Southern Heat by Natasha Madison

Chapter 23

Quinn

"Good morning," I say, sticking my head into Amelia’s office. “You’re here early.” I look at the clock on the wall and see that it’s only after eight.

"I have to leave early today." She puts down the pen in her hand. Amelia is my officer manager, and I don’t know what I would do without her, to be honest. She comes in and makes all the appointments and pays the bills each month and makes sure everyone has their paychecks. "I have to get to the bar this afternoon." She looks at me. “We have a couple of bands playing tonight, and they want to set up."

"You could have taken the day off,” I say, and she leans back in her chair. She is working two jobs, and no one actually knows this but she is silently buying the bar from our aunt Savannah, who wanted to just give it to her, but being the stubborn woman who she is, she fought her. I even offered to loan her the money, but she didn’t want to take it from me.

"Did you just get back?" she asks, and I nod, going to sit in the chair in front of her. "You like the morning rides?" She picks up the coffee and brings it to her lips, trying to hide the smirk.

For the past five days, we have come to the barn at five thirty and taken a ride. "You know me. I love to ride no matter what the time is."

"Where is Willow now?" She looks around, peeking over to the door and seeing it empty.

"She is mucking out Hope’s stall,” I say, shaking my head. After our first ride, she watched me for a couple of minutes and then walked over to grab a bucket and made sure the rest of the horses had water. I told her not to, but she didn’t listen. Instead, she just did what she wanted to. I told her to stop, but the way she smiled when she talked to the horses was everything. So instead, I watched her and made sure she was okay. "Then she’s going to make sure everyone has water and feed them." I lean back in the chair and stretch.

“She’s going to leave," I admit to Amelia, and just the thought makes my stomach ill. It makes my body go tense, and my anger comes to the surface. I have tried to ignore it, and I have tried not to think about it, but every single time I do, it just makes me sick.

“She already has one foot out the door,” Amelia says, sitting up and making sure it’s just us. “She hasn’t unpacked anything yet,” she points out. “She sleeps in her clothes at night,” she whispers. “She rotates between two pairs of jeans, washing one and then wearing the other.”

“You don’t think I know that,” I say. “Every single night, I go into her room to make sure she’s covered. She hasn’t even gone under the covers yet,” I say, and I lean forward. “I have no idea what to do."

"What do you mean?" Amelia asks.

"I mean that I don’t know what I need to do for her to relax,” I say, frustrated. "I don’t know what else I can do to make her feel like she’s at home." I run my hand through my hair.

"I finally got her to try on two pairs of jeans," she points out. “And she accepted my cowboy boots."

I shake my head. “I bought her a new pair. She put them on the floor in her room next to the black fucking bag,” I say through clenched teeth.

"Did she talk to you about what she is going to do after all this?" Amelia asks, and I look down.

"She wants to go someplace where no one knows her,” I say, and the pain in my chest is like a punch to the stomach.

"Why doesn’t she want to stay here?" she asks.

"Maybe because we know who she was before,” I say, not even sure if that is really the answer. “I have no idea."

"So why don’t you show her,” she says, picking up her coffee again. “Show her why she should stay here."

"By doing what?" I ask, my leg moving up and down, thinking that maybe if I can show her, she might think about it.

"Show her why this should be her home. Take her to the diner. Take her out and let people meet her and start fresh." She shakes her head. “God, how are you so stupid sometimes."

"I’m," I start to say. “I haven’t been sleeping," I admit to her.

"Whatever you do, Quinn,” Amelia says, putting her cup down and looking down at her hands, “don’t play games with her."

"How could you say that to me?" I ask, almost insulted by what she just said. “I would never do anything to hurt her." I get up.

"I never said anything about hurting her," she says, opening the drawer and taking out the white envelope. “I said don’t play games."

"Meaning?" I look at her.

"Meaning that if you aren’t in this for the whole ride, get off the horse,” she says, and I roll my eyes at her. "This is what you asked me for."

I grab the envelope and look inside. “Thank you."

"Oh, don’t thank me yet." She leans back and smiles. “You still have to give it to her." She shakes her head. “Good luck with that."

I turn, not willing to give her anything else. I walk out and look down the hallway and see one of the stalls open. I start walking when I hear her voice. “You look so good today." She talks to the horse, and I have to say she is a natural. She knows how to touch them, how to speak to them, and how to get them to trust her. There aren’t many people who can do that so easily. "Now you have a lesson in twenty minutes,” she says, brushing the horse. “And I just know that you are going to be the best one out there."

In the past week, I’ve seen her come alive when she talks to these horses. I’ve seen her guard lower just so they can trust her. “Hey,” I say softly so as not to scare her or the horse.

She looks up, and unlike the first day when she came in wearing white jeans and running shoes, she wears blue jeans that sit low on her hips with a blue tank top. Her face has gotten so much color, and her hair is getting lighter from spending all the time out in the sun. "Hey," she says. “I did those three." She looks at me. “And I have to go back and talk to Hope."

"Is she okay?" I ask, and she looks down and then up again.

"I think I hurt her feelings when I just put her food in and left,” she says. “Usually, I talk to her and brush her while she eats."

I want to tell her that she probably didn’t notice, but I can see how much this bothers her. "Well," I say to her. “This is for you,” I say, holding out the white envelope.

"What is that?" she asks. I don’t answer her because she leans over and takes the white envelope from my hand. Our fingers graze each other, and my whole body wakes up. Every night, we sit outside and watch the sun go down. Neither of us says anything, but I wouldn’t trade that time with her for all the money in the world. Her sitting there with me. Her eyes going so green, I get lost in them.

I watch her face as she opens the envelope and looks inside. "What is this?" she whispers, her hand shaking.

"That is your paycheck,” I say. She looks up at me, and I can see she is going to argue with me.

"I can’t take this from you," she says and holds the envelope back out for me.

"I’m not giving you that money," I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest. “You worked for that,” I say. “All this week, you worked over forty hours."

"I did not,” she says, shaking her head.

"You get here at five thirty, and you don’t leave until four,” I say.

"But …" she says.

"You come in here and ride Hope,” I say. “Then you clean and muck the stalls. You feed the horses, and for the past two days, you’ve been bringing each of them outside for exercise."

"But …” she says again, and this time, I see a tear form in her eye. I walk to stand in front of her.

"But nothing, Willow,” I say softly. My hand comes up to stop the tear from rolling down her face. “You earned that fair and square."

“I don’t know what to say,” she says, and for the first time, she doesn’t walk away from my touch. My heart speeds up, and I’m surprised she can’t see it trying to get out of my chest. I feel like I just won the fucking lottery.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I say, moving my thumb softly over her cheekbone.

"I do have to say something,” she says. She looks at the envelope again, and my hand falls down to my side. “This is …" She shakes her head. “You have no idea what it means to me." I don’t say anything because the only thing I want to say to her will probably push her away. "This is the first time I’ve ever gotten a check,” she says, still looking down at the envelope. “The first time I’ve ever gotten paid for a job." Her voice trembles. “It’s the first time I have money, and I don’t have to hand it over. I don’t have to pay a drug dealer. I don’t have to pay rent or a hotel bill. I don’t have to pay for gas so we can leave the Walmart parking lot." She smiles when she looks up now. “It’s mine. All mine."

"It is all yours,” I say. “We can go down to the bank, and you can open an account."

She nods her head. “I don’t know if I can ever repay you,” she says softly, and I tilt my head to the side. “For everything you’ve given me."

I smile at her. “I’m glad I’m the first one to give you that,” I say, wanting to take her in my arms and kiss the top of her head. “I have to go and talk to Amelia,” I say, and she nods.

Walking out, I stop when I get three feet away from her and let out a deep breath. Turning, I look at her as she stands in the middle of the stall looking at the envelope she’s holding in her hand. “You’ve given me life,” I say softly. “You’ve given me a life."