Page 12 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

"Morning, boss. You're at it early today."

"Lot to do," Meadow replies simply.

Eli leans against a post, squinting at him.

"You alright? You seem...tense."

"I'm fine." Meadow doesn't look up from his work, not wanting his expression to betray him.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that pretty Omega who showed up yesterday, would it?" Eli asks, a knowing smile playing at his lips.

Meadow's head snaps up, a growl rumbling low in his chest before he can stop it. Eli's eyebrows shoot upward, and he raises his hands in surrender.

"Easy there, boss. Just making conversation."

Meadow forces himself to relax his grip on the pitchfork.

"She's...she'll be coming by today. To see about working with the rescue horses."

"That so?" Eli's tone is carefully neutral now, but Meadow can smell the curiosity radiating off him.

"She needs this," Meadow says quietly, more to himself than to Eli. "The horses... they can help her heal."

"And you know this how?" Eli asks, crossing his arms.

Meadow pauses, considering the question.

How does he know?

He's exchanged barely a handful of words with Marigold Everhart, and yet...

"I can see it in her," he finally says. "The hurt.

The way she holds herself—like she's expecting the world to take another swing at her.

" He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at his inability to articulate what he senses.

"The horses don't judge. Don't betray. They just..

.are. Non-judgemental and loving. Compassion an Omega like her would thrive on. "

Eli studies him for a long moment.

"Been a while since I've seen you take an interest in anyone," he observes.

"It's not like that," Meadow insists, though the lie tastes bitter on his tongue.

"If you say so." Eli pushes off from the post. "I'll start on that fence in the north pasture."

"Thanks," Meadow says, grateful for the change of subject.

Alone again, he leads Whiskey out to the corral for exercise, watching the powerful animal stretch into a trot around the enclosure. The sun climbs higher, warming his shoulders as he leans against the fence, his thoughts inevitably circling back to Marigold.

Will she actually come? And if she does, what then?

His Alpha instincts remain restlessly at the thought of her return, both eager and anxious. He hasn't felt this unsettled around an Omega since?—

No. He won't go down that road again.

"She's just looking for work," he reminds himself firmly. Just proved that the posters were good advertisements with how swiftly she came by. She needs the money and stability from wherever she came from. "Nothing more."

But as the morning wears on, he finds himself glancing repeatedly toward the long driveway that leads to the main road, ears attuned to the sound of an approaching car.

His senses feel heightened, every nerve ending alert and waiting.

He moves on to working with Echo, a skittish gray mare who came to him after being abandoned by her previous owners. The horse dances nervously at the end of the lead rope, eyes wide and nostrils flared.

"Easy girl," he soothes, keeping his voice low and steady. "Nobody's going to hurt you here."

Slowly, with infinite patience, he guides the mare through simple exercises, rewarding each small victory with gentle praise and the occasional sugar cube. This is what he knows — the language of trust built through consistent kindness, the slow healing of wounded creatures.

"You're doing great," he murmurs as Echo finally allows him to stroke her neck without flinching. "See? Not so scary after all."

The parallels aren't lost on him. He wonders if Marigold will be as difficult to reach; as quick to startle. Whatever — or whoever — broke her spirit has left scars he recognizes all too well.

The thought of her living with that pain makes something fierce and protective rise in his chest.

"She's not yours to protect," he reminds himself sternly.

But even as he forms the thought, he knows it's already too late. Something in him has already decided otherwise — the same instinct that drives him to shelter wounded animals, to nurse them back to health and purpose.

The distant sound of tires on gravel reaches his ears, and his head turns sharply toward the driveway. His heart rate picks up, a rush of anticipation flooding his system.

"Steady now," he whispers, and he's not sure if he's talking to Echo or himself.

Meadow steps back from Echo, giving her space as he wipes his hands on the rough denim of his jeans. Through the open barn door, he watches Marigold's small figure emerge from her car, hesitant as a fawn at the edge of a clearing.

He didn’t even knew that she drove, but with how Willowbend was set up, you’d need a car by default to get around in a timely manner. She must be renting it from the local car shop. They do good deals for those who come to stay and mend whatever they left behind

The morning light catches in her emerald hair, creating a halo effect that makes something in his chest tighten.

She moves with unconscious grace, each step precise and measured—the disciplined posture of her former life evident in the straight line of her spine, though there's a new fragility to her movements, as if she's constantly bracing for impact.

She pauses midway to the barn, eyes scanning the property with wary attention.

When their gazes finally meet, Meadow offers nothing more than a quiet nod, careful to keep his posture relaxed and non-threatening. The Alpha in him wants to rush forward, to overwhelm her with reassurance and protection, but he knows better.

She's skittish enough without him crowding her space.

"Morning," he calls softly when she's close enough, his voice pitched low and steady. "Glad you found the place all right."

"It wasn't difficult," she replies, her voice carrying that cultured precision he noticed before. "Your directions were very clear."

Her scent reaches him even from this distance — a complex blend of wildflowers after rain with underlying notes of something deeper and more melancholic. How he wants to get closer, to breathe her in properly.

Meadow clenches his jaw against the impulse.

"Would you like to see the horses?"

She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with fingers that tremble slightly.

"Yes, please. I'd like that."

"This is Echo," he says, gesturing toward the bay mare watching them with liquid eyes. "She came to us about three months ago. The previous owner didn't treat her well."

Something flashes across Marigold's face — recognition, empathy perhaps.

"How can you tell?"

"The way she holds herself. How she flinches at certain movements." Meadow keeps his focus on the horse, giving Marigold space to observe without feeling observed herself. "Takes time to rebuild trust once it's been broken."

The silence between them feels weighted with unspoken understanding.

"May I?" Marigold asks, taking a tentative step forward.

"Slow movements," he advises. "Let her come to you if she wants. No pressure."

He watches as Marigold extends her hand, palm up, and waits.

Her patience surprises him — most people want immediate connection, immediate results. But she stands perfectly still, her breathing controlled and even, until Echo gradually stretches her neck forward, nostrils flaring as she catches the Omega's scent.

"She's beautiful," Marigold whispers as Echo's soft muzzle finally brushes against her palm.

"She is," Meadow agrees, though he finds his attention divided between the mare and the woman standing before him, her face transformed by a tentative smile that sends an unexpected jolt through his system. "Would you like to meet the others?"

“Certainly!”

As they move through the stable, Meadow points out each horse, describing their personalities and quirks. Marigold listens attentively, asking thoughtful questions that reveal a quick intelligence behind her reserved manner.

"What do you do with them all?" she asks after he introduces her to Phantom, a spirited black gelding with a white blaze down his face.

"Rehabilitation mostly. Some training." He runs a hand along Phantom's neck. "I take in horses that need help…abused, neglected, behavioral issues. Work with them until they're ready for new homes or, for some, permanent sanctuary here."

"And you do this alone?"

"Mostly. Have a part-time hand who comes three days a week. My sister helps when she's home from college." He pauses, weighing his next words carefully. "Could use more help, actually. It’s why I had those posters distributed hoping someone would be willing to commit to the tedious task."

Her posture stiffens slightly.

"Are you offering me a job, Mr. Calloway?"

"Meadow," he corrects gently. "And yes, if you're interested." He keeps his tone neutral, matter-of-fact. "Nothing formal. You can set your own hours, work at your own pace. Just basic care to start. Feeding, grooming, maybe some exercise once you're comfortable."

She studies him, those forest-green eyes searching his face.

"Why would you offer that to someone you barely know?”

"The horses don't care about your past," he says simply. "Neither do I. They just respond to how you treat them in the present moment." He shrugs, uncomfortable with prolonged explanation. "Plus, they're good judges of character. They seem to like you already."

As if to prove his point, a dappled gray mare stretches her head over her stall door, nickering softly at Marigold.

"That's Willow," Meadow says. "She doesn't usually take to strangers."

Marigold approaches the mare slowly, letting her sniff her hand before stroking her forehead.

"I don't know anything about horses."

"You can learn. If you want to." He leans against a post, deliberately casual. "Being around them... it helps. With healing. Finding purpose when you feel lost." He looks away, uncomfortable with revealing even that much of himself. "No pressure either way."