And all I could think about was the cowboys in a barn porn.
Ireallyneeded to find that.
I did some grocery shopping—enoughto at least have a couple of snacks and way more instant coffee, and the drive back felt longer, even though it wasn’t. Snow Creek came back into view piece by piece—the taller barns first, then the house, solid and unyielding, as if it had always been waiting for me. I wasn’t ready to go back in the house, so I headed to the horse barn instead.
There was only one horse in there, and a black-and-white cat was curled up on a bale of hay as if it owned the place. It opened one eye when it saw me, then decided I wasn’t worth the effort.
“Hey,” I murmured.
It let me scratch under its chin, leaned onto my hand—its purr was loud and insistent, vibrating straight through my fingers—and for a second, I simply enjoyed the connection. But when I finally pulled my hand away, the barn felt empty and echoing.
I headed back toward the house, Snow Creek solid under my boots, and wondered—briefly, unhelpfully—how something could feel so steady and still leave me this lost.
I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to fix the charity’s problems, be in my nice, warm apartment that I’d had to sublet, and sit at my computer working on my accounts.
I didn’t sleep.
Or maybe I did, in short, useless stretches that left my body more tired than before. My hip ached in that deep, grinding way that never let me forget it was there. Lying on my side made it worse. Lying on my back wasn’t much better. By the time the clock glowed past two, I gave up.
The house was dark and too quiet as I made my way downstairs, filled the kettle at the sink, and set it on the stove. While I waited, I dragged a chair out from the table and turned it sideways. I braced my hands on the back and lifted one leg, stretching until the stiffness eased. I breathed through the ache, counting the way the physio had taught me. Not fixing it but at least keeping it from getting worse.
The kettle hadn’t even started to whistle when the back door opened.
I froze.
Footsteps. The softthudof something being set down. Jesse’s shape filled the doorway, hat still on, shoulders slumped as if he’d been carrying the whole damn ranch on his back. He didn’t see me at first.
Then, he did.
He stopped dead. His posture changed instantly—back straight, jaw tight, as if he’d been caught doing something he hadn’t meant anyone to witness.
“Sorry,” he said, rough and automatic. “Didn’t know anyone was?—”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. I lowered my leg from the chair,suddenly aware of how stupid it must look. “I couldn’t sleep.”
His eyes flicked to the chair. The kettle. Me, with my foot on a chair, contorted into a stretch.
“Yeah,” he said. “Same.”
We stood there, the silence stretching thin and awkward between us. The kettle began to hiss, a small, ordinary sound that felt too loud, and I cursed when I tried to stand.
“You okay?” he asked, after a beat. The question sounded reluctant, as if it had slipped out before he could stop it.
“Yeah.”
He nodded once. “Right.”
Another pause.
“I’ll grab a mug and get out of your way,” he said, already moving.
“You don’t have to?—”
“It’s fine,” he cut in, not unkindly, but final. “Kitchen’s big enough.”
We worked around each other in careful silence. No touching. No eye contact for longer than a second. When the kettle boiled, I poured the water too fast and sloshed some onto the counter. Jesse grabbed a towel at the same time I did.
Our hands brushed.
