Page 43 of Blue Jean Summer

The faintest smile appeared, and he nodded. “I’m figuring that out.”

Chapter 12

Hayes

I loved working from my granddad’s study. I loved the dark wood, stately furniture, leather chairs, and smell of old books.

The study was a juxtaposition to what was on the other side of the window—the rose garden.

Usually, I loved the warmth of the study. The way it felt like a cave, shrouding me from the outside world.

But today it felt like the walls were closing in.

I pressed my fingers to my temples and tried to massage away the tension that welled on either side of my head like a vise.

It didn’t help.

Nor had the coffee I had shotgunned when I thought it was a caffeine headache.

Nor had the water I guzzled when I guessed I was dehydrated.

I had slept just fine…

The front door slammed, and I felt the knot of tension in my head pull tight. I was, generally, measured when it came to Lewis. I kept my cool when he pushed my buttons. But with the headache clamping down on my temples, I couldn’t make any guarantees today.

I waited until Lewis’s ruckus carried him upstairs before slipping out from behind the desk.

My shirt wasn’t buttoned up today. Instead of navy slacks, I was in blue jeans. The boots I had found in the depths of my closet were aged and worn, stashed away from my college days, but the fit was familiar.

Pebbles crunched underfoot as I walked down to the stables. Mason had hauled a trailer up toward the gates earlier today, and Levi was working off the property. The usual caravan of owners, trainers, and jockeys was sparse. Most of them had brought in their trailers yesterday or early this morning and loaded up to make the trip to Maryland for the Preakness Stakes.

It was blissfully quiet.

No slamming doors. No stubborn clients. Just endless greens and blues.

Instead of going into the stables, I headed toward one of the paddocks where Mason had turned Maisey out this morning.

She spotted me and made a show of bouncing toward the fence line.

Elvis, the Appaloosa who had been around since I was in my early twenties, watched Maisey with annoyance. I wasn’t entirely sure why he thought she was the weird one. He was wearing the barn cat like it was a hat.

I rested my arms on the fence as Maisey bounded over with giddy pleasure. She came to a screeching halt and plopped her head over the white-painted slat.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I murmured as I held my hand out to let her get acclimated to my scent, but Maisey didn’t give a damn. She nearly knocked me over when she nuzzled her nose into my chest.

Sometimes horses were standoffish. Other times, they forgot they were thousand-pound animals and not lapdogs. Maisey had the personality of a golden retriever, while Elvis acted like an inconvenienced house cat if you had the audacity to look at him.

I laughed as she used head cuddles as a way to sneakily sniff around my shirt, hoping for a treat to be hidden somewhere.

“You’re spoiled,” I murmured.

Maisey didn’t disagree. Not finding any treats, her attention quickly shifted to something more interesting over my shoulder. I turned to follow her line of sight and immediately understood what had caught her attention.

Catherine was on a warpath to the stables. Either she didn’t notice Maisey and me staring at her as she strutted to the crisp white-and-blue barn, or she didn’t care.

I was going with the latter.

Maisey huffed and stamped her hooves, throwing a teenage temper tantrum as I peeled away from the fence and curiously followed my future wife.