Page 81 of Quiver

“I do,” she interrupted. “I’m not sure I know how, but I never wanted to be the person I’ve been since coming back here.”

“That’s a relief,” Fletcher sighed. “I don’t dare hope we won’t end up back at each other’s throats at some point, but I like hearing you at least want something different. I do, too. I just can’t fathom what it might look like.”

Her chest tightened at such a beautifully open sentiment from the one who’d closed herself off to her so long ago. “What if it looks like me helping you get up, and then making us some breakfast?”

“And by ‘make breakfast,’ you mean pour milk over cereal?”

“Obviously.”

Fletcher grinned. “Sounds safe, but nice.”

“And then we can talk about the day, try to come to some consensus?”

“Sounds less safe, but still good.”

Kylie nodded her agreement. “Nothing about us has ever been safe, but I’ll take good and then go from there.”

Fletcher hadn’t figured out how to shower without getting her side wet, so she settled for wiping off with a damp cloth and patting down her curls as best she could. Kylie offered to help her dress, but waking up next to her had been more than enough to leave her feeling exposed. She’d managed to pull on jeans without any real pain, but the T-shirt offered more of a challenge. When she raised her arms overhead, she understood the real seriousness of the no-lifting rule and chose a button-up flannel as her outer layer. Still, she was pleased overall with her ability to perform normal morning functions, and she eased her way downstairs with only minor discomfort.

Kylie was waiting for her in the kitchen wearing fresh clothes but no makeup, and the pang in Fletcher’s chest at the sight of her rivaled any pain left in her side. The simplicity of cereal shared during a morning at home came close to some of her loftiest dreams as a teen.

She shook the sentiment and slid into her usual chair. “I survived the gauntlet of my wake-up routine. I’m ready to hear what comes next.”

Kylie passed her the milk. “I assume there are horses to be fed, stalls to be cleaned, and snow to be shoveled, all of which I intend to do, but if you wanted to come to the barn and critique my performance, we could set you up somewhere comfortable-ish.”

“How about I offer a concession in exchange for one from you?”

Kylie eyed her over the rim of her coffee cup. “You mean like a compromise? Now I’m worried you should’ve had a CT scan while we were at the hospital, but lay it on me.”

“I’ll stay in the house, even on the couch, while you do the chores if you let me call the lesson group and tell them we’re on for Saturday.”

Every muscle in her body tightened. “Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t let me lay out the whole plan.”

“Next weekend’s too soon. You can’t do any work until your doctor’s appointment.”

“But what if you did the work?” Fletcher asked. “You can teach the class while I sit in the chair. How’s that any different than what you proposed for this morning?”

“Because I can’t teach your classes.” Her voice rose. “You wouldn’t let me even set up the bows last time. I had to play horse hostess.”

Fletcher smiled. “And you did a great job. Besides, you need to learn to hold your own in the arena from a presentation standpoint. If we want to impress your movie bigwigs, you need to look like an old pro, and teaching is the highest form of mastery. Taking the lead on the class could start that process.”

“Why can’t it wait one week?”

“Because we all need to get back to work. Me, you, the horses, the kids. We all went through something intense.”

A million memories rushed back to her, Gabrielle bucking, the sickening thump of Fletcher hitting the ground, rolling her over and seeing the arrow. She closed her eyes as if she could stop the horror reel playing in her head. “And by intense, you mean traumatic?”

“Yes.” Fletcher reached across the table as if intending to take her hand then seemed to think better of it. “Which is all the more reason not to let it fester. I know it’s hard. Tell me what we need to do in order to make this work.”

Kylie sat back, the hard set of her shoulders softening. “What if we do a short session this afternoon, just our normal routine, and if it goes well, we’ll move up slowly to mimicking a full class with me at the lead?”

Fletcher nodded. “You set up, you handle the horses, you ride, you clean up.”

“You sit in the chair and coach or offer commentary, and if we both stick to our jobs safely, without overdoing it—”

“Or arguing?”