Page 26

NASH

The paddock is quiet as the sun leans low against the horizon. The golden light catches flecks of dust that hang suspended like tiny fireflies. I lean against the gate, arms crossed, watching the bay mare pacing in tight, jerky circles.

Maggie was rescued two months ago. She’s thin, skittish, unpredictable, and won’t let anyone near her but me. Even then, only barely. I don’t push. I don’t talk much. Horses don’t care about words; they sense vibrations and intentions.

Animals are better than humans at figuring out who’s good and who’s bad.

I shift my weight slowly, barely making a sound, and step into the ring. Maggie freezes, ears twitching, nostrils flare, eyes widening. I stay still, breathing slowly, letting her decide what happens next.

A familiar weight leans into my thigh; Beau, big dopey fool of a dog, flops at my side and watches with his tongue lolling out. He doesn’t understand patience, but he respects the space, and Maggie, surprisingly, isn’t bothered by him .

Movement in the corner of my eye pulls my attention. Grace stands at the fence, one hand resting lightly on the top rail, her hair catching the last of the sun like it’s been lit from within. Her expression is soft, curious, and open.

I don’t speak. Neither does she. We let the quiet settle between us as natural as breathing.

Finally, I break it. My voice sounds low and rough from disuse. “You come to watch or help?”

“Maybe a little of both.”

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 with people, 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.

I watch her fingers automatically stroke Beau’s silky ears, gentle and rhythmic.

“You listen better than most people do,” I say.

Grace glances up at me, serious now. “That’s the job, Nash. Observe. Blend. Stay detached.”

“You’re terrible at staying detached.”

Her smile flickers. “I know.”

The rabbit lingers in the long grass as the last rays of sunlight disappear, watching like it wants to join us but can’t find enough trust to venture forward.

Brody’s the same: always watching, yearning, but never letting go of his demons enough to take what he wants.

We sit there for a long time, neither of us in any hurry to break whatever this is.

The sky deepens into velvet blue, and stars prick through the darkness one by one. Crickets hum softly. The ranch feels farther away, like we’ve drifted into our own quiet corner of the world.

Grace lies back in the grass, arms folded behind her head, staring up at the sky. I follow her lead, settling beside her.

“Do you like it?” I ask softly. “Your busy life?”

She’s quiet for a while. “I thought I did. The deadlines, the control, the… noise. It made me feel like I was moving forward, like I was accomplishing something. I used to want to write novels, but I could never sit still for long enough…” She turns her head toward me.

“But now I’m not sure I even know where I’m going. ”

Her honesty stuns me a little. Most people hide that part. We stare up together, the stars spreading like scattered diamonds across the velvet night.

“My dad taught me to be still,” I say. “With animals. With people. With myself. You can’t force trust. You wait. You listen. You let life come to you.”

She hums faintly, almost thoughtfully. “I can’t even remember my father’s voice. I was so young when he left… I’ve spent my whole life chasing something I never really knew… and I don’t even know why.”

I shift closer, letting my presence answer the ache in her voice. “You don’t have to chase anything here… everything is ready and waiting for someone to take it.”

Her eyes meet mine, luminous in the starlight. “You’ll find her,” she says softly. “I know you will. I’ll do my best to help you… I’ll write the best-damned article and show the world what good men you all are… what sweet kids… this perfect place.”

I let my fingers do what they’ve wanted to do since she appeared by the paddock and touch her hair. Her lips part, and she exhales a soft breath. “What if we don’t want you to?”

She narrows her eyes. “You’ve changed your minds?”

“No. We still want what we set out for, but we think we’ve already found the perfect woman.”

Her eyes search mine for a moment, confused. Then she stiffens. “No,” she blurts, her head jerking back.

I take her hand, channeling the calm I usually reserve for the animals I love so much. “This place,” I say. “We can make it the home you’ve been looking for. You can slow down here. Leave all that running and searching behind. You can write your book. Find some calm in the world.”

“You don’t want me,” she says, turning away but leaving her hand in place. “Not really. You don’t know how I can be. How skittish. How impetuous. I don’t think before I act. I think I know what I want, but if I did, I would have found it by now.”

The confession hangs between us, fragile and raw, but she doesn’t crack a joke or change the subject. She looks at me with that soft, searching expression, like she’s trying to decide whether I believe her. Whether what she’s saying will make me think twice.

It doesn’t because I see her. Like Maggie, she’s scared to trust. Like Brody, she doesn’t want to risk her heart, but rather than withdrawing for safety, she does the opposite and still fails to get what she needs.

She shifts onto her side, propping her head on her hand, studying me. “You all deserve so much more than I can give.”

I saw my teeth along my lower lip, trying to formulate a compelling argument that could break through her misplaced resolve, but I’ve got nothing, so instead, I lean in slowly, brushing my lips against hers, soft and hesitant, testing the water.

She responds hesitantly, too, like she’s wondering what this will mean, but decides to go ahead anyway.

If she believes we’re better off without her, how can she dance this dance with me? With my brothers. What is she trying to find in us? In herself?

The kiss deepens with an ease that feels like exhaling. No hunger, no fury, just… peace. It’s warm with the connection I’ve been searching for.

Her fingers slide into my hair as I cradle her jaw with my palm. Her breath catches when I run my thumb along her cheekbone, but she presses closer, her body molding to mine in the soft grass.

When we finally break apart, foreheads resting together under the stars, she whispers, “I don’t know what I’m doing, Nash. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to,” I reply. “Not with me.”

She kisses me again, slower this time, tasting the safety I’m offering. This is no seduction. It’s surrender.

The kiss shifts, soft, deepening into something that warms the cold corners inside both of us. I lie back again, pulling her gently with me. She curls into my side, her fingers tracing idle shapes against my chest. The stars wheel above us. The world softens around the edges.

For a long while, neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. Finally, her voice cuts through the quiet. Small. Honest. “I’m scared.”

I stroke her back slowly, steady and sure. “You don’t have to be. We’ve been waiting for a long time. We can wait until you understand there’s nothing to be frightened of.”

Her breath slows, syncing with mine as her muscles become loose and trusting. I feel the exact second her walls lower, piece by piece, until all that’s left is a shared vulnerability under the darkening sky.

I press a kiss into her hair. “You don’t have to know the destination for every journey, Grace.”

She hums faintly against my chest. “Good. Because I don’t.”

I tighten my arm around her. “Enjoy each step… be open to where the adventure can lead.”

“I’m leaving,” she whispers. “I only have a day left.”

“You have some vacation days?”

She twists to look at me, her hand curling tighter in my shirt. “I have a week.”

“So take it. Stay. Rest. Find some peace in your busy life. Write the article, or something different. There’s nothing but space all around. Find some inside you. ”

She doesn’t answer right away, and that’s okay. The weight of her body is soft and grounding against mine.

I’ve never been a man of words, but tonight, I hope the ones I found for Grace are enough.