Page 15 of Dove
The tenderness of his touch had prickles ofsomethingshooting along my arm.
I shoved past his thick, muscled frame, wanting to escape the conversation and the feel of his skin on mine. It was bringing up too many emotions I was attempting to tamp down. Like how parentless, friendless, andalone, I truly was—like a tiny, insignificant speck existing in a big black void.
Hopeless.
“If you want to help, then help,” I shrugged carelessly, my voice detached, even though the pounding heart in my chest portrayed otherwise. “I’ve got a laundry list of things to do today, and having a heart-to-heart with you isn’t on it.”
When I peeked over my shoulder to make sure he’d heard, a hard glint reflected in his eyes back at me. I nearly stumbled in my haste to turn back around to avoid seeing it. He was mad, but I swore I saw something else lingering under that anger, too.
5
JOSH
Brushing out Clover, I cursed Dove with each stroke. She was acting like a royal brat, and she knew it, but even worse? I couldn’t find it in me to harbor anger at her for treating me the way she was. I deserved it.
I’d done the very thing I promised I’d never do.
I left her.
She just didn’t know why.
Clover’s hooves clomped against the floor as she fidgeted, and I realized I’d been brushing the same spot on her speckled coat for the past few minutes.
My face scrunched into the scowl I almost permanently wore since coming back home.
Dove held permanent residence in my mind, having been on it nonstop for the past three years, but being back here—seeing her after so long—she consumed my thoughts like the rage of a wildfire.
She’d been eighteen when I left, newly graduated and on the cusp of adulthood. She’d been beautiful to look at even then, in the grasp of awkward teen years, but now?
She was a knockout.
Long, rich brunette hair that hung past her shoulders when she left it down, a soft, curvy waist that looked the perfect size to fit my large hands, sun-tanned skin my lips craved to taste, and thick thighs I wanted wrapped around my head.
The mare in front of me whinnied, mad I’d stop brushing altogether now.
Those thoughts, those feelings… they were the exact reason I’d left three years ago.
They were dangerous.
They werewrong.
But that didn’t stop me from having them.
Adjusting my jeans, which were already tight without my growing situation, I placed the brush down in the supply bucket.
“Sorry, Clover,” I apologized contritely. My head just wasn’t in it. My hand caressed a soothing path along her flank as the other dug around in a pocket for a treat. She’d been good, it was me who was having the issue.
A meow caught my attention as the mare nibbled at my palm. Walking along the stalls toward me with graceful balance was a black cat.
“Omen!”
He meowed again in greeting, coming to a halt before me. As he adjusted his paws, I knew seconds before he jumped where he was aiming.
I “oofed” as he landed on my shoulder, steadying him until he got his balance. The old cat still had plenty of agility.
“Hey buddy.” I titled my head toward his as he nuzzled against my forehead. “I missed you.” His purring increased, and I knew enough cat language to know he returned the sentiment.
As if a few years hadn’t passed since he’d done so, Omen kept me company, perched on my shoulder, as I finished up my chores with the horses. Being the runt of the litter had caused him to be on the smaller size for a full-grown cat, but he wasstill a little too big to sit there comfortably. It’d been a habit he’d had since a tiny kitten, and one he’d never broken. I refused to shoo him off like I usually would when his presence got to be hindering—his company was welcomed.
