Page 75 of Total Jane Wreck

“Don’t apologize.” Marigold has gotten out of the car. She’s by my side, holding back my hair with one hand, rubbing my back with the other. “Here,” she says, handing me a bottle of water. “Take a sip.”

I do as she says. “It’s just so embarrassing,” I say once I’m no longer doubled over. “Everyone back home calls me Jane Wreck, because I puke every time I see a horse in pain.”

Marigold pats my shoulder. “But you didn’t see a horse in pain.”

“Okay, I heard about it, then.”

Except, this would be the first time that’s happened—me throwing up just from hearing about a horse being in pain.

“But, Jane,” Marigold states, “none of the horses were hurt. Only Chet.”

Only Chet. Alone and in pain, crying out for me, and I’m not there to help him . . .

Silently, I come to the conclusion right as Marigold says it aloud.

“Jane.” Marigold takes a sharp breath. “Maybe this thing with you isn’t just about horses. Maybe you’re extremely protective and empathetic toward anything—or anyone—you simply happen to love.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

I am Jane Eyre. I have found you out—I am come back to you.

When we pull into Resilience Ranch, the sky has gone the color of a bruise, purple-gray and heavy. A cool September wind cuts straight through me. Marigold texted Axel Rose that we were on our way. She’s already coming out of the barn to meet us.

“Jane!” Axel Rose pulls me into a hug before I’ve even fully gotten out of the car. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too.” I hug her back, tight. After a moment, I pull away. “Has he gone to urgent care yet?”

“Ha.” Axel Rose grimaces. “I got him to take some Tylenol with codeine, but only after I swore on Miss Adele’s life that I’d wake him if Mason showed up.” She chuckles. “Like Chet could do anything about it—he’d lose a fight with a sloth right now. At the moment, he’s in the trailer. Trying not to fall asleep but failing.”

I start toward the trailer, then stop and turn back. “Thank you.” My gaze scans both women’s faces. “I’m not . . .” I pause, voice hitching. “I’m not great at accepting help. My family wasn’t ever big on offering it.”

“Well,” Marigold says, “we are. So you’ll just have to deal with that.”

Axel Rose grins. “Go check on him.”

Inside the trailer, the light is low, and the space is small enough that I see him immediately. Chet is asleep on his back, arms slung to the side. He looks, infuriatingly, almost exactly the same—dark hair, strong jaw, that face I’ve been trying to forget. But there’s something new in his expression, something I’ve never seen on him while he’s awake.

Unguarded. Exhausted. Like a door left open in a storm.

I stand there for a moment, just watching him sleep, wanting to press my lips to his forehead but not yet ready to wake him. Not yet.

He stirs anyway. Winces. Opens his eyes, and when they find me in the dim light, something moves across his face that I feel in my chest.

“Jane?” His voice is rough with sleep and pain. “You’re actually here?”

“I’m actually here.”

“I thought—” He stops, swallows. “I thought maybe I was dreaming. Cuz I called for you . . .”

“And I heard you call,” I say. “So here I am. You’re not dreaming.” I step closer. “You’re also apparently not going to the doctor, which we will discuss tomorrow morning, right away.”

A short, pained laugh escapes him. “Always so bossy.” He reaches for me. Sitting on the side of the bed, I take his hand in both of mine. His fingers close around them immediately, like he’s checking that I’m real.

“You came back,” he says.

“I came back.”

“I heard you were hiking the Colorado Trail,” he rasps. “How was that?”