Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
I watch her in quiet awe.
With pure confidence and competence, she guides the calf through the birth canal. A few minutes later, a wet, wobbly little heifer slides onto the grass and lets out her first shaky cry. The mother begins cleaning the newborn, lowing softly.
Janey steps back, stripping off her gloves. There’s a small, satisfied smile on her face despite the mess on her clothes and arms.
“Nice work, Doc,” I say, unable to hide the admiration in my voice.
I might have handled it. Maybe Mason would’ve, too. We’ve had to learn to deal with the less complicated issues. But not with the professionalism that Janey showed. She has such a gentle way with animals that makes them calm and easy to manage.
She looks over at me, breathless and flushed, with loose strands of hair stuck to her cheek and sunlight catching in her eyes.
“Thanks,” she says.
Mason stands there holding her bag, staring at her with new eyes.
I know the feeling.
She really is something.
Watching her today, all calm, capable, and completely in her element, makes one thing crystal clear. Having Janey here permanently wouldn’t only be good for her and the baby. It wouldn’t just make this house less empty or give Mason and me more to protect besides land and livestock and old family promises. It would be damn good for us too.
This isn’t about how much she needs us, but how much we already need her.
Chapter 12
Janey
By the time we get back to the house, the sun has already started to dip. My muscles ache in that satisfying, bone-deep way that comes from a full day outside, and there’s still mess on my jeans from the calf delivery.
I should feel exhausted. I do feel exhausted.
But strangely, I don’t feel nauseous. Maybe it’s the fresh air or the space. Maybe it’s the distraction and being around Mason and Brookes, who seem to take away so many of my fears by being kind and competent.
Mason takes Mabel’s reins from me before I can protest, his hand brushing mine briefly. “Go on inside,” he says. “We’ll take care of the horses.”
I hesitate, glancing between them. “I can help—”
Brookes shakes his head, already loosening Storm’s tack. “You’ve done enough today.”
For once, I don’t push it. A shower would be amazing, and maybe I’ll get to see the sunset Brookes was talking about.
“Okay.”
I head toward the house alone, the screen door creaking as I pull it open. The unfamiliar but welcoming scent of the Fletcher's ranch house envelops me as I drop my boots by the door, flexing my toes against the cool floorboards, then pause in the middle of the kitchen.
It’s quiet but so homely with Buck snoring softly in the corner.
I head upstairs and take a shower in the old but clean bathroom, leaving my face bare of makeup and my hair tied up in a knot. I chew over everything that happened today. Watching the new heifer find her feet, I realize that this isn’t just about the brothers. It’s about the work. I’ve built a career out of being useful to those who can't speak for themselves, and seeing the impact of my own hands here, outside the clinical walls of the office, reminds me that I'm more than my parents' daughter or a woman in an ‘unexpected baby’ predicament. If I stay, it won’t be because I’m running from my mother’s expectations or because I’m 'drugged' by Mason’s and Brookes’s presence. It will be because I’ve found a place where my skills and my heart can actually take root on my own terms.
Downstairs, my gaze drifts to the counter, to the worn wooden table, and the lived-in mess that somehow doesn’t feel messy at all anymore.
There are bananas in a bowl on the counter that look soft and overripe. My hands reach for them automatically, muscle memory kicking in before my brain catches up. A loaf pan sits in the cupboard. Flour and sugar in the pantry. Eggs in the fridge. Everything I need to make a sweet and delicious treat. I’ve always cooked when I have things on my mind. I get lost in the detailed instructions, and right now, I need that.
By the time the oven is preheating, I’m feeling more centered. The rhythm of mashing, measuring, and mixing grounds me in this unfamiliar home.
The back door opens as I’m pouring the batter into the pan.
Mason steps in first, sleeves pushed up, a smudge of dirt across his jaw. He’s messy and dirty, but still so sexy he warms my lady parts. Brookes follows, dropping his hat on the console by the door, his eyes searching for me in the large room. The intensity of his gaze when it lands on me is overwhelming.
They both stop when they notice me bent over by the oven.
“What’s this?” Mason asks, raising his eyebrows.