much awake.
I pour my coffee with hands that absolutely don't shake.
"I'm heading into town today," I say, aiming for casual. "Need to pay the registration fee for Fall Classic."
Mae lights up immediately. "That's fantastic. That colt looks better every day. Addie seems real comfortable on him too."
I nod, taking a careful sip. The coffee's strong. Bitter. Welcome.
Eli speaks then, easy but sure. "You've done good work with him. He's calmer. Listening better. That doesn't happen by accident."
The praise lands warm and unguarded. It shouldn't mean this much. It absolutely does.
"Thanks," I say quietly.
We make small talk after that. Weather. Fence repairs. The way the ground is finally starting to dry out. Normal things. Necessary things. All of it threaded with something charged and unspoken that makes every second stretch.
Eli finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the sink. "I'm gonna head out and get started. When you're back, I could use your help in the east pasture."
"Okay," I say. Too quickly.
He nods once, eyes flicking to mine like a promise, then he's gone.
The door closes behind him and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
I grab my bag and cross the kitchen, kissing Mae on the cheek. "I'll be back later."
She hums. "Drive safe."
I'm halfway out the door when her voice follows me.
"Oh, and Hazel?"
I pause.
"If you're going to keep sneaking in early in the mornings, it'd be nice if you could start the coffee for me."
I turn just in time to see her wink.
Then she disappears down the hall before I can say a word.
Oh my god.
She knows.
I want to crawl into the earth and never come out.
I make it to my truck in a daze, start the engine, hands still warm on the steering wheel. As I pull out, I catch sight of Eli riding toward the east pasture, easy in the saddle, familiar as breath.
Something shifts in me, watching him.
What have I gotten myself into again?
The drive into town passes quickly, windows down, radio low.
The fair office is smaller than I remember.
Or maybe I'm just bigger now. Older. Less willing to be impressed by chipped counters and faded flyers taped crooked to corkboards.
The kind of place that used to feel official and important when I was a kid, where ribbons and entry numbers meant something bigger than they do now.
The woman behind the desk looks up as I step inside. Her eyes flick over me, hesitate, then sharpen with recognition.
"Well, I'll be," she says, her mouth curving slowly. "Hazel Clark."
I smile back, polite, contained. "Hi."
She comes around the counter without thinking, hands braced on her hips as she studies me. Not rude. Just curious in that small-town way that never quite goes away.
"Been a while," she says. "You're looking good."
"Thanks."
She asks about Mae. The ranch. Whether I'm staying long this time.
"We'll see," I say. "I'm helping Mae for now."
She nods like she understands something I haven't said.
I pull the envelope from my bag and slide it across the counter. My fingers linger on the edge for half a second longer than necessary before letting go.
She opens it, counts quickly, then looks back up at me. "You're entered. Fall Classic is three weeks out. You and Addie Dawson on the colt showcase, right?"
"Yes."
She makes a note and hands me a receipt.
I stare at it. Just like that, the money's gone. The last of it. Years of saving reduced to a slip of paper and a checkmark on a list.
No safety net. No backup plan. Everything on this colt and this show.
I should feel terrified.
Instead, I feel lighter and heavier all at once.
Committed.
As I turn to go, she clears her throat.
"You know," she says, softer now, "you're taking right after your daddy."
I pause.
"He was a good man," she adds. "Did right by folks. Took care of his horses. Took care of people too."
The words land hard and sudden, pressing against something tender I didn't know was exposed.
"He'd be proud to see you back here," she says. "Proud you're doing this."
I manage a nod. Manage not to let my voice crack when I say thank you.
Outside, the sun feels brighter. Sharper. Like it shifted while I was inside.
I make it to my truck and sit for a moment, hands on the wheel, the receipt still clutched in my fingers.
He'd be proud.
I hope so.
I'm pulling back onto ranch property when my phone buzzes in the cupholder.
Unknown number.
I answer, putting it on speaker. "Hello?"
"Hazel Clark?" The voice is professional, confident. "This is Renee Whitman. Kara from Red Fern gave me your number. I heard you might be taking on boarders."
Red Fern recommended us. My pulse kicks.
"We are," I say carefully.
"I'd like to come see your operation," Renee continues. "Watch you work, meet your crew. I'm looking for quality care and consistent training, and Kara spoke highly of what you're building."
My hands tighten on the wheel. "When were you thinking?"
"Tomorrow morning, if that works? Early. I know it's short notice."
Tomorrow.
We're not ready. Or maybe we are. Maybe this is exactly what we need.
"Tomorrow works," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
"Perfect. I'll be there at nine."
She hangs up.
I sit in my truck for a long moment, engine idling, phone silent in my lap. An investor. Coming tomorrow to see if we're worth the risk.
This is real.
I need to tell Mae. And Eli.
Something uncertain settles in my stomach—hope and terror in equal measure.
I grab my bag and head for the house.