“Don’t apologize,” the father said firmly, offering his hand. “You saved her from an injury, but now, you can see what we’re dealing with.”
Hayes returned the shake and then moved closer to the girl, noting her curled shoulders. “You’re all right?” he repeated.
She lifted her head. Her smile looked forced. “Yes, I’m okay. Thank you.”
He got that pain in her eyes. Pain that came from a situation where a person had no control. “We’ll get him right for you. Don’t worry about that. Okay?”
Her chin quivered and her green eyes welled with tears. “Was it me that did this? I…I just keep thinking maybe I worked him too hard or something.”
Hayes dropped a hand on her shoulder and brought his gaze down to hers. “Nothin’ you’ve done caused this. The wires in his head aren’t firing right. We’ll get him straightened out.”
“Yeah?” she barely managed.
He gave her the firm nod she needed. “Without a doubt.”
This time when she smiled, there was warmth there. “Thank you.”
“Any idea how long it will take?” Colin asked.
Hayes tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “The gelding decides that.”
They both seemed all right with that answer and confident in him, since they left a few minutes later, with Hayes’s promise of a daily email updating them on the progress. Hayes grabbed a few flakes of hay from the barn and the sweet scent infused the air as he tossed the flakes into the gelding’s paddock. He rubbed the fallen strands off his T-shirt when his cell phone rang. He smiled when he saw the name on the screen. “What trouble are you in now?”
A pause. “How do you know I’m in trouble?” Maisie asked.
Laurel and Maisie had been the best of friends since elementary school. Not bound by blood, but what they held had been deeper. And Maisie had been that type of friend to Hayes ever since Laurel’s death. “Because it’s midmorning and you never call me midmorning.”
A beat passed. The horse came over and began eating the hay.
Maisie finally spoke, her voice tight. “Fine. You’re right. I’m stuck under a keg and need your help.”
Hayes leaned his arm against the top of the coarse wooded fence. “Say that again?” He had to have heard her wrong.
She sighed heavily. “Please don’t make me repeat it.”
He grinned. “Sorry, I’m going to need you to.”
Another sigh, even more exaggerated this time. “I’m stuck under a beer keg in the storage area and need you to come help me.”
Unsure if this was serious or not, since on any given day, Maisie always seemed to get herself in unusual situations, he decided not to drag this along. “I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thank you. Oh, and Hayes?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t say anything about this to Clara or Amelia.”
Hayes chuckled. “Mum’s the word.” He ended the call and approached his black RAM truck.
Maisie was the most accident-prone person he’d ever met. If something went wrong, she was usually involved. Hayes had tried to distance himself from Maisie after Laurel’s funeral. Hell, he’d tried to distance himself from everyone. Only Maisie and Beckett hadn’t allowed it. Hayes was pretty sure he’d be lost or dead without them.
The drive to the brewery took him eight minutes, and when he reached the farm, he drove up the long driveway, pulling in next to Maisie’s MINI. A beautiful landscape painting sat on the passenger seat. Maisie had more natural talent than Hayes had ever seen. He, for one, thought she wasted it working in a brewery, but who was he to argue with her life choices? He certainly had no idea where his life was headed anymore.
When he entered through the side door, he caught Amelia’s curses. She was bent over in the tank, looking like she belonged in a chemical lab. “What’s the brew this time?” he asked.
Amelia jerked up in surprise, covered in spent grain. She smiled when she realized who stood before her. “It’s a fruity beer I’m playing around with. You’d hate it.”
“Then I won’t ask for sample,” he said. Playing cool, he asked, “I’m here to see Maisie. She in the back?”