Page 103 of Knot my First Rodeo

I finish tightening the hinge on the south pasture gate, and step back to check my work. Captain immediately nudges my shoulder looking for a treat he definitely didn't earn, his big black and white head nearly knocking my hat off in the process.

"You're lucky you're pretty."

Captain flicks an ear. The horse has survived this long almost entirely because people keep deciding he's charming.

A laugh drifts across the yard, and before I can stop myself, my head turns toward the sound.

Autumn's standing near the chicken barn holding a basket against her hip while Tripp talks with hand gestures. I can't hear what he's saying from here, but whatever it is makes her laugh. Not the polite laugh she uses when she's being nice, the one that scrunches her nose and makes her shoulders loosen.

For some reason, I know the difference now, and that's probably where the problem starts.

Not that long ago, she was Hunter's little sister sleeping in the guest room. Then she became the omega helping with chores, the girl constantly asking questions, the woman who punched somebody in the face over Briggs.

Now, I know she steals my coffee mugs and never puts them back where they belong. I know she talks to chickens like they're coworkers. I know she leaves cabinet doors open, and insists she's going to come back to them. I know she claims she hates mornings while somehow ending up outside before Tripp half the time. I know she wrinkles her nose when she's concentrating, and mutters to herself when she's annoyed.

Little things, the kind of things you only notice when somebody starts becoming a more serious part of your life.

Captain bumps me again, demanding attention, and I scratch the side of his neck absently while Autumn says something that makes Tripp throw his head back laughing. The sound carries across the yard, and before I can stop myself, I find myself watching her again.

Not because of the heat, the heat would've been easy. Heat has rules, biology, instinct, and temporary problems with predictable solutions.

This doesn't feel temporary, which is why it keeps bothering me.

I spend the next hour pretending I'm focused on work. A water trough that didn't need cleaning gets cleaned anyway. I walk the pasture fence to check that it’s good.

By the time I head toward the barn, I've successfully accomplished almost nothing except proving to myself that my concentration's gone to hell.

The barn offers shade from the afternoon sun, and the familiar smell of hay and horses. Usually that helps. Usually a few quiet minutes around the horses is enough to straighten out whatever's rattling around in my head.

Today, not so much.

I set a feed bag down near the tack room and glance through the open barn doors, toward the house. Autumn's crossing the yard carrying a basket of eggs, moving carefully like she's trying not to drop them. Halfway across the grass, she stops to say something to one of the barn cats, crouching down long enough to scratch behind its ears before continuing on her way.

The cat follows her, which doesn’t surprise me; everything follows her.

A shadow falls across the barn floor, and Briggs steps inside carrying another feed bag over one shoulder. He drops it beside mine and immediately narrows his eyes.

"You've got that look."

I snort. "Funny. Autumn said the same thing about you."

His mouth twitches before he reaches for another bag.

Neither of us says much for a minute. We don't have to. We're family, so we’ve learned to recognize when the other one's thinking too hard.

Unfortunately, that means he already knows exactly where this conversation is headed.

I lean back against the stall door. "You notice anything different?"

Briggs pauses. "Different how?"

I watch dust drift through a beam of sunlight cutting across the barn.

"Her."

His jaw shifts once before he looks toward the open doors.

"Yeah."