Page 43 of Whispers of Sweetwater

The countryside was quiet save for birdsong and the rustle of early wind through the grass. Duchess nickered a hello as she approached, and Maverick, the leggy foal with an inquisitive streak, hovered close behind.

Pausing at the rustic fence, she smiled, brushing her hand down the mare’s strong neck. ‘Morning, beautiful, how’s motherhood treating you, hey?’

Maverick was clearly thriving. His spindly legs still wobbled a little when he cantered around Duchess, but there was a confidence blooming in him, a joyful bounce in his gait that made her chest ache with tenderness. All energy and affection, he stopped mid-prance to bury his nose in his mother’s side, then stretched to curiously sniff at Brianna’s boots like they held treats. Giggling at his antics, she crouched down, and when he tugged at her ponytail she laughed out loud, the sound easing something in her chest but not the knot in her stomach.

It had been five days.

No calls. No notes. No knocks. No Sherlock growls.

Somehow too quiet, given all that had happened.

On impulse, she sat on her rump, folded her legs and pulled out her phone. Her gallery was filled with animals – Duchess mid-gallop, Maverick chewing a hose, Sherlock sprawled belly-up on the verandah, along with a few of her gorgeous patients she’d warmed to during her vet visits. Nestled between the happy snaps was one from a few weeks earlier, of Molly, laughing outside the café with flour on her cheek. Hayden was in a few too, in the background, his face always half-shadowed by his hat. There was only one snap that caught the outline of his strong jaw and his smiling lips, and she stared longer than she meant to, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. But catching herself, and chastising herself for fantasising, she quickly locked the screen and exhaled when behind her, footsteps crunched over dry grass.

‘You’re up early, Steele,’ Hayden said, his voice rough with sleep. ‘As usual, really.’

She turned, surprised but not startled. ‘Oh, hey.’ He held out a coffee in one hand, his own mug in the other. ‘Habit, I suppose,’ she said, leaping to her booted feet then gratefully accepting it.

Their fingers brushed as the cup passed between them.

‘Extra strong, two sugars, dash of milk,’ he said.

‘Mmm, just how I like it. Thanks, Pierce.’ She sipped, warmth spreading through more than just her hands. Practical or not, she knew why she was here. Duchess and Maverick mattered, yes. But so did he.

‘They missed you,’ he said, nodding towards Duchess and Maverick. ‘And I gather you miss them, too.’

She gave him a sidelong glance but let it pass. ‘Couldn’t resist. Maverick’s getting cheekier by the day.’

He smiled into his cup. ‘He’s got a good teacher.’

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching Maverick bounce clumsily after a drifting leaf.

Hayden shifted slightly, glancing her way. ‘How’s Molly holding up?’

Brianna’s mouth pulled to one side. ‘Tired. Trying to act like she’s fine. Still hasn’t gone home. And I don’t want her to.’

‘Understandable.’ He nodded slowly. ‘And the café?’

‘Reopening in a couple of days.’ She sighed as she pondered Molly being back at work.

Hayden’s brows lifted. ‘You think she’s really ready?’

‘She says she is.’ Brianna took a slow sip of her delicious coffee made by an equally delicious man. ‘She’s determined to reclaim normal, even if it’s not real yet. Maybe especially because it’s not.’

Hayden nodded slowly, his eyes now fixed on the sprawling paddocks. ‘It still doesn’t sit right with me. The break-in, the note, the blackmail. It wasn’t just some punk acting tough. Whoever’s behind this, well, I reckon it’s organised. And intentional.’

Brianna’s jaw tensed. ‘And personal. Molly’s name, her history, even her habits, whoever it was knew too much.’

‘Yeah.’ Hayden’s grip on his mug tightened. ‘It’s not random. Someone in town is pulling strings. Watching. Waiting. Playing nasty games.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘I’ve been doing some checks. Quiet ones. Old Walt has helped me a bit.’

‘Okay, who’s Walt?’

‘He’s a retired stockman, used to run cattle up near the ridge. Knows just about everyone in town and, more importantly, knows who to listen to and who to ignore. But don’t say anything to Molly yet, at least not until we have more than hunches.’

‘Right you are.’ She zipped her lips. ‘Secret is safe with me.’

For a moment neither of them moved, the silence stretching, charged, like the air right before a summer storm. Hayden’s gaze lingered on her, steady and unreadable, though his hand flexed around his enamel mug as if holding something back.

Brianna cleared her throat, breaking eye contact before her thoughts slipped any further into dangerous territory. ‘Well, I should probably get going. My next patient isn’t going to diagnose herself.’