Page 11 of Apple of My Eye

“A maybe,” I chuckled. “How about you?”

He gave half a shrug and a twitch of his lips. “Maybe.”

I should have said thank you again for the help. Or made some normal comment about the weather, or the apple bins filling up nicely, or the fact that Eldon was hatching a plan to make apple butter in industrial quantities.

Instead, I heard myself blurt, “You don’t have to keep your distance like I’m contagious.”

His head snapped to mine then, a little too knowing. “Giving a little space. Thought maybe you’d prefer it.”

I hated that he was trying to do something that would make all of this easier for me.

“Friends, right?” I replied.

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Which means keeping things exactly as they had always been between us. Doesn’t mean you have to keep away.”

His mouth twitched. “You saying you like having me around, sweetheart?”

Then Dusty’s truck came barreling up the road so fast it kicked gravel in a wide arc, and the moment with Knox evaporated.

Our friendly local vet climbed out in a hurry. “Daisy,” he called. “You got a minute?”

I set my cup down. “What happened?”

“Rancher named Chesson called me about a horse with an abscess. He’s just over the county line.” Dusty scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I got a breach birth emergency to deal with today. I told him I’d grab the best farrier in three counties to help care for it. But I heard in town you’re harvesting, so I hate to ask. Chesson’s wound tight about it?—”

“You should go, Daisy. We’re fine here.” Knox gestured toward the trees.

“You need directions?” Dusty asked.

“I know the Chessons. Hey, Sage,” I yelled, running toward my rig, “you’re in charge until I get back.”

I risked one glance at Knox when I launched into my rig. He straightened from the fence, watching me go in that intense way of his again. One dark eyebrow rose beneath the brim of his hat as though he knew perfectly well he couldn’t stay away from me long.

“Good luck,” he shouted.

I waved back.

About an hour later, I pulled up to the Chesson’s barn, parking at the side. Their property was nice, big log home, a decent-sized cattle operation. I climbed out and reached formy tools. I rounded the building to enter the front, and stopped short.

A black SUV sat there, shiny and out of place against the mud and gravel of a working ranch yard. Montana plates, but the kind of clean that said this vehicle spent more time in a larger town or city than it did on a ranch.

Macy Chesson came out of the barn to greet me. She’d gone to school with Poppy, but had elected to work the ranch with her father instead of attending college. “Much appreciated that you dropped everything to be here, Daisy. I’ll show you to the horse. Pretty bad abscess.”

“Not a problem. Let’s get to work.”

I moved with her toward the barn when the door slid open and Mr. Chesson stepped out with visitors. I froze at coming face to face with the Congressman and Trevor Brewster.

“Well, Daisy Wylde. How good it is to see you.” Trevor greeted me.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, ready to take flight if necessary.

He wore a suit the way men with money did: slim and slickly tailored. His dad’s money benefited him. Good coat, hair neat, a smile with perfect teeth that flashed when it was supposed to and stayed as long as it was useful.

Why did a vision of Knox, the rough military-vet-turned-cowboy with kind eyes, broad shoulders and muscles, wild hair, and tattoos drift through my head in comparison?

I dismissed Trevor,, and kept moving.