Page 50 of Forbidden to Fall

“He’s stronger than you,” Mia said. She put a hand on his arm between his biceps and shoulder. “You’re very strong, Mr. James. Even stronger than Daddy.”

“O-kay,” I said, laughing uncomfortably. Had someone coached this child into saying all the most awkward things possible? “Come here, missy. Let’s get some treats for the horses.”

Her dedication to James wasn’t proof against this offer, and she let me take her.

She was small for her age, but way too smart for her own good—or anyone else’s. She had my entire family wrapped around her dainty little pinky, with its chipped hot-pink nail polish.

“Come on, Mr. James,” she said, motioning for him to follow us to the tack room.

James looked a question at me, like he wasn’t sure how binding the orders of a four-year-old were.

“Come on,” she repeated impatiently.

James seemed to recognize her authority and followed us.

“Where’d Archer go?” I asked.

“To check on one of the horses in the pasture. He’s happy with the suggestion, though, and said he’ll update the website and flyers tonight.”

We stepped into the tack room, and Mia wriggled down to the floor. I grabbed a few pellets from a bag and gave them to Mia, who grasped them with awkward, claw-like fingers and held them against her chest as insurance. I started to close the bag, but Mia corrected my bad manners for not giving James any.

The little cocked brow he sent me—a silent and teasing echo of Mia’s condemnation—made my heart skip strangely, just like it did anytime James’s playfulness broke through the cloud cover of his stoicism.

I obediently gave him a couple of pellets, and we returned to the stalls.

Mia rejected my attempt to pick her up. “Mr. James is taller. And stronger.”

I couldn’t argue with facts, but I shot him an apologetic look.

He smiled as he picked her up.

If the cocked eyebrow had been a peek of blue sky through clouds, the smile was a flash of sun. It reminded me of the photo of Ryan and him at their graduation.

Stall by stall, James and Mia treated the horses to pellets while he coached her through keeping her hand flat like a pancake.

After giving away her final pellet, she wiped the hay-speckled horse slobber from her hand onto James’s shirt.

“Mia Jane Stevenson,” I cried in horror.

She giggled mischievously but looked at James to see his reaction.

He narrowed his eyes at her, then wiped his own hand on her back.

She arched it, her giggling turning immediately to terror.

She looked at James as though her good opinion of him was lost forever. The sheer look of betrayal had me covering a snorting laugh.

James held up his hand, which was still covered in horse slobber—he’d only pretended to wipe it on her—then he rubbed it on his shirt in the same place she’d wiped hers.

The effect on Mia was utter delight.

My own smile faded slightly as I considered what Ryan would think of his daughter laughing with the man he hated most in the world. It was such a shame. Had things gone differently, James could’ve been a de facto uncle to Mia—one she clearly would have adored.

“All right, Mimi,” I said. “We should get going.”

“Nooo,” she cried, grasping onto James like a barnacle. She tucked her head under his jaw.

Ryan would absolutely die.