Free When You Fall... by Ruthie Robinson Page B

surprised that she was still here. He’d been equally surprised to find her cleaning up the kitchen the other night. He’d had the pleasure of being around Jack. He was not for the faint of heart—a real slob’s slob. He’d hold out yet to see if she would remain around long enough to clean out the rest of the house, let alone the outside.
    He parked behind her car. It had moved since he was here last. He knocked on the door. No answer so he headed for the barn.
    He heard noise as he entered, and found Carter standing outside of the horse’s stall, talking to the horse, apparently. It confirmed his earlier flighty assessment and the slightly crazy part as well, because this wasn’t a casual conversation by the look of it. Her face was pressed closed to the horse, a hand rubbing his sides as she talked. She looked up at the sound of the door opening.
    “Hey, look who’s here. Mr. October,” she said, her hands falling away from the horse as she stepped back and gave him a smile.
    He smiled his usual smug smile and glided over to her. Glide was the best way to describe Rafael’s gait. Slow, cocky, sure, and confident were also adjectives that belonged to him, she thought, all topped off with a heavy sprinkling of good old-fashioned sexiness.
    “You haven’t killed him yet. That’s good,” he said, coming to a stop next to her.
    “I’m okay. We’re okay. You don’t have to keep stopping by,” she said.
    “I don’t mind. I had gotten used to stopping by anyway,” he said, watching as she walked away, picking up the water hose.
    “Well, I’m taking over, as you can see,” she said.
    “Slow down. It’s only been two days,” he said, watching as she bent over to turn on the faucet. “Need any help?” he asked, not making any move to help, instead leaning against the stall watching her.
    “No, I’m good,” she said.
    That might be true
he thought, at least by outside appearances. He was content to watch her bend over in her jeans; nice ass. And she
was
pretty. He’d thought the same thing about her the night of the pepper spray incident, and pretty much every time he’d encountered her since. Flighty but pretty; and she was shorter than she looked in the video.
    She filled her bucket with water, walked around him and inside the stall, placing it next to the feeder. She looked inside the feeder before walking back out. He stood, still watching.
    “Got to get some hay,” she said, and started walking toward the barn door. She was surprised to find him fall into step with her, holding the door open for her to walk through. She looked over at him.
    “You might need some help,” he said.
    “I’ll need to buy some more hay soon; a serious supply. I picked up two square bales when I went into town today. But what I really need are a few round ones. Our property manager sucked supremely, as I’m sure you know. I can’t believe this place has been so neglected,” she said, talking to him as he followed her out the door.
    “This place didn’t always look like this,” she said, to his silence. They’d arrived at the hay shed, where two small square bales sat forlornly in the corner, lost in the largeness of the shed. “This place used to be filled to the rafters with hay,” she said, reaching for one. “We also had enough horses to consume it all.”
    “Long time ago.”
    “Yes, a long time ago.”
    “It’s been what?… 80 years,” he said, watching her struggle with the bale.
    “How do you know that?”
    “Who doesn’t?”
    “My great-grandfather, Carter Woodson—my namesake, by the way—built most of what you see, piecemeal. He believed in being owners of land. In those days, landowners were the most prosperous. So after he became a free man, he worked to do the same.”
    “It’s a nice legacy to leave for his heirs, however little they appreciate it,” he added.
    “I’m not going to get into an argument with you. I’m grateful to you for looking after the horse and our