“I brought you some food.” Unsurprisingly, the object of my ruminating showed up slightly past the usual dinner hour with an insulated bag full of plastic containers and a thermos of coffee.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” My stomach proved me a liar as it let out a loud rumble at the scent of Casey’s cooking.

  “I know.” Adler’s usual cheery grin didn’t reach his concerned eyes. He used a nearby ledge to dish up a generous helping of casserole. “Where’s Kat? I brought enough food for her as well.”

  “Getting Jude. We called for him a while ago, but his truck wouldn’t start.” Not entirely unexpected, given the plummeting temperatures and the age of Jude’s well-loved work truck, but a hiccup nonetheless. Frustration edged my voice. “Kat volunteered to go fetch him while I watch Mama Fern here.”

  “Winter seems like the worst time for foaling.” Adler watched Fern paw at the straw in her stall. The horse was in obvious discomfort, with a sweaty coat despite the cool air in the horse barn.

  “It’s not ideal. We often aim for March to June, but this maiden went into season ahead of schedule.” At five, Fern was right at the age where we typically bred first-time mares, and despite careful management of all the horses’ fertility, sometimes surprises showed up. “She’s got impeccable bloodlines and eager buyers for any foals, so the decision was made to go ahead with the breeding. Pregnancy has been pretty textbook for a first-time mama, but we were all figuring she had another couple of weeks.”

  “Oh no. Is it too early for the foal?” Adler made a distressed noise that made me put down my fork. “There’s no NICU for horse preemies.”

  “Predicting gestation is never exact.” I gave Adler a fast pat on the shoulder, giving myself the temporary boost from the contact. Only us here, and it had been a long day in a long week. Like Adler had insinuated earlier, perhaps we were due some play. Continuing to fool around with so much unsaid between us was foolhardy, but Adler continued to steal all my common sense. “Fern will likely be okay, but that’s part of why I want Jude here, in case the mama or baby needs extra attention.”

  “Her restlessness means she’s in labor?” Adler watched the horse as I finished my supper. Fern paced in a tight circle, at times looking like she might be considering lying down, while in other moments, looking almost colicky with wide eyes and flared nostrils.

  “That and other signs of contractions.” Kat had noticed Fern’s broodish ways a few days ago, but we’d both hoped she’d hold off until the other side of this weather. “Fern has been working at this for most of the day. Always worrisome when labor goes long.”

  “You’re worried about a breech?” Adler asked, clearly remembering some of the stories I’d shared as cautionary tales of ranch life.

  “A malposition of some kind or another complication, yeah.” My intuition was seldom wrong, and my neck had prickled as soon as Kat said Fern seemed to be in labor. I’d held off on summoning Jude, but my feeling of unease had only grown over the course of the day.

  “I hope she does okay.” Adler gave the horse and me sympathetic looks. No surprise that the softest heart I knew was moved by Fern’s predicament. “I also stopped by and saw to the dogs before bringing you the food.”

  “Thanks. Gonna be a long night.” I exhaled hard before gesturing toward the barn doors. No sense in Adler being exhausted as well. “You don’t need to stick around if you’re bored. Likely a lot more waiting before anything happens.”

  “I don’t mind keeping you company.” Adler leaned against the stall door, shoulders brushing mine. “And I’ve never seen anything born. My younger siblings were all delivered at the hospital and presented to us a few days later, red-faced little bundles of trouble.”

  I chuckled at his description. “I was ten or eleven for the first horse I saw foal. My dad woke me up to come see because I’d been asking after this one horse, Molly. Pretty paint mare. Mom bundled me up, pajamas and all, with a thermos of hot chocolate.” My voice turned thick, and I had to swallow hard. “Good memory.”

  “Do you ever talk to your mom?” Adler wasn’t one to miss the emotion underlying my story.

  “Rarely. She made her choices.” I pursed my lips, looking away from Adler in favor of studying Fern. My mother was the sorest of subjects, but as usual, Adler didn’t shy away from dangerous topics. “She wasn’t happy when I made my choice to stay with Dad rather than follow her back to Chicago. She texted during the holidays a few weeks ago. I texted back, but that’s about it.”

  “I bet she misses you,” Adler said softly. He might be whispering, but there was no mistaking the longing in his voice. Not for the first time, I wanted five minutes alone with his family. Adler deserved to be missed. Lord knew I’d likely spend the rest of my own life pining for him.

  “You always gotta go looking for the good that may not be there in folks.” I made my voice stern, not that it would save him from heartache.

  “Optimism is a hard habit to break.” Adler offered me a crooked grin. “And I know all about hollow texting.”

  I grunted, thinking about more ways to knock sense into his siblings. Fern made a distressed whinny, and I slipped into the stall for a closer look.

  “Easy there, mama.” I placed a cautious hand on her heaving flank. There was a fine line between startling and reassuring, especially with a first-time horse mom. Speaking in a low voice, I gestured back at the ledge where I’d left my dinner containers. “Can you check my phone for an ETA from Kat? Think Fern’s water’s about to break.”

  “That means delivery is close?”

  “Ideally.” My voice was terse. Fern pawed again at the straw like she was considering whether lying down was in her best interests. “Once her water breaks, we’ve only got a fifteen- to thirty-minute window for delivery.”

  “Oh.” Adler made a concerned noise as he looked down at my phone. “No message. What can I do to help you while we wait?”

  “I grabbed gloves earlier in case she needs help.” I pointed to the corner of the stall where I’d stashed supplies. “Most of the time, the mares do all the work, and we stay hands-off, but I try to stay ready.”

  Adler handed me the thick black rubber gloves, which covered part of my sleeves, that we used for deliveries right as Fern’s water indeed did break. I quickly slipped on the gloves and moved to examine the horse more closely.

  “Yup. Here we go,” I said to Adler, who hung back near the stall door. “Keep an eye on the clock for me.”

  The request was more to occupy him as I had a damn good sense of horse time, but Adler nodded like I’d handed out a military order.

  “I’m on it. And I also texted Kat that Fern’s water just broke.”

  “Good.” I kept all my attention on Fern, offering quiet reassurance as she finally went to lie in the straw. “Easy does it, Mama.” Her membranes were pinker than I liked, not the red of a true emergency, but not white either. We needed a fast delivery, but Fern’s contractions seemed to be slowing. The front legs of the foal started to emerge, a good sign, but then they retreated. Dystocia. I’d seen this before. “Hell. I’m gonna have to help. Sticky shoulders.”

  Moving quickly, I tuned out Adler’s gasp and every other detail other than doing what needed to be done to ease the foal’s head and shoulders out. I’d been right about malpresentation, but one more contraction and the rest of the foal’s body emerged. Too much of the birth sac was over the foal’s head, so I worked to clear the airway. Horses were nose-breathers, and a clogged nose could be deadly.

  “Okay, baby’s out. Hand me that tube. Got a fair bit of mucus here.” I summoned Adler to hand me the suction device we kept in the birth kit for events like this when the vet couldn’t make it. I gently extended the foal’s neck to aid respiration as I cleared the mucus from its nose. She was the prettiest of fillies, a delicate chestnut shade, and while I could feel her heartbeat under my palm, her pulse wasn’t as strong as it could be. “Come on, girl. Give us some good breaths.”

  “Come on, girl,” Adler echoed me. I was about to summon the mask and pump for ventilation when the filly gave a mighty cough. Then another.

  “Yes!” Adler and I exclaimed in unison. Putting my hands on my knees, I struggled to catch my own breath as relief washed over me.

  “Oh, that’s a good sign, right?” Adler asked softly as beside me the filly stirred, testing her legs, first knees, then up on two, then all four.

  “Yup.” I moved so Fern could examine her baby, nosing her in clear pride at the foal’s shaky attempt at standing. “That’s a better one.”

  “Look at that.” The wonder in Adler’s voice had me turning toward him, not the horses. I’d seen hundreds of horse births, but only one Adler, eyes wide, cheeks pink, hands spread wide like receiving a blessing.

  “Indeed.” I was so riveted by Adler that I almost missed the arrival of Jude and Kat, who brought a bitterly cold gust in with them.

  “We made…” Kat trailed off as she took a look inside the stall. “Oh. Baby’s here.”

  “Placenta?” Jude asked as he set down his veterinary kit and gloved up.

  “Not yet,” I reported as the filly made a first attempt at nursing, another great sign.

  “That long of a labor, I’d like to stick around until the placenta is out.” Jude made a quick examination of both horses. I snuck away to clean up, changing into a shirt I kept in the barn office for emergencies like this. The four of us stood around, watching as the foal nursed, and eventually, the placenta was delivered without much fuss.

  “That’s really something.” Adler continued to marvel at the foal, who was less wobbly by the minute. “A miracle.”

  “It is.” Jude nodded as he took care of the placenta and helped me with the cleanup effort. “Never gets old.”

  “The filly needs a name.” Adler’s eyes sparkled, and I groaned.

  “No obscure TV show names, please.”

  “Oh, come on. Lorelei and Rory were inspired choices.” Kat chuckled. “Go on, Adler, come up with a name. Gray and I have had dozens of chances. Time for some fresh ideas.”

  “Wow.” Adler bit his lower lip, thinking for several moments. “She certainly made a dramatic entrance. But look at her now, strutting around like she won the Daily Double. That’s it. Winnie.”

  “Perfect. Gray won’t argue with a well-placed Jeopardy reference.” Kat laughed again.

  Next to her, I stiffened, not wanting to let on exactly how much of the show Adler and I had watched together and how much I loved that time we spent together. I gave a tight nod. “Yep. That’ll do.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on Mama Fern and Winnie here if you want to run Jude back to town,” Kat offered to me. “And then you sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

  “Eh. They’re all long.” I shrugged, and my shoulder brushed Adler’s. I hadn’t realized he was standing so close. The smart thing would be to leave him to Kat, walk right on by. But I was feeling more than a little dumb. “You gonna stay and watch, or you wanna keep me awake for the drive back?”

  “I’ll keep you company.” Adler’s gaze caught mine. Kat had advised sleep, but slumber wasn’t anywhere near the top of my list of wants.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Adler

  Snow fell softly as Grayson drove Jude home. Jude lived outside of the town limits of Lovelorn, close to the county school the girls attended. I rode in the back seat, letting the two of them chat, while I browsed pictures of Winnie I’d taken on my phone. I’d always loved horses—wooden, plastic, toy, pony rides, and the real deal. But after watching Winnie’s birth, my passion for horses reached a deeper, more spiritual, almost mystical level. I’d spent years feeling like I was in the wrong place—wrong state, wrong family, wrong friend group. However, in that moment, I’d finally felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  “Damn.” Grayson took a turn onto a different country road with more caution than usual. “Roads are getting icy.”

  “You’re both welcome to crash at my place.” Jude made the offer offhandedly, like he knew full well Grayson wouldn’t take him up on the suggestion.

  “Nah. Gotta get back.” Predictably, Grayson was quick with the reply, even as his speed slowed further in deference to the falling snow and icy roads. “Chores don’t take snow days.”

  “Amen to that.” Jude gave a knowing laugh as we arrived at a small house with a truck under a carport and a large barn behind. “I won’t ask you in because the roads will only get worse. Drive safely going back.” He turned toward me as I exited the truck to take his place in the passenger seat. “Keep him awake.”

  “Will do.” I didn’t dislike Jude, even if I did envy his easy closeness with Grayson, the way they could talk in shorthand about animals or town happenings.

  “I’m fine to drive,” Grayson assured me as I buckled up. “Not that tired, honestly. More wired.”

  “Me too.” I offered a grin as I warmed my hands by the truck heater. “Watching the foaling was so exciting.”

  “It’s a rush for sure.” To my shock, Grayson smiled back before turning his attention to the road, going well under the speed limit. “Every damn time I hold my breath till the foal stands up.”

  “Was rodeo like that as well?” I was asking to make conversation, but also because I wanted to get to know Gray better. I couldn’t make up for all the years of familiarity he shared with Jude, but I wanted to know all I could about the man who fascinated me endlessly. “An adrenaline rush every event?”

  “Yep.” He kept his eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel, taking it slower as snow whipped over the windshield and swirled on the road. “Never got old. Each time in the chute was like a riot of horseflies in my gut, nerves threatening to bring up whatever lunch I’d choked down. But then I’d do it, and I’d immediately start thinking about the next ride.”

  “I’m so sorry you lost that world.” Sympathy made my voice softer. He was a damn good foreman, but I wouldn’t have minded knowing his younger, wilder side. I could imagine he’d been a sight to see on a bronco. I also knew a bit of what it meant to have to figure out how to live with fewer thrills. “Being high felt like that too. Anticipation. Rush. And then the fall afterward. I’m not sorry to leave that rollercoaster behind, but I get losing out on an adrenaline fix.”

  “Eh. Like drinking and partying, rodeo probably wasn’t the healthiest.” His harsh exhale revealed far more regret than his measured words. “And other things can provide a high.”

  “True. Newborn horses.” I ticked items off an imaginary list. “Skinny dipping. Knowing the answer to Final Jeopardy. Letting a horse gallop on a cold morning. Fresh-baked cookies. Sex.”

  “That’s quite a list.” Grayson chuckled as I’d hoped when I threw sex on the end of my examples.

  “Anything you want to add?” I teased, tone turning more seductive. “You gonna let me come in when we make it back?”

  “Suppose the dogs will be happy to see you.” He kept his voice mild, but my back tightened.

  “And you?”

  Hands still on the wheel, gaze straight ahead, he shrugged. “Reckon all this adrenaline of ours needs somewhere to go.”

  “Is that all this is? Convenient?”

  “Adler.” He made a frustrated noise. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear.”

  “I’m not asking for any grand speeches,” I lied. I’d love any speech he cared to make, wanted him to claim me, even privately, own this thing between us. “Just tell me that you want me specifically, not sex in general.”

  “I asked you to ride along. Had a powerful craving for you as soon as you started teasin’ me after the meeting. Only got worse when I watched you look at that filly like you were seeing the dawning of the universe. And that’s adding to the want that plagues me all damn day, every day. Yeah, it’s you, specifically.” He didn’t sound thrilled about that fact, but I got the speech I’d been craving.

  “Is that such a bad thing?” I asked as he pulled into the ranch, taking the looping drive toward his trailer. “Maybe fighting this is why you’re cranky all the time.”

  “Enough analysis.” He parked close to his front steps. “Inside with you.”

  I would have protested the change in subject, but as soon as I exited the truck, my legs wobbled worse than Winnie’s first steps. The snow had a heavy crust of ice and only Gray’s steady hand at my elbow kept me from falling.

  “Careful.” His gaze met mine, porch light illuminating his craggy features. I’d seen him naked, had him inside me, knew what he looked like when he came, but something new passed between us. His eyes held a warning that went beyond slippery ice, but the moment was more than merely caution. Rather, his gaze also reflected the longing I felt so deeply, want and fear mingling. No matter how much he protested, he felt, and felt deeply.

  “What if I don’t want to be careful?” I asked softly as he guided me up the steps.

  His only answer was to kiss me like I was holding the only heater for miles, like I alone had the power to warm him up, like I was the answer to every question he’d ever had. This, this was the real rush, heady and swift, more potent than any other high.

  We stumbled into the trailer, dogs greeting us like we’d been gone for years, and still we kissed. We broke apart long enough to check the food and water dishes and let them out into the snow for a quick pee break before falling into more kisses on the way to Grayson’s bedroom. The dogs followed us as far as the living room before flopping on their bed with its pile of toys and toy carcasses.

  Alone at last, we undressed each other with fingers stiff from the cold. I trembled from both a chill and anticipation as air met the patches of my skin he revealed. This was hardly our first time, yet the energy between us felt new, charged. I felt downright virginal as I unbuttoned his work shirt, giddy over the rasp of his chest hair against my fingertips.