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Distracted by flustered texts from my mother, I grabbed her order by mistake. But something in the way she planted her feet and raised that stubborn chin made me want to see how far she’d let me push her.
Vamp.
Clearly, she recognized me. But unlike back home, she didn’t fawn over me the way most people tend to. She appeared annoyed, almost angry.
Blood pulses beneath my skin, ghosting to the surface in the shape of her palm.
That woman would be a challenge in every sense of the word, especially in the bedroom.
I clear my throat, willing away intrusive visions of her in my bed. As my uncle gives me a rundown of updates he’s made around the property, an older mare named Bertha peels her lips back and bares her teeth at Sparrow.
When the horse kicks the stall door, I give her a low command to cool it.
“Penelope told me about your plans for the barn,” I say eventually.
“Marcus, I…” his voice withers with a sigh.
It stings, honestly, but I understand. Why keep something around that’s lost its use?
“I think it’s the best way to spend my time here.”
Sparrow hangs her head, whipping her tail as if sensing my agitation mingling with hers and Bertha’s.
“I know the barn means a great deal to all of us, but even if you could restore it, what would I do with it? That stable has more than enough room for all the horses and plenty of storage.”
“I’ll figure something out, I promise.”
Keeping my hands busy is exactly what I need to survive, but I already know what he’s going to say. That big, bleeding heart is too predictable.
He’ll tell me that the wreck has our family petering on edge with no room for added chaos. That I need to take it easy until the dust settles and to give my father some time to work with the lawyer and judge to ease up on the rehab sentence.
Only, I don’t give him the chance.
“I’m not any happier about this situation than you are, but for all the times I could’ve, I’ve never asked you for anything. Can you just give me this?”
There’s a long, silent pause before he finally agrees. “If repairing the barn is what will help you find peace, then I’m happy to hand it over to you.”
Closing my eyes, I battle an intense wave of homesickness. Not for my true home, but for the home and fatherly guidance he gave me as a child.
Once we hang up, I reassuringly rub Sparrow’s sides. I’m given a soft chuff in response, but she lets me secure the reins over her face without argument.
“Attagirl,” I murmur, sliding my hand up and down her face before checking the saddle one more time. “Nice and easy.”
Sparrow cants sideways as I lead her past Bertha, calming her with soothing murmurs.
Six stalls line each side of the corridor, all filled with my uncle’s most beloved animals. Each one has a unique story, but none are as special as Sparrow’s. Maybe that’s why I have more patience for her than Russell or Penelope do.
She was tied up and left to the elements for days, abandoned by her owner, and I guess I’ve come to learn that kind of heartache. Not in the sense that I was abandoned, but that I know what it’s like to be isolated and hopeless.
When we exit the stable, I give her one last pat before placing my foot in the stirrup and grabbing the saddle horn. I hike my leg over, and once I’m situated, I pat Sparrow’s neck with a relieved laugh. “See? Not so bad, is it?”
She prances while tossing her head about, but I take the reins and urge her forward with a few clicks of my tongue. I guide her toward the front of the house and down the dirt-packed drive which leads us to the barn.
“Whoa, girl.” She halts immediately, and I rub her shoulder before climbing down.
A childish sense of wonderment unfurls from the deepest parts of my soul as I stare at the white-edged double doors. Sparrow plods behind me as I step forward, and with one hand, I unlatch the tarnished lock and force the rolling doors open.
I take a deep inhale of stale hay mingling with dirt.
