I froze.
I’d said something similar to him years ago. And what was worse, I understood exactly what he meant. I didn’t like it, but I nodded and backed down. “Okay. We’ll do this your way.”
“Gee, thanks.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Just because you’re hurt doesn’t mean you get to be nasty. I’m willing to do what you want, so the least you can do is be grateful.”
For a second, we glared at each other. I was close to apologising and admitting that seeing him in pain wasn’t good for my sanity and I’d do whatever he wanted, but slowly, he nodded.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He gave a lopsided smile. “I keep having to apologise to you. It’s becoming a habit.”
“Perhaps be nicer in the first place, and then you wouldn’t have to.”
“That would probably fix the problem.” He took a hesitant step forward. He wobbled, hissed between his teeth, almost fell.
I didn’t think.
Just acted.
Rushing to his side, I ducked under his arm and became the crutch he needed but would never ask for.
He stiffened as my arm looped around his considerable bulk, my fingers locking on his hipbone.
For a second, we didn’t move. I expected him to push me away. To remove all traces of me touching him. To demand I get as far back as possible. However, it was a testament to his injury because he merely cleared his throat and gingerly put his arm over my shoulders.
I did my best to hide the kick my heart made. The leap of happiness that he’d accepted my help. The tingle of connection after wanting to touch him for so long.
Did this classify as a hug?
Not really.
But it was contact, and that was all that mattered.
“This means nothing and is never to be discussed again, got it?” He growled under his breath.
“I understand.”
“Good.” He tripped forward, dragging me with him and putting a little, but not a lot, of his weight on me.
I didn’t tell him to lean on me more. I didn’t want to give him any reason to stop accepting my help. A tiny bit was better than nothing.
Slowly, ever so slowly, we inched across the paddock toward his cabin.
Jacob whistled, halting Forrest’s manic pacing, bringing the stressed-out gelding into a calm plod behind us.
“You’re kind of a horse whisperer, you know?” I said quietly, moving with him when he moved, and pausing with him when he caught his breath.
“Nah. It’s just about building that bond.”
“You have a bond with every horse here.”
“It might seem that way but no. I just listen, that’s all. I listen, and the horse then trusts it can speak to me, and I won’t ignore it.”
“That’s kind of the definition of a horse whisperer.”
He stumbled, flinching with a wash of heat so warm it seeped into me, making me sweat. “Are you trying to be annoying or just distract me?”
“A bit of both.” I smiled shyly. “Is it working?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On if you’re more interested in being annoying or distracting.” He gave me a wry smile I was beginning to recognise as his version of armour against connection. He used quips and sarcasm to deflect deeper subjects and prevent anyone from getting too close.
“If I wanted to be annoying, I’d say you should really call your mother.”
“And I’d say you’re an idiot if you think I’m going to tell her about this.”
“Wait, what?” I pulled to a stop, making him twist in ways he probably shouldn’t.
“Goddammit, Hope.” He rubbed his lower back.
“You have to tell her. There’s no way you can hide the fact you can barely walk.”
“I’ve hidden worse.” He bashed his temple with his palm as if attempting to clear the fuzz from his mind.
“You have?”
He lumbered back into walking. “This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen off.”
“But why do you keep it from her?”
He rolled his eyes as if I was the stupidest person alive. “I’ll spell it out for you, shall I?”
The way he caught my gaze warned I wouldn’t like his explanation. “It’s okay. You don’t have—”
“My father passed out in that meadow the day I was born.”
Goosebumps shot down my arms. “The one you fell in?”
He nodded, jaw tight and eyes strained. “Mom called an ambulance all while in labour with me. She didn’t stop taking care of him until he woke in the ER and gave her the very bed he’d been lying in.”
“Wow.”
“It was a long time ago, but I see her looking at that meadow now and again, and I know she remembers. How could she not? It was the beginning of the end, really. Dad lasted far longer than anyone predicted, but eventually, he still died. She still lost him, and I made a promise never to cause her the same pain.” Jacob’s hair fell over his forehead as he struggled to walk faster. “So you see? She must never know because I’ve already disappointed my dad by hurting myself. I can’t hurt her too.”