I nod once and gesture for her to come forward. The mare’s watching now, ears flicking nervously. “Just move slow. Let her know you’re not here to take anything from her.”
Grace steps softly toward me on the packed dirt, Beau padding behind her like a shadow. For a second, I swear even Maggie’s shoulders relax.
It’s the first time I feel that Grace might belong here more than she knows. The first time that I think of her as more than a journalist, here to sum up our lives in a few hundred words.
Grace pauses a few feet from me, focused on Maggie with a quiet fascination. She moves like she knows that even her breath could spook the moment. I like that. I like her caution and her sensitivity.
“Talk to her?” she whispers.
I shake my head slowly.
“Not yet. Let her come to you.”
The mare paws at the dirt, snorts once, then edges cautiously and curiously toward us. Grace’s breath hitches, and my hand hovers low at my side, offering. Maggie stops, ears forward, curious now.
Grace watches, tense and wide-eyed. “She’s beautiful,” she murmurs.
“Terrified, too,” I answer. “That’s the thing about animals. They want a connection. They don’t always know if it’s safe.”
Her gaze drifts to me, expression thoughtful. “Same withpeople, huh?”
I give her a half-smile, twitching the corners of my mouth. “Some people.”
I think about Brody at the vote. How closed off he is. How my little brother is still carrying around the grief for our parents like a forcefield against love and pain.
The wind stirs the grass, carrying the sounds of distant cattle and the faint clatter of boots from the barn and the yard. I nod toward the pasture behind the paddock. “Come on. Let me show you something.”
She falls into step beside me easily. We pass the barn, Beau trotting next to us, tail wagging. “Stay, Beau,” I tell him firmly. He whines but listens, settling down in the hay for a rest. As we continue, I watch Grace from the corner of my eye. The sun throws long shadows across the dirt, catching her thoughtful expression in light and shadow. I wonder if she’s like the animals I can connect with so easily, whether she’ll open up to me if I’m quiet and calm enough. She’s supposed to be writing about us, but she has a story, too.
We reach a small clearing where the grass grows tall, and the wild rabbits sometimes come out to feed at dusk. I crouch low, motioning for her to do the same. Sure enough, one tiny rabbit is nibbling at the edge of the tall grass, its ears twitching nervously.
Grace lowers herself to the ground beside me, her knee brushing mine. “What now?”
“We watch.”
And she does it patiently. I study her instead of the rabbit. The soft concentration in her expression. The way the breeze lifts the fine strands of hair at her temple and makes them dance. I don’t know if she realizes how rare that is to know when to leave the silence be.
The rabbit edges close enough to sniff her outstretched fingers. Grace’s eyes go wide, lips parting a little like she can’t believe it’s happening. She stays perfectly still, barely breathing.
“See?” I murmur. “You’ve got a way with them.”
“A way?” she whispers.
“Yeah. You know how to slow down to make them feel safe.”
Her head turns toward me, eyes shining softly in the fading light. “I’ve never been good at that.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
A soft chuckle escapes her. “No. I run hard. I work hard. I push and pull and chase the next thing until I’m too tired to remember why I started. It’s the only pace I know.”
I study her profile, the slope of her nose, the gentle set of her mouth. There’s something fragile under all her sharp edges, something she tries to outrun.
“You’ve settled into this place better than I expected,” I murmur.
Her shoulders rise and fall. “It surprised me, too.”
Maggie nickers softly from across the fence line, and the rabbit darts away. Beau comes padding back, tongue lolling, before flopping onto the grass beside Grace and resting his big head on her lap.
