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Cedra
“Hi, beautiful,” I crooned, stroking Chrysanthemum’s curious brown nose.
She was a quarter horse broodmare I’d purchased almost five years ago at an auction, and she’d brought more joy to my life than I’d thought possible.
When Riane left, the animals had become my only companions—which was fine with me. They were uncomplicated and sweet, never holding back on their affections. Over the years, I’d derived much routine pleasure from starting each day with them, milking the swollen cows, feeding the pesky chickens and tending to the horses.
My parents had always been proud equine owners and breeders, and I was more than happy to carry on the tradition.
Chrysanthemum’s belly had dropped low with a foal, and I couldn’t imagine her discomfort. Sometimes I’d catch her resting on her side to ease the additional weight and I could only assist her by making sure her stall was clean and there was plenty for munching.
Sometimes we’d attempt a walk around the fields but that only seemed to tire her out.
Now, however, she whinnied and thrust her nose against my shoulder for attention.
“I’m right here, girl,” I said, huffing a laugh as I rubbed the bridge of her long nose. She gummed at the collar of my old work shirt. “What’s going on with you today?”
As my question echoed through the barn, Chrys snorted, almost drowning out the telltale creak of the centuries-old barn door.
A strong shaft of sunlight streaked across the dark space and Chrys quieted immediately, as though she could sense the foreign presence in the barn.
I watched as one supple thigh and curved calf stepped hesitantly into my haven, followed by another.
Twyla peered into the semi-darkness, curls tumbling over her shoulder as she took in the old, imported wood walls and hay-strewn floors.
She was half-dressed in what I assumed was a worn old work shirt. In contrast, her feet were lined with those jeweled black slippers I’d spotted next to my boots this morning.
She waved when she noticed Chrys and I peering out of the stall, staring at her with wide, curious eyes. As she moved closer, a smile lighting her generous lips, my gaze dipped to the smooth expanse of skin on her bare, supple thighs. They rippled with each step, and I found myself unable to look away, shaken by such a display of sensuality so early in the day.
There were so many feelings sifting through my body—attraction, awe, protectiveness. All of it was an extension of the wild churning in my chest since she’d appeared in my home.
But what I felt above all was relief—immense, affirming relief that my body’s reaction to her proved I wasn’t dead after all.
Over the years, I’d gotten really good at convincing myself, and I’d long ago made up my mind that I was dead inside. The depressive stupor that had enveloped me after Riane’s departure had spread to every aspect of my life, exorcising smiles from my face and any feelings from my body.
I’d been operating on autopilot for years. But not now. Now I was fighting for control of my heartbeat.
She really was a tiny thing; the top of her head barely reached my chin. Her large dark eyes blinked up at me, and I vaguely heard her saying something as though she were a distance away and not standing just in front me.
A wet nose poked at my shoulder, and I looked over at Chrys, who snorted meaningfully. Perceptive as always.
Twyla’s expressive eyes were narrowed now, as though they were unsure. I looked lower and realized she was handing me something.
A thermos. My thermos.
“I forgot to give this to you this morning,” she explained slowly, as though she were repeating the words.
“Thanks,” I said more gruffly than I’d intended, taking the thermos out of her hands and setting it on a low bundle of hay nearby.
She looked around the large barn, hands anchored on her hips as she surveyed the space. It was empty save for Chrys since I’d sent the stud horse, Pip, and the cows out to graze after the morning milking.
My gaze strayed to the dip of her waist, obvious now that the larger shirt was caught under her hands.
“I’ve never been inside a barn before,” she said, fascination etched in her features, and my eyes snapped back up guiltily. “I mean, I’ve seen pictures from Old Earth when I studied anthropology, but I’ve never really been inside one, you know? It’s huge.”
The last word held a distinct echo.
I cleared my throat. “Well, this is pretty old. Nothing’s changed since my great-grandpa Ernest built it.”
