“But there’s still much work to be done.”
He nods, and a full smile graces his lips. “After we’re finished, then?”
“I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”
He stops, plants the pitchfork in the ground, and sets his elbow at the top. Surprise overtakes his features. “That’s not a no.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “It’s not.”
His grin returns. “In that case, let’s work faster.”
It may be wrong of me to give him hope when I’m unsure if letting him back into my bed is the smartest thing to do. But my body is fully on board with that plan. It’s my mind that warns me to take caution.
He’s not a regular man. He’s a Horseman, and no matter how attractive he is, I can’t forget that.
We finish with the stalls and move on to feeding. I carry buckets while he measures grain, pouring it into troughs with practiced precision. The horses crowd in eagerly, their impatience a low chorus of snorts and stomps.
Before we leave them, Orán murmurs to his horse as she presses close. They rest their foreheads briefly against one another before he guides her back to her stall.
The tenderness of it lands harder than it should. Not simply because I’m envious of their bond, but because I’m touched to see that the love of animals is something we share. He cares for his horse in a way not many do, and I feel the same for every creature here.
Orán picks up his shirt and pulls it on. “How did I do?” He comes to stand beside me, and together we survey our work.
Clean stalls.
Fed horses.
A quiet barn.
“Better than I thought.”
My arms ache pleasantly, and considering how much we got done, I know I’ll have some free time for training tomorrow since having his help opened up my schedule. Perhaps he’d be open to a friendly sparring match, and we can see how my skills fare against his.
“So good then, right? As in you’ll keep me around because I’m useful.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’ll keep you around for now.”
“And the rope?”
I spare it only a glance before I motion for him to follow me out of the barn, leaving it behind and hoping he doesn’t make me live to regret the decision.
I’ve barely reached the doorway when the ground beneath my feet shudders.
The jolt throws me forward. I catch myself on the doorframe, fingers biting into old wood as the house groans around us. Before I can find my balance, Orán is there—his hands firm on my hips, anchoring me in place.
It happens again.
A deeper tremor this time, rolling through the earth like something enormous shifting in its sleep.
“No. No. No. Not again.”
As if in defiance, the rumble returns.
Orán’s grip tightens reflexively.
A low murmur swells, rising from the ground itself, vibrating through miles of dirt, brick, and timber. It crawls up my spine. I brace against the doorframe, fingers digging into splintering wood as the shaking builds rather than fades.
Memory slams into me without mercy.
