“No,” he murmurs, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, “I don’t deserve someone as beautiful and wild as you.”
carter
. . .
Fuck it’s hot out here.
The hot Tennessee sun hangs high, no clouds to smother the slicing glare. Heat sticks to my skin, soaking through my shirt, turning the sweat into a second fucking layer. I drag another post into place, dirt grinding in my palms, but my head’s not in it today.
It’s quiet, too fucking quiet.
The snarky, spicy, loud-mouthed woman who’s been living under my roof, haunting every corner of my house with her matcha lattes, convincing me it’s healthy for you, and her whirlwind of chaos, is at work.
Fuck, I miss her.
She took my truck this morning, flashing me that mischievous little grin, the one that wrecks me every time, before peeling out of the driveway like she’s been raised on dirt roads her whole damn life. I always give her shit about stealing my truck, but hell, I’d hand over the keys every day if it meant seeing that wild, happy smile.
I lean against the wooden gate, taking a minute to breathe. My eyes scan the pasture, catching sight of one ofthe heifers pacing back and forth. Her belly’s low, swinging heavy underneath her. She’s been ready to calve for days now.
Shoving off the fence, I jog to the barn, grabbing gloves, iodine, and a few clean towels. By the time I get back, the heifer is groaning, her sides heaving with every contraction. I crouch beside her, rubbing her side like it’ll somehow make this easier for her.
An hour drags by before I see hooves, then the slick body of a calf hits the ground. I move quickly, wiping down its nose, clearing its lungs, drying it off as best I can.
Stubborn little bastard, just like his mama. I’m brushing the heifer’s side, checking her over one last time, when my phone starts buzzing in my back pocket.
Thinking it’s Catalina, my heart jumps. I fumble to grab it, flipping it over—fuck.
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the answer button, my gut twisting. Part of me wants to toss the phone into the dirt and walk away. He’s barely checked in on her.
God, fuck it.
I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. “Yeah.”
“Carter,” he says, like we’re catching up, like he didn’t ship his daughter off without warning or explanation. “Just checking in. How’s she doing?”
I blink at the pasture ahead of me, watching the wobbly calf nurse from his mama. “She’s fine.”
He hums. “Fine, like she’s adjusting? Or fine, like she’s acting out again?” He asks, continues talking, not giving me a word in. “Has she been spending the money she’s been earning at that shit bar? Has she asked to come home yet? Is she on her phone too much? Is she crying? Sleeping in? She’s got a habit of avoiding shit she doesn’t like. Are you making her do chores?”
I rub a hand across the back of my neck, anger bubbling in my throat at the mention of him calling my brothers bar shit. “She’s doing the best she can.”
“That’s not what I fucking asked.”
I pace across the dirt, heat rising in my chest. “You think you can measure her progress like some checklist? She’s here and she’s trying.”
“Trying doesn’t cut it, Carter,” Vartan says. “She’s had everything handed to her her whole life. You give her too much slack and she’ll go back to old habits. Her time is running out there, and I don’t want that disappointment coming back here if she isn’t fixed.”
My grip tightens around the phone. I picture her sweet face—how some nights she cries herself to sleep, isolating herself, letting the ugly parts consume her, and it kills me every time.
I scoff, the fucking nerve. “You have no idea what she’s fucking carrying,” I grit out.
He chuckles. “I’ve known her for twenty-four long years, Hayes. You’ve known her for five minutes.”
“Yeah, and it only took five minutes to see she’s been fucking hurt.”
There’s a pause.
“Please, enlighten me,” Vartan says.
