Page 7 of Home Hearts Hooves

I make the mistake of looking at Preston again. His green eyes shine under the old pendant lights hanging low over the middle of the table, and before I can turn away, I’m tangled in his stare.

Something hits my face, and I jolt.

“Will you sit already? I want to eat,” Nial says, reaching over to pick up another roll, ready to toss it my way.

I slide into my seat just as Nial lobs the bread roll, but before I get a chance to block it, Preston snatches it mid-air.

“Good catch,” Skye cheers, and Sally-May snaps a pair of tongs Nial’s way before picking up a steak and setting it on the plate in front of Perry. That’s the sign everyone needs to dig in, and the relatively quiet table, at least for this house, becomes a mess of noise.

I go to reach for the beans, but Preston does, too, and his fingers lightly brush against the back of my hand, and a jolt of static flickers at his touch, sending a warm tingle up my arm.

“Sorry, you go,” he says, and I grab the bowl, pick up some beans, and load them onto his plate.

“Is that enough?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper. I’m surprised he can even hear me.

“Yep, that’s good, thanks.” I load up about the same onto my plate and then pass the bowl to my right to Perry before grabbing the glass of water in front of me and downing the contents in one go. I reach for the jug and refill it, drink all of it a second time, my mouth impossibly dry. What is wrong with me? I top it back up and set the jug down, but when I turn back to go for the carrots, I find Preston already holding out the tray of them, and Nial is smirking from beside him with eyebrows raised. He makes kissy faces, and my cheeks immediately go warm. I grab the tray and try to focus on filling my plate and avoid looking directly at Preston or Nial as plates and trays are passed up and down and back and forth until everyone has a mountain of food in front of them and there’s an extra one up the end set aside for Atlas ready for when he makes his way inside.

I wonder how he’s doing with the horse. No way will he be able to drag that thing out of the trailer on his own. It’s at least three years old and has to weigh one thousand pounds. He’s a beauty, though. A soft caramel color all over, I think I spotted grey socks, but there was too much mud to be sure. Maybe we can clean him off in the stables tomorrow. That is if we ever get him in there. I guess if he’s staying, he should have a name, too. Maybe he has one already. Okay, time to man up. Use your words. Just look over and ask Preston what the horse’s name is. It’s easy. What is the horse’s name? It’s five words. You can do five words. My gut swirls. Nope. I can’t do it. I shove a bit of steak into my mouth instead and try to convince my brain to function normally while we all eat.

We clear almost every dish in about ten minutes, so it’s a good thing a plate was stacked for Atlas or he’d be eating a few green beans, a cob of corn, and a few baked potato chunks.

Connor, our resident cowboy, reaches for the corn. Nial does, too, but Connor snatches it up just in time. He’s got quick hands. It’s kind of necessary for his job wrangling baby livestock and mini highlands all day. He arrived on our doorstep during last year’s winter storm, soaking wet, covered in mud and holding a heifer calf he found wandering the road. He nearly ran over it but swerved just in time. Flipped his old truck on its side, though, so he carried the thing to the closest lights he could see. Ours.

“So this horse,” Connor starts as Sally-May and Skye start collecting the serving dishes and dinner plates. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s deaf, was hit on the head by a tree branch, not sure if it caused the deafness or if he’s always been that way.”

“You’d think the previous owners would have said it if he were deaf,” Perry says.

“The Petersons didn’t get much of a handover from the previous owners, which tends to happen when a farm forecloses. The bank is just quick to sell everything off. Because he can’t hear you coming, he’s a bit startled when he gets sight of you and kind of…falls over.”

“He plays possum?” Connor asks with a chuckle.

“I guess that’s a pretty good way to put it,” Preston replies.

Skye comes back from the kitchen with smaller plates, and before the door swings closed, we all get a stronger whiff of apples and cinnamon. My mouth waters impatiently as Skye hands the plates down. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long. Sally-May is close behind with the largest apple pie you’ll find in any farmhouse in fifty miles. Everyone in Bellerelle knows that Sally-May had a blacksmith make the trays special when she had the diner and took them with her when she sold up. She sets the pie in the middle of the table, the edge so close to Nial he may as well just eat straight from the tray. Not that he would mind. It’s been cooling in the kitchen since just after lunch, teasing any who enters the house or walks close enough that the wind picks up the scent and carries it to them. Nial lifts his hand, and Sally-May stops him with a single look.

I can’t help but smile as the memory of earlier today, when she chased him out of the house with a rolling pin fills my mind. He tried to take a slice of the still-hot pie while we were grabbing lunch. He never learns.

“Does the horse have a name?” I finally ask, the words pushing past the nervous lump in my throat that hasn’t left since Preston pulled onto the ranch.

“Not in the paperwork I have,” Preston replies as Sally-May serves pie onto each of our plates.

Skye takes his seat and raises his hand like he’s in a classroom. “Can I name him?”

Everyone looks at me.

“You might have to fight Atlas for the privilege. He’s kind of picky when it comes to his horse’s names,” I reply.

“So he can stay?” Preston asks, and I nod but avoid making eye contact.

“If Atlas manages to get him out of the trailer, he can stay.” Wow, that was another thirteen words. Maybe I’m actually getting past this thing with Preston.

But then he places his palm over my forearm and heat floods under his touch, the warmth spreading up my arm and settling in my chest.

“Thank you. I honestly had no clue who else might take him in if you said no.”

I can’t rip my eyes away from where he’s touching me to answer. Thankfully, I have a super supportive younger brother to help me out. Except I don’t. I have a jerk who revels in tormenting me instead.

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