Chapter 4 #2
"No. Of course not." But her voice was too bright, too quick. The kind of brightness that covered fear.
I studied her. The way she'd gone rigid. The way her fingers gripped the edge of the metal tray.
"You can ride, right?"
She didn't answer immediately. Just kept organizing instruments that were already organized.
"Tammy."
"I'm sure I'll figure out how to carry the supplies on horseback."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting."
The defiance was back in her voice, but underneath it I heard something else. Uncertainty. Maybe even panic.
"Come on." I turned toward the door. "We'll get you set up with a horse."
"Now?"
"You have somewhere else to be?"
She hesitated, then grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door. "Fine."
But as she walked past me, I caught her scent again, that sweetness and spice, and underneath it, the sharp edge of anxiety.
We took her side-by-side to the stables. She drove, handling the vehicle with easy competence. I noticed she took the turns smoothly, didn't gun the engine unnecessarily. Practical. Capable.
But she was quiet. Too quiet.
The silence between us felt different than before. Charged. Like the air before a storm.
"You're in a mood," she said finally.
"I'm always in a mood."
"A different mood. More..." She paused, searching for the word. "Tense. Like you're annoyed with me."
I didn't answer. Didn't know how to explain that watching Dutton flirt with her had made me want to throw him through a wall. That the thought of her on the cattle drive made my chest tight for reasons I didn't want to examine.
"Look, about Dutton," she started.
"What about him?"
"He was just being friendly. I wasn't... I mean, I was professional. I don't know why you sent him off like that." Her voice had taken on a defensive edge. "He was injured. I was treating him."
"I know what you were doing."
"Do you?" She glanced at me, and there was uncertainty in her eyes now. Worry. "Because it felt like you disapproved. Like you thought I was being unprofessional or something."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. The way you looked at me..." She trailed off, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "I get it. I'm new. I'm still proving myself. But I know how to maintain boundaries with patients."
Something hot and sharp twisted in my chest. She thought I was judging her. Thought I didn't trust her competence.
"That's not—" I started, but she cut me off.
"It's fine. I'll be more careful. More professional. Whatever you need from me on this drive." Her voice was tight now, controlled. "I'm not here to cause problems."
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. She kept her eyes on the road, her jaw set. And I realized she'd completely misread the situation, thought my disapproval, my possessiveness was doubt in her abilities.
I should correct her. Should tell her the truth.
But the words wouldn't come.
The stables came into view, long, low buildings with paddocks stretching out behind them. Horses grazed in the afternoon sun. Some clustered near the fence, others stood alone in the shade.
Tammy parked and killed the engine. She shifted in her seat, staring at the horses, and the smile faded from her face.
"Some of them are huge," she said quietly.
"Different breeds for different riders." I climbed out and headed for the nearest paddock, grateful for the change in subject. "Humans ride Quarter Horses or Appaloosas mostly. Good temperament, sure-footed in the mountains."
I pointed to a cluster of horses near the water trough. Smaller, compact builds. Sturdy.
"Orcs need bigger horses. We're heavier." I gestured to the far paddock where Starlight stood, massive and black. "Percherons, Shires, Friesians. They can handle our weight."
Tammy nodded, but she hadn't moved from the side-by-side.
I walked back to her. "You coming?"
"Yeah. Just... taking it in."
"It's a stable. Not much to take in."
"Right." She climbed out, but her movements were stiff. Reluctant.
I led her inside. The stable smelled like hay and leather and horse, familiar and comforting. Maclan was in the back, brushing down one of the Appaloosas. He nodded at me, then went back to work.
I stopped at a stall halfway down. A dappled gray mare with kind eyes looked up at us, ears forward.
"This is Daffodil," I said. "She's gentle. Good for—"
"I've never ridden a horse!"
The words came out fast, like she'd been holding them in. Like she was admitting a terrible secret.
I stared at her. "What?"
"I've never ridden a horse." She crossed her arms, defensive. Her chin lifted. "Not once. Not ever."
"You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
I couldn't process it. "Why the hell would you take a job on a ranch if you can't ride?"
Her eyes flashed. "The job description said 'nurse practitioner for ranch employees.' It didn't say anything about cattle drives or playing Annie Oakley."
Annie Oakley. I'd watched that movie a dozen times. Loved the old Westerns, the ones where the good guys wore white hats and justice always won. Simple. Clear.
"This is a working ranch," I said. "Horses aren't optional."
"Then I'll learn." She lifted her chin higher. "We've got two weeks. Teach me."
"Two weeks isn't enough time—"
"Then make it enough time." Her voice was sharp now, cutting. "You're the one who said I'm coming on this drive."
The defiance in her voice did something to me. Made that heat in my chest flare hotter. Made me want to push back just to see how far she'd go.
"You think you can learn to ride in two weeks?"
"I think I can do anything I set my mind to."
"Even if it scares you?"
"Especially if it scares me." Her eyes were bright, fierce.
"I didn't drive halfway across the country to play it safe, Ripplan.
I came here to start over. To do something different.
So yes, I'll learn to ride your damn horse, and I'll do it well enough that you won't have any excuse to leave me behind. "
We stared at each other. The air between us felt electric, charged with something I didn't want to name.
She was scared. I could see it in the way her hands trembled slightly before she shoved them in her pockets. In the way her breath came a little too fast.
But she wasn't backing down.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why what?"
"Why do you want to go so badly?" I stepped closer, studying her face. "It's going to be hard. Uncomfortable. Days in the mountains with a bunch of ranch hands and cattle. Why does that matter to you so much?"
She hesitated. For a moment I thought she might tell me the truth, whatever truth she was hiding behind those sky blue eyes.
But then she lifted her chin again. "Because it's my job. Because those ranch hands might need medical care. Because I don't want to sit in my clinic while everyone else is out there doing the real work."
It was a good answer. A professional answer.
But it wasn't the whole truth. I could see it in the way she wouldn't quite meet my eyes.
"Fine," I said. "Meet me here at dawn tomorrow."
"Fine."
"It's not going to be easy."
"I didn't come here for easy."
"You might fall off. You'll definitely be sore. Your legs will ache, your back will hurt, and you'll probably want to quit."
"I won't quit."
"How do you know?"
"Because I don't quit." Her voice was steady now, certain. "Ever."
Somehow, I didn't doubt that.
"Dawn," I repeated.
"I'll be here."
We stared at each other. Her jaw was set, her eyes bright with determination. She smelled like antiseptic and that underlying sweetness I couldn't get out of my head. This close, I could see the pulse beating in her throat. Fast. Nervous.
But she didn't step back.
Neither did I.
"Dawn," I said again. "Don't be late."
I forced myself to turn. Forced myself to walk toward the stable doors. Every step felt like pulling against a current.
At the doorway, I looked back.
She was still standing there, watching me. Her expression was complicated, confused maybe. Uncertain. But underneath it, I saw something else. Something that looked like the same pull I was feeling.
Damn it.
I walked away before I could change my mind. Before I could go back and do something we'd both regret.
But I could still smell her. Sweetness and spice. It followed me all the way back to the main house.
And I knew, with a certainty that made my chest tight, that two weeks of teaching her to ride was going to be the longest two weeks of my life.