Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Absolutely,” she replied. “Horses are hypervigilant animals, relying heavily on body language and natural instincts. A sort of symbiosis takes place between horses and soldiers suffering from PTSD.”
“Why is that?”
“I think because the communication is mostly nonverbal, each action sequence keeps the focus in the present, and it’s the perfect environment for mutual trust to take root.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“It seems to work well for my clients. Horses are also more instinctually aware of baser emotions like fear and anger, anxiety and sadness.” She paused as if measuring her words. “In the case of you and Mercy—purely as an example—you’ve both suffered traumatic events, so you might each seek something in the other.”
“Like what?”
“Hmm, let me make a wager, though I could be wrong; sometimes you can’t anticipate what reward you might get from a session until it happens.” Another pause, and I found myself holding my breath for who knew what reason. “I’d say it would be trust, understanding, the simple pleasure of contact—gentle or firm.”
“That makes sense,” Julian replied, and there was a strange catch in his throat that sounded like he was feeling emotional. “Do you think you and I could talk about—”
I walked away before I could hear the end of that sentence, pretending to herd Phoebe away from the garden. She had yet to behead any of the zinnias we’d planted, but it was only a matter of time.
I was already feeling privy to too much of their conversation—not that he was being especially careful around me, but at that point, they were better left to discuss it alone. I knew how hard it was to reach out and ask for help, and if my suspicions were correct, that was exactly what he was about to do. And if he wanted to make it my business, then I’d gladly listen.
Before dinner, we accidentally met up in front of the sink in the bathroom to wash up. My stomach dipped as we smiled at each other in the mirror. It felt almost…domestic, and before I could stop myself, I was pulling him against me. I gathered his face in my hands and kissed him with all I had, our tongues tangling for a couple of long, sweet minutes that I’d undoubtedly treasure later on.
“What was that for?” he asked, panting against my lips.
“Because you’re beautiful, inside and out.”
“Kerry…”
But I didn’t want to hear any sort of response or self-deprecating excuse from him, so I walked toward my bedroom to change.
I absolutely wanted to say more—that I was proud of him, that I’d miss his company when he was gone. As I shut the door behind me, that was also the precise moment I knew where Julian North was concerned, I was truly fucked.
21
Julian
All through dinner, I couldn’t help thinking about that freaking kiss.
“You’re beautiful, inside and out.”
I didn’t know what prompted the compliment, but the tenderness in Kerry’s gaze was nearly my undoing. Maybe it was the conversation he’d overheard between me and Dr. Barnes, though he’d walked away at the key moment when I’d asked if I could work with her and Mercy for a few sessions before I left for home.
Home. New York didn’t even seem real anymore. My heart had already grown roots on this farm, and I’d never forget how I was feeling right in this moment.
And it mostly had to do with the people sitting in front of me.
George and Marta, Sienna and Ainsley, and of course…Kerry.
The man invaded my thoughts way too easily nowadays.
After dinner, Kerry prepared Rocket for a ride around the perimeter of the property to see if his fence had held following the recent storm, and as I watched him ride off into the sunset—okay, that was being a bit dramatic—I couldn’t stop wondering what it might’ve been like to join him. But that would require learning to ride a horse. My stomach roiled at the thought.
I’ll keep my feet planted firmly on the ground, at least for now, thank you very much.
Before bed, I got on a call with Caitlin, and she told me about her and her fiancé getting their marriage license. “Can you believe I’m getting married?”
“Right? What’s Tim thinking, getting hitched to you?”
She chuckled. “You brat.”
“Kidding. Anyone would be proud to marry you, sis. Even if you are a shit cook.”
“Says the guy who only knows how to make cereal.”
“Not true,” I replied, then reconsidered my answer. Mom and I had subsisted on takeout most nights before I got to the farm and was forced to eat three square meals a day or Marta would have something to say about it. I smiled to myself. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”
“You’ll be back in time to get fitted for your tux?” she asked in an unsteady voice. I’d heard about how taxing planning a wedding could be, even a small ceremony with immediate family, and thankfully Caitlin was mostly laid-back about everything.