Page 46 of Paper Horses

She turned her head toward me.

“Thank you.”

A tug of her lips preceded a smile that chipped away at my walls. My eyes trailed her as she left, but a streak of lightning not far from us had me moving again. Storms weren’t unusual here, but every indication said this one was not one to underestimate, and I wasn’t about to go into it unprepared. I’d made that mistake my first year, and if not for the arguments of my foreman, I would have lost the horses.

I rounded Honey and Ivy up, tucking them securely in their stalls. They preferred to be out in the fields, but from the flick of their ears and the nervous flutter of their hides, I could see even they didn’t like the brewing storm.

As I ran up the steps to the house, raindrops sounded. Slow and light. A misleading sound because by the time I got to the door, they were coming down hard. I put my hat on the peg and kicked my boots off, but my movement stopped when I turned back to the kitchen to find Olivia over the stove, stirring something in a pan.

I rubbed my eyes, surprised when the vision didn’t disappear.

“Are you cooking?”

She jumped, the spoon almost falling from her hand. She peered over at me, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“I figured out how to use the stove.”

Her smile was so wide it was almost like she had discovered the secret to life. I didn’t want to disturb that moment, so I walked over and peeked into the pan.

“Jessie brought soup over this morning,” she said as if it was a regular thing for her.

“Jessie was here? And she left in one piece?” I teased.

Her eyes met mine, still playful. “I was a good girl.”

My hand landed on the counter, and I gripped it as I tried to control the instant reaction those words and that look had caused in me.

“I bet you were,” I replied, hearing the hoarseness in my voice.

“She said you had dinner there last night?” She dropped her eyes back to the pan.

“Yeah. I sat with her husband, Carl, and had a bowl of soup before we left and grabbed some beers at the bar.”

“Oh.”

I tipped my head from side to side, trying to figure her out. She was jealous, but I couldn’t figure out why. She had given me up. Plus, I had explained this to her, reassured her that it hadn’t worked out with Jessie because it never would have. I moved to the sink, rolling my sleeves and sensing her eyes on me as I washed up.

“Jessie went with us. Her parents kept the baby so they could have a night out.” Why the hell was I explaining myself to her? It was ridiculous, yet I continued. “She couldn’t stop talking about you the whole time. Nosy and too curious about the city girl who looked like she stepped from a magazine.”

Olivia laughed, and I looked over at her as I dried my forearms.

“I did not look like I stepped out of a magazine. My hair was a mess, my makeup worn, and my dress caked in dust from the dirt. I was the furthest thing from glamorous.”

I took her face and forced her to look at me. “You don’t need to be glamorous or put together. You never did need that.”

She swallowed, a flush spreading up her cheeks. And out of a habit that should have died over a decade before, I swept my thumb over one where her freckles peeked from below her foundation.

“I always need to be perfect,” she whispered. The pain reflected in her eyes caused my chest to ache.

“Not for me, Olivia. You were already perfect.”

Her eyes dropped, her head turning as she focused on the soup. “Shoot, it’s boiling.” Flustered, she reached for the knob to turn it off but turned it the wrong way. Flames kicked up, and she jumped back.

“Here,” I said, taking her by the arms and moving her out of the way. I turned off the burner and stirred the soup. “Grab two bowls from the cabinet to the right of the sink.”

No complaints, no arguing that this wasn’t her job. She remained quiet, the previous moments still lingering over us. I cursed myself for letting her get to me. I’d always been weak around her, soft, because with her I could be comfortable and let my guard down. I hadn’t let it down since, even when I’d dated. No one broke through to the spaces where Olivia had been.

She brought two bowls over, and I poured the soup into them. Steam curled from them as I placed the pot back on the stove. Grabbing two spoons from the drawer, I took the bowls to the table, contemplating what I was doing. Having another meal with her. The diner had been hard enough, but this…this felt intimate.