Chapter 11
LARKIN
The early morning routine of the rescue had become the anchor in my days, the one certainty in a life that felt otherwise unpredictable and exposed.
I was awake at dawn, making coffee in the small kitchen of the apartment while the soft whinnies of the horses greeting each other drifted through the open window.
It was a far cry from the automated coffee maker that would have brewed a perfect pot at the ranch, timed to match when Ephraim’s feet hit the floor in his custom Italian leather slippers.
And I wouldn’t have traded my current morning for anything.
As I drank the slightly burnt coffee from the rescue’s ancient machine, I heard a sound that didn’t belong to the familiar rhythms of the morning, a car engine more sophisticated than the beat-up vehicles the volunteers drove.
My stomach dropped, a premonition I didn’t want to acknowledge forming before I even moved to the window.
But there it was, Ephraim’s luxury SUV parked at the edge of the facility, looking as out of place as he would in his expensive clothes.
The sight sent conflicting emotions rushing through me.
Part of me was angry at his intrusion, the way he seemed unable to accept that some boundaries couldn’t be crossed just because he wanted to.
Another part of me, the part that had spent years caring about him deeply, noticed how tired he looked, the shadow of a beard hinting at sleepless nights, his shoulders slumped slightly from more than just the long drive over the mountains.
But I wouldn’t let my heart soften yet. After our conversation, after how he had tried to maneuver the situation, I needed to stay resolute.
I quickly changed from my sleepwear into work clothes, jeans and a barn jacket, practical and purposeful.
When I emerged from my small apartment, making my way down to where Ephraim had gotten out of his vehicle, I kept my expression neutral, professional, as if he were a visitor rather than my estranged husband.
“I thought I told you to leave,” I said as I approached, not offering him a greeting or a smile.
Ephraim’s eyes met mine, and I was struck again by how weary he appeared. “You did,” he acknowledged, his voice rough. “And I did leave. But I’m back.”
“You want to talk more?” I asked, unable to keep the frustration from my tone as I crossed my arms over my chest. “Because I’m telling you again, Ephraim, I’m not interested in negotiations or compromise right now.”
He shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving my face.
“That’s not why I’m here.” There was something different about his demeanor, an earnestness that didn’t match the corporate persona he usually employed.
“I don’t want to talk about our relationship.
Or the Holt business, or what you’ve done, or where you’re sleeping, or anything that caused the rift between us. ”
“Then why are you here?” It was then that I realized he wasn’t wearing one of his expensive suits or his polished cowboy boots that had never actually seen ranch work.
Instead, he was dressed in practical clothing that still looked new but at least appropriate for the setting. My eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Ephraim seemed to steel himself before answering. “I’m here to work. I signed up to be a volunteer through the online portal. I took every available shift that I could. Harlan will verify. I just need to know where you want me. What tasks need to be done.”
The offer was so unexpected, so far from anything I could have predicted, that I stared at him blankly, trying to understand his motivation.
Ephraim Holt volunteering? At my horse rescue?
It made no sense. He had always made it clear that this kind of hands-on, often thankless work was beneath his skillset, his time better spent on strategic decisions that yielded tangible returns.
“This isn’t some kind of trick?” I asked, unable to hide my skepticism. “You’re not here to watch and criticize, or to somehow manipulate the situation?”
“No tricks.” His expression was uncharacteristically open, vulnerable even.
“I’m here because I realize you need space from ‘us,’ but you’re also committed to this place and the work here.
So the only way I can be near you right now, the only way I can start to understand what matters to you, is to work beside you here. ”
It still felt like a setup, like he was saying what he thought I wanted to hear to get back into my good graces.
But there was something in his eyes, a humility I had never seen before, that gave me pause.
He was uncomfortable here, out of his element in the muddy yard with horses shifting in their stalls behind us.
The Ephraim I knew would never willingly put himself in a situation where he wasn’t in control. Unless he was desperate.
Harlan emerged from the main barn then, a bucket of grain in his hands.
He paused when he saw us standing there, his sharp eyes assessing the situation.
He nodded at me briefly before turning his attention to Ephraim.
The tension between them was subtle but palpable, Harlan naturally protective of the sanctuary we had built and Ephraim an unwelcome intruder.
“Mr. Holt.” Harlan’s acknowledgment was neutral but guarded.
Ephraim surprised me by nodding respectfully rather than trying to assert his usual dominance. “Harlan. I’ve come to volunteer. Whatever needs to be done.”
The old rancher’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t question further. Instead, he nodded toward a pile of fencing materials behind the equipment shed. “We’re fixing the north pasture fence this morning. Starts with unloading those materials. Heavy lifting mostly.”
“I’m ready,” Ephraim said simply.
I should have intervened, told them this was absurd, that I didn’t want Ephraim here, that his sudden interest in manual labor was too little, too late.
But something stopped me, curiosity maybe, or the tiny, dangerous part of me that still loved the man standing in front of me despite everything.
I decided to wait and see, to let the day unfold and reveal whether this was genuine change or sophisticated manipulation.
“Fine.” My voice was clipped. “Do what you want, Ephraim. Just don’t expect special treatment. Volunteers get the hard jobs.”
“Understood,” he replied, then turned and followed Harlan toward the equipment, leaving me standing alone, confused and suspicious and, if I were being honest, just a little hopeful despite my better judgment.
I forced myself to turn away and focus on my own morning tasks.
The day would show us both what we needed to see, whether Ephraim could follow through on his surprising offer, whether this gesture meant anything beyond what might be a desperate attempt to get his way eventually.
Time would reveal the truth, and until then, I had work to do.
The morning passed in a blur of activity, my mind only half on the tasks at hand, the other half straining toward sounds of labor from the direction Ephraim had gone.
I checked on several horses, reviewed feeding schedules, organized medical supplies, but my attention kept wandering, wondering what my husband was doing, how he was handling work he’d always considered beneath him.
It wasn’t until I had to pass through the main yard on my way to the back pasture that I saw him again.
Ephraim stood near a fence post, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, sweat beading on his forehead despite the mild morning temperature.
Harlan was nearby, directing the work on replacing several rotten boards.
The surprise was seeing Ephraim following instructions without argument, actually working alongside the other volunteers with no air of superiority.
As if feeling my gaze, he looked up and caught sight of me.
He didn’t wave or call out, just gave me a small, hesitant nod before returning to his task.
His expression wasn’t triumphant or expectant, just focused and, strangely enough, peaceful.
I tore my eyes away quickly, disturbed by how much this simple image affected me, by how attractive he was in his earnest labor, a side of him I had rarely seen in our life together.
The afternoon brought light rain, not unusual for Seattle at this time of year.
Most of the volunteers retreated to covered areas, but I continued my rounds, checking on horses who actually seemed more lively in the cooler, damper weather.
The rain-soaked work had always been part of the job I loved, feeling connected to the rhythms of nature rather than trying to control them.
I had just finished checking on the farthest pasture, water dripping from my rain jacket, when I came upon a surprising sight.
Ephraim, his shirt plastered to his body from the rain, was working alone on mucking out an old storage shed we had been meaning to clear out for months.
He was shoveling with determination, the mound of debris growing steadily as he worked.
“What are you still doing here?” I called out, not unkindly but genuinely curious. “Most volunteers would have called it a day by now in this weather.”
He looked up, pushing wet hair from his eyes with the back of his forearm. “Harlan said this shed was a priority before the rain got heavier.”
The information surprised me. Harlan usually reserved the most unpleasant jobs for our most dedicated volunteers, not new ones, especially not ones who were the husbands of our founder.
The fact that he had given this task to Ephraim suggested either that he saw potential there or that he wanted to see how seriously Ephraim was taking his volunteer commitment.
“You could finish tomorrow,” I suggested, hating the softness in my voice.