Page 25 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

The last of the frost has finally lifted, leaving the ground soft and half-sunken underfoot.

My boots squelch through the muddy pasture as the world slowly wakes.

The air still has a bite to it, but the sun is out, pale and low, dragging long shadows across the field.

Cows are already moving toward the gate, slow and lazy, ears flicking at the early flies starting to return.

The hinges of the gate creak loudly in the cold morning stillness as I push it open. I adjust the feed sack on my shoulder, the coarse burlap damp against my jacket.

Walking over to the trough, I dump the feed in, grain spilling in a soft, muffled cascade. The herd gathers around, pressing in close, and I move out of their way as a few of the calves butt shoulders, half playful, half hungry.

After I fill the water trough next, I exit back through the gate and head for the barn. John is usually the one who mows around here, but for the past few months, I’ve kind of stolen the job from him. There’s something calming in the simplicity.

The barn doors groan when I pull them open, and I set the empty feed sack with the others in the corner.

Dust motes swirl in a shaft of morning sunlight slipping through a crack in the roof.

The green tractor mower sits tucked in its usual spot, and I climb up into the seat.

It takes a couple tries before the engine finally catches.

I sit there for a moment to let it warm up, watching the heat curl in waves from the exhaust.

Easing the tractor out of the barn, I see that the sun has climbed enough to burn off the last of the morning haze. The hum of the mower settles into a rhythm beneath me, steady and grounding, the engine drowning out everything else.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time I saw Henry, and I haven’t been able to get him out of my head. I’ve sent John to do the past couple wildlife tours at the park with Spencer because I don’t know if I can handle seeing him right now.

Maybe I’d act cool and be able to pretend he didn’t shoot an arrow straight into my heart.

More likely, I’d say or do something desperate and make a fool of myself.

I know he still hates me, but…I wish he didn’t.

At least, he says he hates me. Except, the night after we fucked, he brought me inside his cabin, showered with me, and let me share his bed.

And then when he showed up while I was sick, he seemed concerned instead of overjoyed by my misery.

I had that thought, that sense that he could take care of me, and that’s kind of what he did.

I want more, but I can’t have it.

So it’s best to keep some distance.

I’m about halfway finished mowing the main field when I start nearing the bunkhouse and see John on the porch with a book in his hands. Cutting the engine, I hop off and approach the steps, taking the first one up to the porch when John looks up.

“Enjoying a lazy morning?” I ask teasingly.

He sets his book on his lap and shrugs with a grin. “There’s not much left to do around here since you keep taking all my work.”

Laughing quietly, I open the door and go inside, heading over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water before going back out to the porch. I sit down on the bench beside John and take a drink.

“Lucas called just a bit ago to let us know he’s going to be away for the next couple weekends,” he says. “He just wants us to keep an eye on the house.”

“Are you going to be here the next couple weekends?” I ask, my tone teasing again as I arch a brow at him.

John has been spending a lot of his weekends with Bethany. I honestly love seeing him happy, but I admit it’s been a bit lonely around here when he’s gone. Maybe it’s karma.

“Yeah. Bethany has some girl’s night planned this weekend, and then she’s going out of town the next.” He turns a bit toward me, his expression suddenly serious. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

I try to push away the dread suddenly blooming in my chest. “Okay.”

“We’ve, uh…Well.” He glances away and clears his throat. “We’ve been talking about moving in together.”

Even as a wave of sadness hits me, I give him a big smile. “Oh. Wow. That’s great.”

He frowns. “Robin—”

“I’m really happy for you, John,” I tell him with as much sincerity as I can muster.

Because it’s true. I am happy for him.

But I can be a little sad too.

I met John right after finding out my father was killed, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. We’ve fought together, sought justice together. We’ve traveled and made homes together, first in Sherwood Forest and now here. I knew things would change one day, but the timing makes it harder.

“Thanks,” he says. “It probably won’t be until the summer though, so you’re stuck with me a bit longer.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “Plenty of time for me to figure out how to be a grown-up without you.”

“Doubt it.”

We both laugh and then settle into a comfortable silence. It’s always comfortable with John, but, lately, there’s been a slight edge between us. I know it’s my fault because of everything I’ve been keeping from him, but maybe I’m the only one who feels it.

That proves not to be the case.

“Maybe it’s at least enough time for you to finally tell me what’s been going on with you.”

I sigh and lean back, staring out at the half mowed field as I mindlessly pick at the label of the water bottle in my hands. “And here I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“You can’t hide anything from me, Robin.

At least not the fact that there is something to hide.

You’ve been off ever since Henry showed up, which, at first, I just chalked up to the past being dredged back up, and I thought maybe that was difficult for you.

But I’ve been able to tell there’s something more for a while now.

You haven’t been yourself for months. I haven’t wanted to pressure you, but I hope you know you can talk to me. ”

I don’t respond right away, instead inhaling a slow lungful of air.

Of course I’ve wanted to talk to John. There are some things—like Henry promising to destroy me and the bear attack and everything to do with the Spirit of Sherwood Forest—that I’ve purposefully kept from him to protect him because I didn’t want him to worry.

But everything with me and Henry?

I want to tell him, but I’m scared.

“I know,” I finally say, keeping my gaze ahead. Holding my breath for far too long, I let it all out in one gust. “Henry and I had sex.”

Silence.

Dread.

My heart starts to race as something heavy settles on top of my chest. A cow moos in the distance, mocking me.

After several seconds, I turn to look at John. His cheeks are flushed, and his mouth is pressed in a firm line. He’s still facing forward, and his body starts to shake.

Then he bursts into laughter.

I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.

It’s deep and robust and carries out into the field. When he turns toward me, there’s a huge smile stretched across his face.

“It’s about time you got laid.”

His laughter picks back up even louder, and this time I join him as relief courses through me. I feel like I can breathe again. I hadn’t realized how worried I was about telling John, how much of a weight that had been.

“So, you don’t…hate me?”

“Hate you?” His brow furrows as though he’s trying to make sense of those two words strung together. “Robin, you’re my fucking brother. I could never hate you. Even if you have had naked time with the former Sheriff of Nottingham.”

I snort, and my tension continues to ease. “And the fact that he’s a man?”

“You should know I don’t give a damn about that. How many laws did we break back in Sherwood Forest? Might as well keep breaking them here, especially the ones that were stupid anyway.”

I give him a sincere smile, feeling lighter than I have in a while. “Thanks, John.”

“But, I mean, this is… Henry . I guess I don’t understand that part. I’m pretty sure I remember stitching up a gunshot wound he gave you not too long ago.”

“Yeah,” I mutter with a grimace. “I don’t get it either if I’m being honest. It started as just physical, an attraction neither of us could fight apparently. But, then…” I sigh heavily, my lips tugging downward. “It turned into more.”

“That’s why you’ve been moping?”

“I have not been moping.”

With an arch of his brow, he gives me a pointed look.

“Okay, fine. I guess so. It was more for me. Not him.”

“I’m sorry, Robin. He’s a dumbass.”

I let out a short laugh. “Thanks. I probably shouldn’t have let it get that far. I think that’s why I never really tried harder with any of the girls you set me up with. I didn’t want it to get this far. I didn’t…”

“Want to be hurt again,” he finishes for me.

I nod. “I didn’t want to lose somebody again.”

John throws a large, heavy arm over my shoulders and pulls me into his side. “If it helps, you’ll never lose me.”

Leaning my head against his shoulder, I sniff back the building emotions. “It helps.”

We stay like that for a while, just staring out at the field while I lean on him. The sun is high in the sky now, the air warmer than it’s been in months. A breeze rolls over the ranch, carrying with it the smell of freshly cut grass.

Then the breeze turns into a gust.

John and I break apart as the wind ruffles our hair and kicks up grass clippings off the ground. They swirl in the air, joining together, and twist and turn like a ribbon. The loose blades of grass meet in the center of the field before us, forming a wall of green that spins into a vortex.

“What the hell is going on?” John asks gruffly, having to speak a little louder over the roar of the gale.

Shit.

I probably should’ve told him everything after all.

“It’s the Spirit of Sherwood Forest.”

“Excuse me?” he barks, giving me a look before both of our attention is once more drawn to the magic in the field.

The cyclone of grass spins faster and faster, howling louder and louder. After it seems to reach a peak, it slowly dies, grass and dirt and dust floating gently to the ground.