Have Mercy - Christina Lee Page 0,24

my mouth to ask him for clarification, the barn door swung wide and Sienna stepped inside. “Good mornin’,” she said in a cheery greeting.

“Mornin’,” we both mumbled, our gazes swinging in opposite directions as if we’d been caught doing something unnatural. Christ, ridiculous. We hadn’t even really said anything to each other, but it felt like volumes had been spoken at the same time.

Except, I wasn’t even sure about what.

I felt clumsy, my limbs thick with awareness as Julian and I maneuvered around each other to finish our chores. Which were really my chores. Since when had I started thinking we were in it together? He could quit anytime he wanted.

“Hey, Julian,” Sienna said as she worked with the goats on the other side of the free stall. “I wondered if you wanted to come to the Carmichael Ranch with us this weekend.” She glanced uneasily over at me as if I’d dispute her idea or something.

“My family tries to have family dinners most Sundays,” I explained. “It’s a way for them to see Ainsley and for us to…stay connected, I guess?”

Sienna shot me a sorrowful glance, one that Julian seemed to note as he looked between us. I wasn’t about to go there with them, not now. He would figure out easily enough how tense it was between me and my family.

Sienna continued, “Mom—I mean, Mrs. Carmichael—asked, since you’re staying with us this summer.” I tensed briefly, noting how she tried so hard to break old habits no matter how many times I told her it was okay. My parents would always be in her life despite our divorce. “But it’s all right if you want to pass or give it more time.”

“Or if you feel like takin’ off and doing your own thing,” I interjected. “You certainly don’t need to hang out with us on the weekends.”

The weekends tended to be laxer around here, and since Marta and George were off, we definitely took it easy instead of making it feel like the farm was all about work. Which it sort of was, but we didn’t have to make it feel like that. We fended for ourselves with meals—even though Marta always tried to leave us leftovers—and sometimes we went into town to do things that were less outdoorsy. Like catching a movie or having dinner at a local diner. Ainsley was usually involved in some sort of activity during the school year, but lately with her anxiety about leaving us, and since it was summer, it was quieter around here. Which suited me just fine.

“I’d actually like that,” Julian said. “Thanks for asking.”

9

Julian

“We usually head over to the Carmichael Ranch late afternoon,” Sienna reminded me after dinner as I helped them in the stables. It’d taken me a bit of time to feel comfortable enough to stand closer to the stalls, though I wasn’t sure where my uneasiness was coming from. Most likely from stories my mom told me about never really taking to horses, despite her sister and parents loving it. I remembered visiting Wyoming as a kid and steering clear, possibly because the horses seemed enormous at the time. But what was my excuse now?

Kerry seemed to sense my apprehension, so after he mucked out the stalls, he handed me a pitchfork and asked me to rake straw for their bedding while he and Sienna led the horses in from the pasture.

Lost in my thoughts, I’d startled when one of the horses was being brought in by Sienna. I stepped back sharply, only to hit what felt like a brick wall, when in fact, it was Kerry’s solid chest. His hands gripped my waist to steady me, and when he whispered soothingly in my ear, “I got you. You’re okay,” I trembled.

It took me a moment to get my bearings before I mumbled a thank-you and backed out of the stall.

I would undoubtedly become more relaxed around them by the end of the summer. But for now, I was fine being put to work and helping any way I could, as long as it didn’t involve being too close to a horse.

“Just a heads-up. There’ll be a fireworks display tonight that we can mostly see from the farm if we’re facing the right way,” Kerry said, his voice a bit tight. “One of the reasons we wanted to get all of them inside.”

“Do they get twitchy?” I asked, watching Phoebe and Hamlet rooting through the hay bales near the loft.

He nodded. “Ainsley too. So we