Free Hard Silence by Mia Kay Page A

Mr. Ed.” The bell rang again. Twice this time. “I’ll look over your information and get back to you. Bye.”
    He stepped into the hallway, fumbled with the locks, and opened the door. Abby was standing there, her arm raised to knock. Hemingway was looking over her shoulder.
    “Good morning,” he said. “Why are you bringing me a horse?”
    “I’m. Training. Him.” She blinked. “Glasses?”
    He frowned, trying to follow. “Huh?”
    She touched the bridge of her nose. “You wear. Glasses?”
    “When I work, yeah.”
    “I won’t. Keep you. About our. Date.”
    As she shifted from foot to foot, she switched the lead rope from hand to hand, and Hemingway’s head weaved every time she fidgeted. Toby sat at her feet. She was trying to cancel, and she’d brought reinforcements.
    Shoving his glasses into his pocket, he stepped out onto the porch. “Why are you training him? Isn’t he broken to ride?”
    “Broken,” she whispered, turning her attention to Hem and sweeping her hand along the arch of his neck in long, slow strokes. “Isn’t that an. Awful. Word?”
    With the horse stretched across his steps, Jeff could match the scars to anatomical structure. Someone had fractured Hemingway’s ribs and gouged his flanks.
    “It is,” he agreed. “So you’re teaching him what?”
    “To trust that I won’t hurt him.”
    Something moved under her shirt, contorting and squirming like a B movie alien. A pitiful mewl was muffled by the denim. “Do you have a kitten under your clothes?”
    As if on cue, the animal wiggled its tiny head out between Abby’s buttons. At the same time, Hemingway yanked his head and stepped backward, rocking her on her heels. Jeff grabbed her hips to keep her from toppling off the porch.
    She was the weirdest woman he’d ever met, and it should have been funny. But, with her in his arms, all he could think of was unbuttoning her shirt and carrying her in the house. Spending the afternoon closeted away with her while Hem ate Mrs. Simon’s shrubs. It’s all he’d been able to think about since Saturday when she’d grabbed his hand.
    He saw the same desperation in her eyes now. He could let her off the hook, or he could push her out of her comfort zone. Not much, just enough.
    Inching closer, he flicked the shirt button that was halfway undone anyway, and slid his hand under the tiny kitten. Abby’s breathing hitched, but she stayed put as his fingertips grazed her stomach. Sweet Jesus, he hadn’t even kissed her yet. He could remedy that, right now.
    Kitten in hand, he was halfway to her mouth when another wet nose poked his wrist. Two kittens.
    “Are there more in there? Do I need to search you?” Please say yes.
    “Just the two. Someone dumped them last night. I found them by the road on my way up here.” She backed up and rearranged her clothes.
    Left with no other recourse, Jeff stared at the two silver tabby cats he held in one hand. Their eyes were barely open. “Do people dump animals on you a lot?”
    “They know I’ll take care of them or take them to the shelter.”
    “How do you take care of them? I mean, horses, dogs, chickens, cows, cats. Isn’t it expensive?”
    “I have a job,” she said as she struggled to keep Hemingway still.
    He was embarrassed to realize he’d never asked her anything about her life. He plucked the lead rope from her hand. “Stay for coffee.”
    “I can’t. I don’t—”
    “Visit. Yeah, I know.” He shoved the kittens at her and tramped down the stairs leading the horse with one hand and remembering not to pull. When they reached the gate, he slipped the halter off. Hemingway nudged his hand in thanks and walked into the field, content to graze.
    “What are you doing?” Abby snapped as she rushed behind him.
    “He’s had enough training for the day, and I’m not going to stand there and watch him break your neck. Come in the house.”
    She held up the kittens, one in either hand. “They aren’t litter