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That gives me enough warning about who's coming up behind me even before she gets there. That, and the sound of a limp.
"Heya!"
Her chipper voice is a surprise, considering she's spent the day shoveling shit and getting attacked by a feral horse. Yet somehow, she still looks and smells like sunshine, her face glowing with energy and life in a way I simply cannot understand.
Why the fuck does she look so damned happy? Why is she beaming with vitality and affection, making it impossible to ignore her—making me ache to possess her?
"How was today?" I ask her.
"Great! I cleaned all the stalls in the main stable, and I still had a little time, so I thought I'd try the small stable too. That plan didn't go so well."
"Yeah, I've heard. Your leg okay?" I nod toward the thigh she's clearly favoring as she walks. She smiles.
"I won't lie. It hurts. But I've experienced worse." It certainly looks stiff and sore the way she's walking. "You might need to replace the door for one of the horse stalls. It's the horse called 'Buggy,' I believe?"
I nod. Buggy's the only horse in the blue stable—and for good reason. We don't ride him, most people can't even get close to him. He attacks other horses if given half a chance. He's technically a thoroughbred stud, worth a small fortune. Real name: Prince Caspian the Third. But one of the hands nicknamed him Buggy, because, in his words, "That damned animal has got one heck of a big bug up its ass." The name stuck. We should've sold him years ago.
"He kicked the door down, then he kicked me, then he ran off. Lennon rescued me —saved me from a trampling. Luckily the doctor says it's only a bruise, no broken bones, and he wants me to rest for a couple of days. Which, incidentally, is fine by me, because I ache all over!"
Jesus. That's much worse than Lennon made it sound.
"It's my fault. I should've warned you about Buggy, but I never thought you'd get through the whole of the main stable in one day. I'm sorry. Really, I am."
She blinks. "Oh no, it's totally my fault. I shouldn't have approached an animal I didn't know. That's like horse etiquette one-oh-one."
"You know about horses?"
"Only a little. There's a stable near Aurora that my aunt and uncle used to take me to, whenever I could persuade them, and I did a little horse trekking in Peru."
I nod. "Well, I'm sorry it happened."
"No problem." She glances around. "How was your day?"
I raise an eyebrow. Is she genuinely asking? Just making conversation? Or buttering me up for something?
"A lot of accounting."
"You say the word 'accounting' like it's some kind of torture."
"It might as well be. I despise it."
"I can help you out, if you want."
I cock my head, and she continues, "I'm a qualified accountant. That was my job back in another life. I didn't mind it at first but doing it every day got intolerable. It's been a few years, but I'm sure I'll remember enough to help with whatever you need. That way I can rest my leg too, like the doctor said."
"You'd do that?" This has nothing to do with our deal to help her learn farming. It'd help us, sure—but what's in it for her?
"Sure," she shrugs. "I'm grateful for the opportunity you've given me. It's the least I can do."
Opportunity? She says it like I handed her a position at a Fortune 500 company, not a shovel for mucking out horseshit all day.
Before I have time to ponder it, the hands start arriving for supper. This time of year we stay out late in the fields to make the most of the daylight. By sunset we're all more than ready for our food.
We've got two full-time staff—Ouray handles the tractors and livestock, whilst Marsha shares caretaking duties with Reed, helps me with admin, and doubles as an occasional babysitter for Grace—plus a few more who come and go depending on the season.
Hailey greets them with her usual friendliness. They greet her back in kind, but I notice one of the temps smirking at the back. I give him a hard look and a sharp shake of my head. That should be enough.
No one is allowed to touch her while she's here.