by Peak, Renna
I make it to the trees about twenty seconds after he does. He’s already halfway to the other side, ducking beneath branches and leaping over roots. Who knew stuffy Nick would be so good at running through the woods? I knew there was an adventurous soul in there somewhere.
By the time I reach the other side of the trees, he’s well across the pasture. Probably a full half a minute ahead of me now. And I’m forced to pause for a moment, to catch my breath before sprinting after him.
He better not rub this in when we reach the house. If he does, I’ll have to make him squirm again.
I dart after him. The ground here is more slippery—the rain has now had plenty of time to soak the dirt and create mud. My new boots provide pretty good traction, though. And I refuse to slow down. If Nick is going to beat me, I still want to make this race as close as possible.
Suddenly, I realize I no longer see Nick ahead of me. Did he really pull ahead that much? How?
I’m scanning the horizon so intently that I nearly don’t see him until I’m literally on top of him. He’s sitting on the ground, a grimace on his face.
I immediately crouch down beside him. “What happened?”
He’s got his left ankle in his hands. “A bloody gopher hole! What bloody gopher thinks he has the right to dig a hole in my bloody pasture? Bloody stinking animal!”
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. But my humor dries up when Nick moves his foot a bit and winces in pain.
“Do you think you sprained it?” I ask him, holding a hand against my forehead to keep the rain from my eyes. “It’s not broken, is it?”
“It better not be. Bloody gopher.” With a sound halfway between a grunt and groan, he hauls himself up, and I grab his arm, trying to help him.
When he’s upright again, he tries to put weight on his left foot, then winces again. A sprain at the very least.
“Come on,” I say, ducking around him and looping his left arm over my shoulders. “Lean on me. We’ll get you back and then ice that thing up real good.”
“I don’t need your assistance,” he protests, but try as he might not to lean on me, it’s clear he needs help. “I’ll walk it off.”
“You’ll walk it off faster if you don’t re-injure yourself being stubborn,” I tell him. “Or if you prefer, I can just leave you out here.”
He grumbles something else, but I can’t hear it over the rain.
Together, we stumble our way across the pasture, then the next one. The rain doesn’t let up at all, but at least the thunder and lightning seem to have moved off to somewhere else. Nick keeps trying to put more weight on his left foot, then half-falling on me when it can’t support him.
“Stop trying to be stubborn, you oaf,” I tell him. “Just let me help.” Now would be a good time for Prince to magically appear out of the rain and carry us to safety and warmth, but the horse is long gone. I hope Nick is right about him returning to the stable—I’d hate for anything to happen to that beautiful creature.
It probably takes another fifteen minutes of limping and stumbling before the house comes into view. Thank God. The rain stopped being fun a while ago. When my boots finally hit the porch, I want to shout with joy. We made it.
Nick looks just as relieved. We stumble inside together, and I lead him into the living room and help him down onto the couch.
“We need to elevate your foot,” I tell him. “And ice it. But first, let’s get those boots off.” We’ve already tracked mud across the floor. We probably should have removed our shoes outside, but it’s too late for that now.
I reach for his boot, but he stops me.
“It’s just a twisted ankle,” he says. “I can take off my own bloody boots.”
I prop my hands on my hips. “You’re really bad at accepting help, you know that? Even when you obviously need it.” I’m going to help him whether he wants me to or not. The man could stand to have a few lessons in humility.
My eyes shift from his boots to the rest of him, and I curse.
“What?” he asks, actually looking a bit startled by my language. “What’s wrong?”
“Your clothes. You’re soaked. And you’re ruining your brand new leather sofa. We have to get these clothes off you as soon as possible.”
And while he’s still looking a little stunned, I grab his shirt and begin to pull it off over his head, determined to do just that.
Nicholas
She manages to pull my shirt over my head before I come to my senses. I grab her by the wrist as she begins to unbuckle my pants. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I think I’m saving your couch—”
“It’s just a bloody piece of furniture.” My voice is rough. It would be so easy to pull her on top of me, to remove her clothes just as she’s removed mine. To kiss her, to taste her…
Perhaps she has a similar thought. Her wrist is still in my grasp as she tilts her head toward mine. I’m not sure what I could be thinking, but I sit up slightly, narrowing the distance between us.
Just as our lips are about to meet, she pulls away, twisting her arm from me.
Clara gulps, blinking a few times before she lets out a shaky breath. “I…I’ll get you some dry clothes. In your room, right?”
I say nothing—she’s already turned away and gone up the stairs before I can answer.
It’s just as well, I think. Kissing this woman would lead to nothing good. She’s an employee. I need to remember that.
My ankle begins to throb again. I doubt that I’ve broken it—the thing is already beginning to swell. It’s likely only a sprain, and hopefully a minor one at that. Nothing a little ice won’t fix.
Clara returns a few minutes later with fresh clothing in her arms. It appears she’s also changed her clothes.
Pity, I can’t help but think. I was quite enjoying the view.
I shake my head. I can’t quite believe I’m thinking this way at all. It isn’t that Clara isn’t attractive—she’s quite beautiful. It also isn’t so much that she’s under my employ or how I would be inappropriately taking advantage of her if I allowed anything to happen.
No, it’s much more than that. I’ve promised myself that I won’t allow my feelings to cloud my judgment ever again. Not that I have feelings for Clara—I’m sure it’s merely lust. But even that… I cannot allow myself to go there again.
She stands before me, unusually silent.
“Are those for me?” I nod toward the pile of laundry in her arms.
“I…yes. Your ankle is really bad.” She frowns at my foot. “We should probably get you to a doctor—”
“Nonsense. I’ll change my clothes while you fetch some ice. I’ll be fine, trust me.”
“I…” She cocks her head, giving me a look I can’t quite read. “Okay.”
She tosses the clothes at me before she turns and marches toward the kitchen.
I pull on a dry shirt before I gingerly attempt to take off my wet jeans. The swelling in my ankle has increased, but probably only because she pulled my boot off. That boot was giving my leg some amount of protection and limiting the swelling. And now that it’s gone…
I wince as I maneuver the pants over my ankle. I don’t even bother with changing into dry underwear. There’s no way I’m going to be able to put on another pair of jeans over my foot anyway.
Clara returns after a few moments, lifting a brow as she looks me up and down. “I can help you get your pants on if you want.”
“I want nothing of the sort.” I arrange myself on the sofa so I can elevate my leg on one of the pillows. “If you could place the ice…”
She seems to read my thoughts, arranging the bag of ice around the swollen area. When she’s done, she stands with her back to me. “I…I’ll get you a blanket.”
“I don’t need…” I glance down at myself, and I feel my face begin to burn as I realize I’ve exposed myself to her—the wet underwear has gone askew revealing a bit too much of my midsection. I quickly reach to cover mys
elf. “That…would be good.”
She nods before she races up the stairs, returning a moment later with a blanket and pillow from my bed. Her gaze is still averted as she hands me the items.
“Thank you. And I apologize. I certainly didn’t mean for you—”
“I know.” Her cheeks are rosy, and she bites her lip, almost as though she’s trying not to smile.
“It was inadvertent.” I arrange the blanket over myself. “If you were offended—”
“I wasn’t.” She finally turns to me, her lips curling into a grin. “Not at all.”
“I…” My face begins to burn again. What is it with this woman? She’s clearly unattainable, and yet, I find myself attracted to her all the same.
She stares at me, grinning for a long moment. “How about I make us some cocoa?”
I give her a stern nod, and she makes her way to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two steaming mugs.
“If we get the right ingredients next time we go the store, I’ll make my grandma’s recipe. I mean, the instant stuff isn’t bad…”
“That would be lovely.” I check to make sure my blanket is covering my midsection before motioning for her to sit in the armchair next to the sofa.
She drops onto the seat after handing me my mug. “So, we really should have a doctor check that ankle. You probably need an x-ray.”
“Nonsense. I’ve seen a great many ankle injuries in my time. This is nothing more than a sprain. If it were broken, it wouldn’t be so swollen so soon after the injury.”
Her eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean ‘you’ve seen a lot of ankle injuries’?”
“I served as a medic during my time in the military.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve said too much.
“Your time in the…military. Really.” She lifts a brow. “What branch?”
“It’s of no matter. But I do know of what I speak.”
“I’ve known a lot of military guys. Okay, maybe not a lot. But a few. And none of them talk like you, Nick.” She shakes her head. “Something weird is going on. Maybe you hit your head when you fell or something.”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
“Hm.” She takes a sip of her cocoa. “Well, I know we said we didn’t have to share secrets and everything, but I really wish you’d tell me if there’s something I need to know about you.”
Clara
It was worth a shot, but I’m not surprised when he shakes his head.
“I thought we had a deal,” he says. “Are you so eager to break it already? That says little for your character.”
“You were the one who brought up the military,” I point out. “I was just showing interest.”
He doesn’t look particularly impressed by that excuse, so I go on.
“Besides,” I say casually, holding my mug up to my mouth, “since you exposed yourself to me, it’s only natural for me to assume you want to take our friendship to a more intimate level.”
He instantly goes five different shades of red again, and I hide my smile behind my mug. That’s what he gets for questioning my character.
He recovers pretty quickly, though.
“That was an accident, as I’ve already explained,” he says. “I’d ask that you refrain from bringing it up again. I’m not interested in anything but a professional relationship between us.”
Funny, I’d have sworn he was about to kiss me before I went to get him a change of clothes. But that’s not half as alarming as the fact, for a moment when his face was only inches from mine, I’d wanted him to kiss me, too.
You’re an idiot, I tell myself. It’s all just because of that stupid dream you had last night. A dream that still lives vividly in my mind, however hard I try to forget it. But I need to do something. This new job already has enough challenges without any awkwardness between me and my boss.
Even if my boss has such intense eyes…
Abruptly, I stand.
“I’m going to go out to the barn and make sure Prince made it back,” I tell him. I probably should have done it before I changed into dry clothes, but oh well.
Nick sits up. “Are you mad? It’s still storming out there. The horse will be fine.”
“We don’t know that,” I tell him. “I’ll be quick, I promise. The barn isn’t that far.”
He frowns, and for a moment I’m pretty sure he’s considering pulling himself to his feet and limping after me.
“Keep elevating that foot,” I tell him. “If that swelling doesn’t go down, I’m taking you to a doctor.” I don’t care what he says about his military experience, wherever the heck that was. Definitely not in this country.
He doesn’t say a word as I head to the door and pull it open. It’s still pouring rain, but as I linger on the covered porch, I don’t see any lightning or hear any thunder. The sky is dark gray in every direction—this storm will rage on for a while. Now’s as good a time as any to make a run for the barn.
I sprint across the yard to the stables. This was only partially an excuse to get away from Nick for a few moments to gather my thoughts. I really am worried about Prince—and judging by how little of a fight Nick put up, he is, too.
When I make it to the barn and duck inside, I’m relieved to see Prince is here, trotting nervously up and down in front of the stalls. Pom is also nervous—she jerks her head and kicks at something in her stall.
“It’s okay,” I tell them in a calm voice as I close the barn door behind me. “It’s just a storm. It’ll pass.”
I walk over to Prince’s stall and pull the door open. “Come on, boy. You’ll feel safer in here.”
I’m not sure why I expect him to obey me like a dog, but I’m surprised when he doesn’t. It looks like I’m going to have to grab his reins and lead him in. Then get that saddle off while I’m at it.
“Easy, Prince,” I say, walking slowly toward him. He stops when he sees me, but he still throws his head in agitation, and I can see the whites around his eyes. He looks like he wants to bolt.
“Easy,” I repeat, my hands outstretched in what I hope is a placating gesture. “Easy, Prince. You’re safe now.”
His ears flick forward, then back. He tosses his head again, feet shifting on the packed dirt floor.
Maybe I should go and find a treat or something—a carrot or an apple or even a handful of sugar cubes. Something to bait him back into his stall. But I’m not sure if Nick has any of those things, and returning back to the house means letting Nick continue to think I have no idea what I’m doing.
So I continue moving slowly toward Prince, talking to him in a soothing voice.
“That’s it,” I tell him as his ears flick forward again. “I know we’re new friends, but you know me, Prince. You know I won’t hurt you. I just want to get you back into your stall where you’ll be safe. Will you let me do that?”
He’s stopped tossing his head quite as much, but he still eyes me warily. I’m about ten feet away now.
“It’s all right,” I say, taking another couple of steps. “It’s all right, Prince. You want me to get that saddle off you, don’t you?”
Only five feet between us now, and he’s stopped shifting nervously on his feet.
I’m doing this. I’m actually doing this. Confidence growing, I close the remaining distance between us while I make soft, cooing sounds.
I almost can’t believe it when he lets me reach up and take his reins. Gently, I run my hand across the side of his face.
“You’re so brave, Prince,” I tell him. “Now let’s get you back into your stall.”
Before we can move a step, though, thunder crashes overhead.
Instantly, all of Prince’s calmness is gone. He jerks his head, pulling the reins right out of my hands, and rears up on his hind legs. I try to jump back, but I’m not fast enough—his hoof clips me right in the ribs, and I fall onto my ass. Pain shoots through me, but I push it aside as I desperately roll out of the way. Prince’s hooves come back
down—only a foot from where I was sitting a moment ago—and he runs.
Fortunately, he doesn’t get far. The barn door is closed now, so he has nowhere to go. With a distressed whinny he turns and runs down the barn in the other direction, rushing past me as I stumble to my feet. I’m not sure what to do. He’s more likely to trample me than he is to listen to me now. I stumble down the barn to the tack room, ducking inside. My ribs throb.
I glance around the tack room for anything that might help me. And then I spot it—a bag of carrots sitting on the bench beneath the hanging bridles.
I should have just looked for these in the first place, I think, cursing at myself. I grab the bag and step back outside.
Prince has stopped running again, but only because he seems to have realized he’s trapped. He’s still highly agitated.
“Look what I have, Prince,” I say, holding up a carrot. “Don’t you want one of these?”
I make my way carefully to his stall, waving the carrot in front of me, trying to tempt him closer. It takes almost ten minutes, maybe longer—time is very slow when you’re afraid—but he finally calms enough to notice what I’m holding. Slowly, he moves toward me.
My heart is thumping as he follows the carrot into his stall. I’m petrified that lightning will strike again, or that something else will set him off, but luck seems to be on my side. When he’s safely in his stall, I slide the door shut behind him, trapping me inside. This is even more terrifying—if he spooks again, he’ll trample me before he even realizes it—but I try to slow my breathing. My heart is in my throat, I can’t swallow, but I have a job to do.
I let him eat the carrot out of my hand, then give him a second to distract him while I move to his saddle. Nick was the one who put the saddle and bridle on this morning, so it takes me a few minutes to figure out how to take them off again. And the saddle is much heavier than I expected it to be. I nearly trip over myself carrying it to the stall door.