Chapter 17
Weathering Yes or No
Milly
The morning smelled like coffee, damp soil, and rain that never quite commits. Outside, the sky hung low and undecided, streaks of light breaking through thin clouds, testing what kind of day to be. The gravel was still dark from the night’s drizzle, the air sharp with that mineral scent.
After getting dressed, I spotted the necklace Austin had given me, glinting beside the lamp. It coiled on the table like a question mark. I touched the chain, then pulled back. Love shouldn’t feel like strategy.
Downstairs, the house was spotless, his kind of restless clean. Boots lined up straight at the door, counters wiped until the smell of lemon polish cut through the coffee. I’d heard him pacing after midnight, murmuring half-sentences to the dark.
Inspector sat in the window, tail twitching like a clock hand daring me to move. “Ignoring problems doesn’t fix them,” I told him, pouring kibble into his porcelain bowl. He ate without comment. Cats rarely take advice.
A knock hit the screen door, brisk and cheerful. Cassie’s grin filled the glass. “Morning, sunshine! Grab your kit. Doc Wilson’s off celebrating his anniversary, and you’re on call. Turner’s mare’s decided today’s the day to foal.”
“I’ll meet you at the truck.”
“Already running,” she said. “Muffins in the cup holder. Chocolate chip. Best defense against impromptu deliveries.”
Her engine hummed when I climbed in. The cab smelled of peppermint gum and coffee. Water still beaded on the windshield, tiny silver dots racing the wipers.
“You look like death. How’d you sleep?” she asked.
“I pretended to.”
“That’s the spirit. Denial. I love it.” She passed me a muffin. “You can’t invite me to a pity party unless you tell me what we’re pitying.”
I bit into chocolate and said nothing.
She gave me a look. “Trouble with Austin?”
I procrastinated by looking out the window and pointing out the obvious. “There’s Turner’s ranch.”
Before she could reply, the Turner ranch came into view, white fences, a slice of sky peeking between gray clouds, and Mr. Turner waving like we were the cavalry. Saved by grace.
He met us at the barn door, hat in one hand, worry in the other. “Morning, Doc. Morning, Cassie. Thanks for comin’. Sorry to drag you out so early. She’s been circling since four.”
“No apology needed,” I said, following him inside. The air was warm, full of hay and the hum of nervous breathing. The mare turned another circle, sides slick, eyes rolling white. I caught the rope gently and murmured until she focused.
“Let’s get some towels and water,” I said. Cassie fetched water, balanced a flashlight on her shoulder, and narrated her role like it was breaking news.
“Who knew you were a teacher by day and a vet tech by night?” I teased, then laughed when she almost fumbled the flashlight.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. No changing the subject. You and Austin fighting?” she asked as I repositioned the mare.
“I didn’t know we were the topic of conversation. Besides, I’m focusing,” I said, elbow-deep in the not-so-glorious parts of vet work.
“You can multitask. Look at me. I’m holding a flashlight and talking. It’s a two-for-one. I mean, that man looks at you like you hung the stars.”
“Cassie,” I sighed.
“Fine, fine. Just saying. Storms clear faster when both windows are open.”
The foal came slow but strong, a slick miracle of legs and willpower. I cleared his airway, rubbed him down, and watched him blink his way into the world. When he stood, trembling, stubborn, alive, something in me loosened.
Cassie oohed over the baby, then said quietly, “You fix living things like most folks fix fences, no fear of splinters. How is he different?”
“Animals are one thing. I’ve trained for them. Austin is different,” I said before I could stop myself.
By the time we finished, the barn exhaled. Mr. Turner rolled in fresh straw, relief softening his shoulders.
“Thanks, Doc,” Mr. Turner said, coming around the corner with a bucket of grain.
“Not a problem. Just let me know if you need anything else, or if she tries to colic.” I climbed into Cassie’s truck, and we waved goodbye as his farm faded in the distance. Cassie pressed half a muffin into my hand. “You need sugar more than I do.”
I smiled. “You sure you weren’t born to meddle?”
“Oh, no. I know I was. That’s why I’m professionally certified,” she said. “And for the record, he looked like thunder this morning. Maybe try opening the window a smidge.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“I don’t pick sides,” she said, then added under her breath, “but I do like happy endings.”
Outside, the clouds thinned. The air smelled of wet grass and farm life.
Everwood waited down the road with its picture-perfect awnings and neighborhood gossip, but I wasn’t ready to face Austin yet.
I knew he’d be at the diner, sitting in his usual booth with his cup of coffee in hand, waiting for the coffee to do its job.
But coffee didn’t fix the issue. It just fortified you to face it.
No matter the outcome of today, the day wasn’t asking for permission.
It was forging ahead with or without me. That much I knew.
Cassie and I left the Turners with dirty towels in bags and a colt learning to balance. The truck bumped along the dirt road, sunlight flashing off puddles.
Cassie turned down Main instead of heading toward the house.
“Wrong way,” I said.
“Alternate route,” she answered, innocent as sin.
I shook my head. There was no alternate route to the house unless you went four-wheeling through the forest, and it didn’t look like that was her trajectory.
She cruised past the hardware store where Carl had piled up apples in baskets like a Hallmark card, past Janet’s greenhouse blooming with yellow and orange mums, straight toward Ethel’s Diner.
“This is an ambush.”
“This isn’t an ambush. It’s lunch. An ambush would require more time. Also, he’s inside.”
As I’d figured. Through the diner window, Austin sat at a corner booth, shoulders bent over a mug, jaw tight enough to carve granite.
“I’m not ready. I’m still angry.”
“Readiness is a myth, Milly,” Cassie said, parking. “We do things and get ready while we’re doing them. Milly, he’s still human. And until you can say you’ve never messed up or made a mistake, then he’s owed a re-try.” She squeezed my wrist. “Five-minute minimum. Six if he cries.”
I took a breath, opened the door, and stepped into the savory smell of hash browns and bacon. The bell over the door sang my arrival. Ethel caught my eye and nodded toward booth three.
Austin saw me halfway across the room. A look of painful reminders flickered over his face, like he’d rehashed the night. A small prick of pity hit my heart. He looked worn and tired.
Ethel intercepted me with two glasses of iced tea. “Sugar, he’s been in here for over an hour, nursing that same cup of coffee.”
“Can you bring him a new one and put it on my tab?”
“Sweetheart, your tab’s made of favors.” She winked and disappeared.
I reached the booth. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” He stood until I sat, then sat. A true gentleman, through and through. His hands gripped his mug. I pushed one tea toward him and kept the other. Condensation pooled under my fingers.
“Before you start,” I said, “I’m not here for a fight.”
“Me neither.” He cleared his throat. “I’m here because I made a mistake.”
I waited.
“I’ve been protecting you in a way that erases you,” he said finally.
“That’s the mistake. You get the fruits of my training, the intel, the security checks, even the fun little gadgets you didn’t know existed.
But where my training fails is you get none of the deciding.
I thought I was doing my job. Turns out my job stopped being a security detail the moment I met you.
I thought this was going to be just a job like all the others, with the only difference being instead of a facility or intel, it was a person.
I can see how someone would view what I’ve done as lazy courage. ”
“Lazy courage,” I repeated.
“I learned to keep people alive by controlling variables, the things others don’t see,” he said.
“Then I met you and forgot the equation. You weren’t a variable.
You were the reason I didn’t want the job to exist.” He grimaced.
“That sounds worse than it is. Penny asked me to watch your back, to keep it secret, and let you live your life. I said yes. Somewhere between that and lemon bars, I found myself falling for you. I see now I held on too tight.”
He stopped, voice raw. “You can’t protect someone you don’t trust, and I’ve always known I can trust you, Milly. I just don’t know how to stop guarding the door even when you’re the one holding the key. This is a clash between learned instinct, training, and you.”
The words hit like rain on dry ground, quiet, certain, and soaking in slowly.
“You don’t have to stop protecting me, Austin,” I said. “You just have to stop hiding things from me. We can do this together, if you’d let me.”
Relief tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not in my training, but I’ll give it a good go. I want to do this beside you, but I can’t let you get hurt.”
“Good,” I said. “Then we’ll start there, and I can’t get hurt with you by my side.”
Ethel appeared with a plate of fries she pretended had escaped from someone else’s order. “Huh. I wonder how these got here,” she said, then walked away.
We ate a few, every once in a while looking up at each other with small grins on our faces. The jukebox shuffled into something about heartland highways. A kid announced he could count to twenty-seven, and half the diner applauded.
Five minutes came and went. I didn’t run.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Here’s my rule. No more quiet decisions that rewrite my day. If you’re concerned, tell me. If it’s bad, tell me. We’ll decide together whether to fight or run.”
“I can do that,” he said after a hesitant pause. I could see the wheels turning, his training fighting the thought.
When we stood, he pulled a small brown-paper package from his jacket.
“What’s that?”
“New hinges for your mudroom door,” he said. “The other ones squeak.”
“It’s about time.” I laughed. “I was wondering when you were going to replace the perfectly fine ones we already had.” I snickered and shook my head. Only Austin would see something as basic as a hinge and see a fix-it sign.
“Sorry it took so long, ma’am.”
Outside, Main Street glittered under thin sunlight. Cassie pretended to browse zinnias from across the road, catching my glance and offering a small thumbs-up before turning back to the flowers.
“Was that your backup?” Austin asked as I signaled a thumbs-up back.
“A girl’s got to have her escape plan, just in case,” I said, and bumped his shoulder.
The drive home stayed quiet. Gravel clicked under the tires as we turned onto the drive.
Austin’s hand brushed near mine once, almost itching.
That pause did more to me than the touch would have.
Like he was asking without words, and trusting me to answer without flinching.
My fingers stayed perfectly still and somehow screamed yes anyway, a signal that the air between us was hopeful.
At the ranch, the hills glowed with afternoon light. Wind slipped through the grass, stirring the scent of sage. He parked near the porch.
“You want to supervise?” he asked, holding up the brown paper bag like it was candy.
“I’ve been known to be an excellent supervisor.”
Austin knelt by the mudroom door, unwrapped the parcel, and replaced the hardware like a seasoned handyman. The screwdriver’s rhythm filled the pause between us. Click, turn, pause. Each sound smoothed another edge off the day.
When he tested the hinges, they held strong and silent. “There. Now you can raid the pantry in the dead of night, and I’ll never know.” He winked.
“As if I ever needed to be quiet.”
He wiped his hands on a rag. “We’ll see.”
“You’re a good handyman. What would I do without you?” I feigned a Southern accent.
“I think we both know you’d turn this place into a whirlwind of controlled chaos,” he said, voice low but certain.
I shook my head and stuck my tongue out at him. “Would not,” I shot back, feeling twelve again.
“So,” Austin looked at me seriously, and my heart dropped. What now? “I’m thinking,” he paused for dramatic effect, “dinner and a movie on the couch, followed by copious amounts of ice cream and popcorn.” His serious face stayed firmly in place.
“Hmm.” I pretended to think, tapping my chin.
Somewhere in the distance, Sherlock complained like an old neighbor, and the wind died down for the night.
“If we must,” I answered, trying and failing to hold back a smile.
Of course I wanted ice cream and popcorn, but I had to eat dinner first. Then I was willing to suffer through it. I laughed at my own thoughts.
Austin had apparently been planning this, because just then, Mike showed up with pizza.
I stopped by the kitchen shelf for some paper plates and napkins.
Aunt Penny’s recipe book leaned in its usual spot, the spine cracked from years of gravy and stubbornness.
When I opened it, a slip of paper slid free, yellowed at the edges, her looping handwriting unmistakable:
Choose love, and home will follow.
I read it twice, then tucked it back into the book.
In the living room, Austin was pulling out the dinner trays. He looked up, caught my gaze, and nodded.
I stepped into the living room and handed him a napkin and plate. “For the pizza.”
“Thanks.” He hesitated. “Everything okay?”
“Yep,” I said, but a part of me was still working on it. Austin was a trained and skilled Navy SEAL, and I didn’t know how long his training could be held back before it resurfaced again.
He nodded once, accepting that as truth enough.
When he turned back to the TV, the pizza on the coffee table, it looked so mundane and domestic that a smile touched my lips. I touched the pendant at my throat, fastening it for the first time since the fight. The compass settled warm against my skin.
The mountains shifted colors again, trading blue for amber. Weather, like people here, changed its mind often. I figured I could, too.