Loki isn’t acting quite right. While he has truly been living up to his name as the god of mischief, he seems lethargic tonight. Dopey. He was fine before dinner when I checked him, but now at ten p.m. he isn’t quite right.
I’ve been avoiding Mira this week, and I’m quite certain she’s been doing the same. The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife, and I don’t think either one of us has figured out what to do with that just yet. I should let her out of the remaining two dates. A better man would. But I’m greedy. I want to prove to her I’m not the evil dick they’ve made me out to be.
I just didn’t predict craving her the way that I am.
I want her back in my house, laughing and smiling. All soft and warm. I want her in my bed—even though that would ruin a few friendships on her end. And that isn’t fair.
But tonight, I need to contact her for purely professional reasons. My thumb swipes across the screen of my phone as I pull up her contact information and tap the phone icon. I watch Loki’s little eyes grow heavy on his drooping head. He looks so small and vulnerable, and I can’t stop myself from going into the stall to crouch beside him and rub his shoulder while the phone rings in my ear.
“Hello?”
It’s loud wherever she is. It sounds like she’s out having fun—after all, it is a Friday night.
“Mira, it’s Stefan.”
“Hi?” She’s clearly confused about why I’d be calling her at ten p.m. on a Friday.
“There’s something wrong with Loki.”
She doesn’t even miss a beat. “I’ll be right there.”
Her heart is so damn pure. Far more pure than someone like me deserves.
Within twenty minutes, she arrives, bursting through the door looking like some sort of country goddess.
“I’m here!” Inky black hair billows out over her brown suede bomber jacket as she struts down the hallway. Her long legs are poured into a skin-tight pair of jeans and the ornate cowboy boots on her feet click swiftly against the concrete. I’m still not accustomed to seeing her in anything other than her cargo pants and oversized Carhartt jacket.
She drops her kit and looks up at me, cheeks rosy and eyes narrowed. “Tell me what’s wrong.” She doesn’t waste any time digging into the box that carries all her general medical stuff, only grabbing a small flashlight and her stethoscope.
Her level of seriousness alarms me. This is what poor Loki gets for having me take care of him. I’m a goddamn angel of death. I can’t keep anyone safe.
“He was fine when I checked on him before dinner.” She comes close, listening to his heartbeat and nodding, urging me on. “I came down to check on him before bed, and he seems lethargic. I mean, look at him. He’s been a bit of a terrorist lately. He’s not himself.”
“Diarrhea?” She looks around the stall and stands up straight, eyes landing on what looks like very liquified poop. How did I not notice that? She pinches the skin on his neck and when she lets go, it stays pinched together, not returning flat as it should with a properly hydrated horse. Next, she opens his droopy lips and presses her thumb against his gums, testing how quickly they pink back up under pressure. Her movements are efficient, not panicked, but prompt.
“Okay. He’s dehydrated. Orphan foals are prone to infection if they miss out on colostrum—which he did for a few days. Just stick with him while I grab some stuff from my truck.”
She darts out of the stall, and I’m left patting the small chestnut horse and murmuring to him. “You’re gonna be fine, little dude. I’m sticking with you. And did you know Mira is the best vet I’ve ever known?” His eyes flutter and his head bobs. “It’s true. She’s very impressive.” My voice cracks.
I hear her steps behind me and feel her dainty hand land at the top of my back. Her fingers pulse against my spine in a light squeeze before she pulls an IV pole into the stall and gets to work, setting up a drip.
“Fuck,” she mutters to herself as she struggles to find a suitable spot for the catheter. Her thumbs work, pressing down the line of his neck, trying to make a vein bulge. The only sign that she likes what she sees is a quiet grunt and then the precise movement of her hand sliding the needle into the spot she selected. “Good boy, Loki. Tough man. You’re a fighter, aren’t ya?”
Within a few moments, Mira has the gauge taped to Loki’s neck, and the line attached. Hopefully, whatever is in that clear bag hanging above us is what he needs. I don’t think I can bear the thought of anything happening to him.
“What now?” I ask quietly from where I kneel beside her.
Mira’s lips press into a thin line as she looks down at me and sighs so heavily her shoulders rise and then fall. “Now we wait.”
“Coffee?” Mira is back, peeking down into the stall from between the bars. “It might be a long night.”
“I thought you left?” I ask sullenly, feeling kind of low and introspective. I guess that’s why I haven’t moved off the stall floor. Again. I don’t want to leave Loki. Just in case. So here I am, leaning against the wall once again.
“Nah. Figured I’d camp out with you for a bit.” She kicks the stall door open and steps in with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. “I think I might have gotten it right this time.” She grins mischievously as she comes to stand before me.
The scent wafts off the hot liquid as she folds herself down about a foot away from me. “Is there booze in this?”
“Yeah.” She smiles as she blows on her mug. “I found some Bailey’s in the fridge. You look like you could use some.”
I peer back at her, following the strong angle of her pronounced cheek bones down her perfectly straight nose.
“No Bailey’s for you?”
“I’m technically on call. They generally frown upon practicing veterinary medicine while under the influence. I take turns being on call overnight with a few other vets so the area is covered for emergencies.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say thoughtfully.
“Of course not. You just call me directly when you need something.” Her laughter is light and airy as she leans in to sip her coffee.
“Black coffee for you?”
“Like my soul.” Her lips tilt up in a wry twist, but her eyes stay focused on the horses before us. Farrah hangs her head over Loki protectively. I marvel at the way she’s taken him over, the way she cares for him when he’s not even hers. Or maybe he is hers now.
While Mira stares at them, it gives me the freedom to stare at her. To let my gaze roam appreciatively. She looks beautiful tonight—fun—far too done up to be sitting on the dirty floor of an oversized foaling stall with the likes of me. “What’s with the getup?”
She quirks a brow. “You asking if I was on a date?”
“You mean we’re not exclusive?” I feign offense, even though internally the thought of her out with another guy makes me see red.
“Are you dating someone?”
I scoff. “No. Not for a while now.”
“So, you just… go without?” She sounds so curious.
“I didn’t say that either, did I?” Mira shimmies her shoulders taller and looks away. “Things have always been pretty casual in that department for me since I moved here. Women aren’t exactly lining up to date me in Ruby Creek and having my sister in the house makes it awkward.”
“But in the city?” She’s still avoiding looking at me, picking at a piece of wood shavings on the rubber mat beside her.
“What happens in the city stays in the city. This farm is my refuge. I wouldn’t bring just anyone here. Anyway, stop changing the subject. All dressed up tonight?”
“Girls’ night at the country bar. Sober for me. Super fun.” Sarcasm seeps from her tone.
“With who?”
She gives me a dry glance now. Like I’m asking a stupid question. “Billie and Violet.”
I just grunt. What am I supposed to say? They hate me and have me pegged as a lot worse than I am.
“You know, I think under different circumstances you’d all get along.”
I scoff at that. “And why is that, Dr. Thorne?”
“Because when it comes down to it, we’re all just good people who love their horses.”
“I’m not so sure I’m a good person.”
“Hmm.” She tips her head like she’s mulling that over.
“Hmm what?”
“I disagree with your assessment.”
“Oh yeah? You told them that yet?”
“No,” she says quietly before hiding behind the big mug again. That stings worse than it should. It’s one thing for her to tell me I’m a good person here in the quiet barn where no one else can hear her, and another for her to say it to her friends. She might not think I’m so bad anymore, but she’s not rushing out to tell anyone about it.
“How’s Nadia?” Mira asks, effectively changing the subject.
The liquid drips into Loki’s line as he leans close to Farrah, seeking her warmth. I consider lying to Mira but opt for the truth. “Not so good.”
She nods silently and I continue. “She’s led a privileged but traumatizing life. I’ve done what I can to keep her safe. But I don’t think it was enough.”
“Why not?”
That’s not the question I was expecting. “Because she’s still sad and lost and desperate for love.”
“Why?”
God. I forgot how brutally blunt she can be sometimes.
“Because we grew up watching our dad viciously beat our mother.”
Her head bounces back against the wall, and she exhales. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. He liked to leave the bruises where no one could see. That way he could still package her up in a fancy dress and tote her around to all his classy events. Everyone was spared the horror, except Nadia and I.” My lips roll together, itching to spill it all, hidden down low in this warm stall encompassed by the quiet munching sounds of the surrounding horses with this woman who has slowly become something like a friend. “With the age difference between us, she got stuck at home while they shipped me off to boarding school in Switzerland. She was a baby when I left. But we got summers together, I guess.” Now I know why I got the boot, and she didn’t. But I don’t feel like going there right now. “As soon as I graduated from that cesspool, I went straight to university in London. I didn’t want to go home. I was worried I’d kill him if I had to live with him again. So, I stayed. I did my degree and then moved on to the London School of Business for my MBA.”
“Did you kill him in the end?”
Not exactly. “No.”
“I would have killed him.” She nods her head succinctly, like she’s very satisfied with her conclusion. Mira Thorne is kinda dark, and I like it.
“A plane crash did that for me instead. Unfortunately, his plane crash took my mother with him.”
“Jesus. That’s depressing. How long ago was that?”
“Four years ago.”
Mira nods. “Right before you came to Ruby Creek.” She doesn’t miss a damn beat.
“Yeah. My mom grew up here. It seemed like a good way to be close to her at the time.”
“At the time?” If she’s shocked by that revelation, she doesn’t show it. She just looks at me. Her dark eyes are soft as they slide over me like she can read my mind.
“Yeah. Sometimes it feels like I have no idea what I’m doing.” I can’t hold her gaze for long. I rest my head on the wall and stare up at the warm lights above us.
“I think we all feel like that sometimes.”
I swallow audibly. She’s probably right.
“And when did Nadia move here?”
“As soon as she could legally—about a year ago. She was stuck living with his sister until she turned eighteen. Then I got her on a plane straight here. It’s been an adjustment for her. I wasn’t there enough through her most important years. I should have gone back. There’s a lot of baggage to unpack.” My free hand presses down into the rubber mat of the stall floor to ground myself. The top joints of my fingers ache with the pressure as I grasp at the flat surface. It almost hurts. But I probably deserve that.
“You feel guilty.” It’s not a question, the way she says it. She knows. It’s hard to get anything past Mira.
“Yeah.” A ragged sigh escapes me, and I run my free hand through my hair. “And I don’t even know where to begin on making it up to her.”
I start when her hand covers mine, like a warm blanket over a cold soul. Her fingers slide between mine, prying them up off the floor. Tangling together.
With one squeeze, she carries on, like we hold hands all the time. “What’s going on with school?” She sips her coffee, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her hand on mine. She has elegant hands, long fingers, but they don’t feel soft and manicured. Her nails are clean and natural, trimmed neatly, and I can feel the light callous on her palm against the top of my hand. Mira works with her hands, and I can feel the proof.
I can feel everything.
“Uhm.” I cough in an attempt to clear my throat, where my heart is currently lodged. “I told her I’d support whatever she wanted to do. I mean, she’s a nineteen-year-old woman. She went back for a couple days, but it sounds like there were a lot of cruel jokes flying around.” My teeth grind just thinking about it. “On one hand, going to school with a bunch of kids is probably really humbling. On the other hand, I’m not sure what she’ll do all day if she does the online school thing for her last few courses. I’m worried she’ll be lonely. Or worse, bored.” I groan. “God. A bored Nadia would be dangerous for everyone in a hundred-mile radius.”
Mira laughs, deep and raspy. It’s sensual. Her hand feels hot over mine. I swear I can feel her heart beating through her palm. Forcing mine to beat in time with hers.
“She’ll be fine,” she says with another gentle squeeze of my hand. “Us womenfolk are smarter and stronger than you all give us credit for.”
She means it in a joking way, but the tension between us as our eyes lock onto each other is anything but lighthearted. I’ve always been drawn to Mira, but this is torture. I feel like she’s reached right between my ribs and wrapped her delicate fingers around my lungs. Like if she wanted to, she could squeeze too hard and cut my breath off entirely.
The moment drags on and feels like it lasts forever, but with a sharp inhale, she stands and brushes off her pants. She doesn’t explain herself, just goes about checking Loki again before unhooking him and urging him to nurse with a few gentle pushes toward Farrah’s hind end. I must admit he’s starting to look more perky. Within moments, he’s latched on and feeding. At the sight, Mira’s shoulders drop on a heavy sigh, a small smile touching her lips.
This is a good sign. My heart hammers when she turns that pleased expression down on me. And suddenly, I wonder what it would be like for her to gaze at me like that from between her thighs. I wonder how low her voice would go then—how my name would sound on her lips while she comes on mine.
“Better?” I ask, veering back into reality. Because getting between Mira’s thighs is a bad idea. I’d probably never want to leave.
“A little. Too early to say,” she replies as she slides down the wall.
But this time, she sits close enough that our shoulders graze against each other.
And after a few beats, she reaches for my hand again.
