Chapter 14
Josie
The grass is soft under my boots as another car pulls into the drive.
I feel it in my chest before I even look up. That deep, steady thrum that has nothing to do with nerves anymore. The wind carries the scent of fresh-cut hay and warm earth, and I breathe it in slowly, letting it settle in my lungs.
Mine.
The old farmhouse stands behind me. The final layer of white paint is bright in the morning sun, the porch boards are fixed, and the railings are sanded smooth, flower boxes spilling over with red geraniums Clara insisted on planting even though she had to lower herself down onto the steps with both hands braced behind her.
The barn doors are thrown wide, revealing clean stalls lined with pale straw. Sunlight filters through the slats, catching in floating dust motes that look almost like glitter.
A dog barks from inside the first kennel run.
I smile without thinking.
Logan steps up behind me, the heat of him sliding along my back before his hand settles at my waist. He curls his fingers around me and strokes his thumb, slow and deliberate, as if ensuring that I’m solid.
“You ready?” he asks quietly.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s in jeans and a white button-down rolled to his forearms, hair pushed back with his sunglasses.
His eyes are steady on me. Normally, there’s a teasing glint there, but today he looks more nervous than I am.
I turn in his arms, tip my head back, and press our lips together.
He instantly takes over the kiss, and I let him until my thoughts scatter and my mind is scrambled.
When we break the kiss, we’re both more than a little breathless, and the shadows in his eyes are replaced by dark longing.
Behind Logan, the door is open, and Asher stands there watching us with a smile, leaning one hip against the doorpost. He has his sunglasses hooked into the collar of his Henley and grins.
“Hey, you lovebirds, you’re supposed to get ready for the opening.” He looks relaxed as he saunters over to us, but I know him well enough now to see he’s nervous too. For me.
“I love you.” I look Asher straight in the eyes when I say it, then turn toward Logan and repeat the words. My men.
“And we love you.” Logan kisses the tip of my nose before stepping away. “But Asher is right, we need to get going, or we’ll be late to our own party.”
Flanked by the brothers, I walk the short distance to the nearest barn.
Three weeks ago, I stood in a courtroom and faced my ex-husband without shaking.
To no one’s surprise—except maybe Richard’s—the judge did not find his arguments convincing in the least, and in fact muttered about “wasting time” and “suing for malicious prosecution”.
Three weeks ago, I walked out with the ruling in my favor and didn’t look back. Richard’s cheque cleared the bank two days later. Today, we’re officially opening Iron Ridge Animal Rescue.
The last few days went by in a blur. The entire clan—our found family—pitched in to get the rescue into shape.
Yesterday, the sign arrived, and Logan wasted no time putting it up next to the entrance.
The logo Tess designed sits bold and clean in the center, the silhouette of a horse and dog touching noses inside a heart-shaped fence.
My neighbor's daughter had an MBA, worked as Clara's personal assistant at the factory, and somehow still found time to indulge every creative idea that crossed her mind. I still remember the first time she peeled it off the Cricut mat and held it up to the light. We’d both just stood there grinning like idiots.
Now it sits in front of my pasture.
Jeremy and Evan are by the paddock gate, pretending to argue over whose fence posts are straighter.
Maggie swats Jeremy’s arm with a folded program and laughs, her ponytail swinging behind her.
Dylan stands near the merch table under the oak tree, tablet in hand, explaining something to a couple about online donations.
He gestures toward the QR code printed on the sign, the one he insisted we make big enough that no one would miss it.
Clara is seated in a lawn chair in the shade, one hand resting on the curve of her stomach while she directs Tess to rearrange the stacks of folded shirts so the logos face outward.
The blankets she sewed are draped over the back of the chair beside her, soft fleece in muted greens and blues.
I know every stitch in those blankets. I watched her feed the fabric under the needle, foot pumping steadily while she told me I needed more inventory because “people buy feelings, Josie, not just products.”
She was right. Clara always is.
A breeze lifts my hair off my shoulders. The pasture grass ripples in soft waves, and the training paddock beyond it looks nothing like it did a month ago. The rails are straight. The footing is even. The gate swings smooth and quiet.
We’re halfway along the fence toward the barns when a flash of pink streaks past us.
A little girl with a helium balloon tied to her wrist barrels across the grass, boots thudding unevenly. She looks back over her shoulder at something—maybe her parents, maybe nothing at all—and her toe catches in a dip near the fence post.
She goes down hard.
The balloon jerks skyward as she hits the ground.
My stomach drops.
Asher is already moving.
He covers the distance in three strides, crouching before she can suck in a breath for that first wail. Logan and I reach them a heartbeat later.
“Hey, hey,” Asher says, voice low and steady, not alarmed, not rushing. He brushes her hair back from her face. “That grass sneak up on you?”
Her mouth trembles, lower lip wobbling dangerously.
He checks her palms first, turning her hands over gently. A little dirt, no blood. Then he looks at her knees. The grass must have cushioned her fall. Her pink boots are a bit scuffed.
“Hmm.” He tilts his head as if considering something serious. “I think the ground might owe you an apology.”
She blinks at him, confused enough that the cry stalls.
“I didn’t see it,” she whispers.
“That’s because it was hiding,” he says gravely. “Very suspicious behavior from a patch of grass.”
Logan folds his arms loosely, watching with a faint smile. I kneel opposite Asher and brush loose grass from the girl’s leggings.
“You hurt anywhere else?” I ask.
She shakes her head, testing her knee cautiously. The balloon bobs over us, string twisting around her small wrist.
“Good.” He dusts off her boots and then, with exaggerated seriousness, pats the grass beside her. “All right. You’re forgiven this time.”
A tiny laugh escapes her before she can stop it.
He stands first and offers both hands. “Up you go.”
She grabs on, and he lifts her easily, setting her on her feet like she weighs nothing. He keeps one hand lightly at her shoulder while she tests her balance.
“All better?” he asks.
She nods, brushing at her leggings the way she’s seen adults do. Asher holds out his hand to me and helps me rise.
“What’s your name?”
“Sadie.”
“Well, Sadie, you have two very important options right now.” He lowers his voice like he’s letting her in on a secret. “You can inspect the puppies. Or you can meet the cats. They are extremely judgmental, so you’ll need to be brave.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Judgmental?”
“Very.” He nods with a wink. “They stare.”
She considers this with grave seriousness. Then her gaze drifts past us, toward the paddock where one of the mares lifts her head and flicks her tail in the sun. Sadie points. “Horses.”
Asher follows her finger and grins. “Ah. Going straight for the big ones.”
Logan sidles up to me and laces his fingers through mine. As Asher takes Sadie to the horses, we continue to walk to the barn.
It smells clean, like pine shavings, leather, and faintly of animal.
The first stall holds a bay mare who flicks her ears toward us and snorts softly.
I rest my forearms on the smooth top rail and lean in.
Her coat is a little dull, and I can count her ribs where the sun hits, but she doesn’t shy away anymore when I scratch the spot between her ears.
“Good girl,” I murmur.
A man approaches, maybe mid-forties, work boots dusted white, hands shoved into his pockets. He studies the mare, then looks at me.
“You’re the one who started this?” he asks.
I meet his gaze.
Three weeks ago, that question would have made me shrink.
Now I nod. “Yeah. I am.”
He looks around at the stalls, at the open doors, at the families moving between the kennels and the merch table. His mouth curves slightly.
“Nice job.”
Heat spreads under my skin, but it isn’t embarrassment. It isn’t the urge to deflect or downplay. I hold his eyes and let it land.
“Thank you.”
Behind me, I hear Logan laugh low at something Jeremy says. The sound travels through the barn, warm and grounded. Asher’s voice carries from the paddock, patient and steady as he explains how to hold your hand flat, so the horse doesn’t mistake fingers for carrots.
I step away from the stall and walk toward the kennels.
The puppies tumble over one another in a heap of fur and oversized paws. A boy kneels in front of the gate, giggling when one licks his fingers through the bars. I crouch beside him, resting my elbows on my knees.
“They’re all vaccinated and microchipped,” I tell his mom. “We do home checks before finalizing adoptions.”
She nods, already watching the way her son leans closer to the gate.
One of the puppies sits back on its haunches and stares at me. I reach through the bars and scratch behind its ear. Its tail thumps hard against the concrete.
The sound makes my throat tighten.
For a second, I see the version of me who used to ask permission before making decisions. The version who apologized for wanting more.
I straighten slowly and step back, dusting my hands on my jeans.
Logan appears at my side without a word. He hands me a bottle of water, already opened. “You need to hydrate.”
I take it, fingers brushing his, and grin. “Yes, Sir.”
Dutifully, I take a sip.
His mouth curves. “Good girl.”
Asher joins us, wiping his hands on a rag. There’s a smudge of dirt along his jaw. I reach up without thinking and swipe my thumb across it. He catches my wrist before I can pull back, presses a quick kiss to the inside of it.
A group of teenagers approaches the merch table, picking up tumblers and reading the printed slogans out loud. One of them laughs and holds up a shirt with the logo stretched across the front.
“I saw this on Instagram,” she says. “The reel with the fence building got like five thousand views.”
I glance toward Tess, who wiggles her fingers in my direction like a magician taking credit for a trick. Wickedly smart with marketing, I think, and grin.
Dylan walks over, holding his tablet out to me. “You’ve got three more donations since this morning.”
“Already?” I lean closer, watching the numbers tick upward.
He nods. “People like seeing where their money goes.”
I look past him at the pasture, at the clean lines of fencing Jeremy and Evan spent two days wrestling into place, at the barn roof they helped patch before the last rainstorm hit.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “They do.”
A cheer rises near the porch.
Clara is on her feet with her hands braced against her back, but she’s beaming as she watches the first official adoption papers being signed at the folding table. The mom wipes at her eyes. The little boy hugs the rabbit against his chest like it might disappear if he loosens his grip.
My vision blurs for a second.
Logan’s thumb brushes the back of my neck. Asher’s shoulder presses against mine.
The sun climbs higher, warming the top of my head, the back of my shoulders. Sweat gathers at the base of my spine, but it feels earned. The yard is full of voices. Laughter. Barking. The creak of the porch swing as someone rocks gently back and forth.
Jeremy carries a stack of folding chairs across the grass. Evan follows with a cooler in each hand. Maggie snaps photos on her phone, angling to catch the banner and the barn in the same frame.
Tess adjusts a display of hats and gives me a thumbs-up from across the yard.
I catch my reflection briefly in the farmhouse window as I pass.
Chin lifted. Shoulders back. Eyes steady.
I don’t look like someone who survived something.
I look like someone who built something.
For a few minutes, none of us speak.
The wind moves through the grass. Somewhere in the barn, a horse shifts its weight, the soft thud of a hoof against packed earth.
I lean back, resting my head against Logan’s shoulder. He presses his lips to my temple. Asher reaches up and links his fingers with mine, his thumb tracing lazy circles against my palm.
“You did it,” Asher says softly.
I look out over the pasture. The paddock rails catch the last of the sun. The barn doors stand open, wide and welcoming. A faint breeze carries the scent of hay and clean wood.
My chest feels full. Not bursting. Not frantic.
Full.
“I didn’t do it alone,” I say.
Logan’s hand slides from my shoulder to my waist, firm and steady. “No,” he agrees. “You didn’t.”
Asher squeezes my fingers once.
I let my gaze travel over the land. Over the fences. The farmhouse. The barn.
I close my eyes for just a second and let the moment press in around me. The hustle around us fades into the background as I bask in the weight of two men who never let me stand alone. The land stretching out in front of me, open and waiting.
When I open my eyes again, I study the sign between the fence posts.
Iron Ridge Animal Rescue.
Home.