Page 20 of Sweet Beginnings

“Think of it like bowling. Keep your thumb forward.” Still holding on to her, he swung her arm gently forward then back. “Put too much force into it and you’ll blow over your target.”

“Target,” she managed to mumble despite her heightened senses.

One more time, he moved her arm forward then back. “That’s right. Now, on the forward motion, open your fingers and let the bag slide out of your hand.” Still holding on to her, he guided her movement, only letting go of her hand as it swung forward, seconds before releasing the bag. Not a hole in one, but the bag slid alongside and teetering on the edge, slowly tipped into the hole.

“You mean like that?” Twisting about, her face turned and she found herself only inches away from those mesmerizing blue eyes. She stood frozen in place. Unable to move, or think, or speak.

The sudden flash of light in his gaze told her that he’d been caught as much off guard by their proximity as she had. Staring into her eyes, he gazed long and hard before blinking, clearing his throat, and taking a step in retreat. “Yeah, like that.”

Her gaze followed him to the basket of bags and for the first time since they came up with this save the ranch plan, Sarah wondered if maybe she was seriously in over her head.

Chapter Eight

Rolling his head left then right, Preston blew out a long, slow breath. Nothing in his memories of working the ranch at his father’s side included so many sore muscles. He had just enough time to drink a strong cup of coffee, shower, and change before meeting Sarah for the trip to see the troubled dog. A couple of aspirin was also probably a good idea. Lingering in the hot shower a little longer than usual might not be a horrible prospect either.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” His mom sat at the table with a cup of coffee cradled in her hands.

“You’re supposed to be resting.” Preston poured himself a cup and eased into a seat near his mother.

“If I rest anymore, I’ll turn into an overstuffed pillow. This is fine. I’m fine.”

“Mom—”

Alice Sweet’s hand shot up, palm out, cutting her son off. “Yes, I’m still sore. Yes, I need time to fully heal, but I am most definitely fine. A few cuts and bruises aren’t going to kill me.”

A small part of him had to agree with her assessment, but another part of him knew that an injured body needed both time and rest to heal. “Couldn’t you at least take it easy on the sofa?”

“It doesn’t hurt as much if I move around. When I stay still and then move, I remember why I hurt.”

“Which is why you should go back to bed.”

His mom rolled her eyes and took a slow sip of her coffee. He suspected more from discomfort than savoring the brew. “Sarah Sue called.”

“She did?” He hoped that sounded casually guarded.

“She knew y’all were out working the cattle, so she called the landline. Something came up with work so she’s running a little behind. She’ll pick you up in about an hour.”

Unsure of what to say, he gave a quick nod.

A small smile teased one corner of his mother’s mouth. “I heard you were at the park last night.”

He bobbed his head again.

“You like her.”

It wasn’t a question but he nodded again nonetheless. That much wasn’t a lie or subterfuge. He really did like Sarah Sue. Always had, but maybe now a little more than he’d realized.

“Where are you going today?”

“To evaluate a dog. A military dog who needs to be rehomed but he has issues that basically equate to PTSD in a human.”

“And what are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Watch?”

That smile tugged at her lips again. “I see.” Just as the smile had appeared, it quickly slipped away. “I’ve been thinking a bit, you know, about the ranch situation, and playing with numbers. I want to run some ideas by you and the others. Maybe after dinner?”

How he wished he could tell her that they already had a plan in the works, but a simple nod was all he could offer.

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