“Dr. Boone?” Eden’s voice was soft.
The horse’s ears pricked forward, turning toward her.
“In her
e. Calm, soothing tones, please,” he said, staying put.
“Oh.” Her exclamation was confirmation she’d found him.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, catching sight of her at the fence. Her golden hair was slipping free from her bun. She looked tired. And sad. Her hazel eyes inspected the horse, then pressed tightly shut.
“I...I wanted to let you know I was walking back to the Lodge,” she murmured.
“You’re under no obligation to check in with me,” he answered, trying to keep his irritation from seeping into his tone.
But she hesitated.
His teeth ground together, but he didn’t say anything.
“Dr. Boone?” she asked.
“Yes, Miss Caraway.” The horse stiffened at his tone.
“I respect what you do. And whether or not I’m doing everything you want me to do, I am doing the job I was hired to do.” Her tone remained soft. “Even if you’re disappointed.”
He stood slowly, his gaze slamming into hers over the back of the horse. “You are.” He placed a hand on the horse’s shoulders. She was right. And he was being...irrational. “I...I appreciate your hard work. And what you did for Fester today, as well.” He stopped himself from saying anything else.
Her gaze moved to his hand on the horse’s back. “She’s in a bad way?”
He nodded.
“Will you stay with her?” she asked, resting her arms on the top of the metal gate leading into the large stall.
He nodded, watching her, wishing she’d stay. This was his job, his area of expertise. Not hers. But...he liked having her close. Besides, her girls would be missing her.
“What’s her name?” she asked, smiling as the horse rubbed Archer’s chest with her nose.
“No name,” he answered.
Her gaze returned to his. “No name?”
He smiled. “You have a suggestion?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know her.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “Not yet.”
She smiled back. “Oh.”
Her smile caught him unaware. Something about it, the softening of her features and the sparkle in her eyes, took a firm hold of him. Not him. But his chest. Deep inside his chest. An ache. And that damn tightening in his throat.
“Well, Clara’s having a night out.” She stepped back from the gate. “It’ll be me and the girls. Lots of purple crayons.”
A night with her and her daughters. A night of laughter and hugging and coloring and silliness. And Eden smiling. “Sounds nice,” he said.
She laughed then, glancing over her shoulder as she walked out of the barn.
Archer stood there, rigid, hoping that—now that she was gone—he’d feel differently. Instead, the ache grew. And he began to accept that Eden Caraway had done something he’d thought was impossible. She’d taken a firm grip on his heart. And more surprisingly, Archer didn’t mind.