Page 28 of Feels Like Falling
MONTANA: Did you read her article about Jamison’s cows gettin’ loose?
ARCHER: Yeah, hilarious if I hadn’t been there pullin’ one of ’em out of Miss June’s rose bushes
MONTANA: Sorry I missed it (laughing emoji)
ARCHER: She said she’s not from here
MONTANA: Miss June? I’m pretty sure she’s never crossed the county line
ARCHER: Not Miss June—Arden James
MONTANA: Did you talk to her?
ARCHER: God, no. Bea was with me.
MONTANA: And what did Bea tell her?
ARCHER: That she would pass Arden’s information on to the owners
MONTANA: See? I knew your girl would kick ass for us
ARCHER: So, you’re not worried?
MONTANA: Not even a little
ARCHER: Well at least one of us isn’t
MONTANA: All about the balance, man
Speaking of balance,I needed to find some and quick. Ellison had found her way into my bed the last three nights. Hell, in the two weeks she’d been home, it would be easier to count the days she slept at her place than mine. I loved it and I hated it all at the same time.
There’d been no lead-up to it—no discussion about co-sleeping or boundaries—and while we hadn’t crossed any lines physically, I’d woken up with my dick hard and nestled against her ass every morning. She’d make a joke and we’d laugh, but the tension was undeniable.
Still, it felt too soon to ask her to jump into something with me right now. We hadn’t talked about the end of her relationship with the guy in Savannah or any details about him at all. Ellison didn’t seem heartbroken, but the girl also knew how to bottle that shit up like no one else I’d ever met. Not to mention, she was reacclimating to being back in Blackstone Falls and figuring out how to stand on her own without the watchful eye of her parents. I knew better than most the pressure she’d had to endure growing up, but I hadn’t been privy to most of her life once she left for college.
And especially not after what happened.
Pocketing my phone, I take off for the barn. I know Ellison is around here somewhere, and it’s as good a place as any to start. My boots are quiet as I move across the packed dirt on autopilot. I’ve made this trip a thousand times in my life already, and no doubt I’ll make it a few thousand more. It’s familiar, and right now I need it to help settle my soul.
I have a list a mile long of things I need to get done before it’s harvest time for the cotton. We’ve been slowly moving toward all-natural pesticides and antifungal applications in the last few years, and the results have already been substantial. It is too soon to tell what the weather will bring us in the next couple of months, but if the projections are correct, we’ll be looking at our best yield in at least five years.
It’s a big deal, and I need to be focused on every single piece to make sure it all goes as planned.
My thoughts are interrupted by a soft voice as it filters out through the barn, and I slow my steps as I approach so I don’t startle her.
“You’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you,” Ellison coos at Sadie. The rich brown coat of the Tennessee Walking Horse looks darker in her stall, but her face is sweet and her eyes are kind. She’s always been one of my favorites—Ellison’s too—and she’s been with us a long time.
“She missed you,” I say as the horse pushes her snout into Ellison’s hand, and I watch as the stress drains from her shoulders as they reconnect like old friends.
“Do you think she remembers me?” she asks quietly and nothing like the bold and brave woman I know.
“It’s not even a question, Eddie.”
As if confirming my statement, Sadie nudges Ellison’s hand again, and she smiles as she presses her forehead against the horse’s. It’s sweet and powerful and I can’t help but feel like I’m interrupting.
“Can I take her out?” Ellison asks as I turn to exit the barn.
“Of course. I can grab Marist and we’ll head over and check out the fields. I need to go have a look anyway.”
