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“It’s okay. I’m just going to work on organizing this mess of a schedule.” Beth slid a hay bale into place as her table and set up her workstation on top of it.
“You can give me some tips.”
Tally’s ears followed Beth, and she stepped forward and gave Beth a nuzzle for another treat.
Beth rewarded Tally’s request and rubbed her soft muzzle. “You’re not so bad, are you? You’re just afraid of getting hurt.” She sat down. “We can keep each other company, right? I need to organize these grant requests and write up some proposals, which, quite frankly, I’ve only ever done twice. For the library. So this could get interesting.”
She’d had no idea there’d be so much paperwork to keep track of.
Beth opened her laptop and clicked on the grant files along with the financial and participation reports Noah had sent her.
Oh boy.
File after file—she couldn’t make sense of any of it. It all melded into one jumbled mess of information.
She dug a granola bar from her pocket.
She’d missed breakfast with Dad for the first time since…ever.
The bookmark Vivien and Courtney had given her stuck out from her journal.
The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.
Right.
Do not be afraid.
Except, she had been left—forsaken—hadn’t she? Rejected and deserted. So, yeah. She was afraid.
Of leaving Dad. Of failing this job.
She closed her laptop and gave Tally another rub on her head. “This isn’t going that well.” She snagged her water bottle from the hay bale and wandered to the back barn slider.
Grayson rode Maverick in the arena, the morning light enveloping them in a golden haze through the dust that was kicked up.
Beth watched from the shadows of the barn doorway. The horse’s coat gleamed bright copper in the sunshine, his breath leaving puffs of condensation in the cool air. They moved across the arena like dance partners, to music only they could hear.
Low tones of Grayson’s voice drifted across the expanse between them.
The pair slowed, Maverick let out a soft blowing sound, and they walked laps for several more minutes. Grayson leaned forward, his hand rubbing the horse’s neck, and then he dismounted.
He stepped toward the gelding’s head. Its eyes were half closed, and it lowered its head, resting its white-blazed face into the crook of Grayson’s arm.
He stroked the horse’s neck, and the two remained nearly still.
Beth felt like an intruder, staring, seeing the trust, a thin, soft thread between the pair.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, for in those moments, she’d seen a glimpse of the same Grayson that had made her swoon at fifteen and had broken her heart at sixteen.
The water bottle she held thunked to the ground, her grip loosened by the distraction of her memories.
Grayson and the horse turned their heads toward her, the moment between them interrupted.
She walked toward the hitching post. “Oh. Hey. Hi.” Beth’s words stumbled out. She gave him a little wave before scooping up her water bottle and wiping the dust from it.
“Hi.” He walked toward the barn, Maverick beside him. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” Was she staring? She probably was staring.
