Rein In (Willow Bay Stables #3)(10)

I frowned into the darkening evening outside the window to his office. It was the final Sunday in May and just prior to the end of my volunteer day, there was a power surge and the entire property went dark.

“The power is out for miles,” he continued.

It was a three-hour drive back home to Willow Bay, and with the entire city in the dark, I had to admit, it would be a long and traffic-ridden drive.

Grant was leaning back in the chair behind his desk with a concerned frown so deep that I worried I was causing him to have more wrinkles.

“Let me call my dad and see what he says.” I covered his hand with mine on the desk. “If he thinks it’s best, then I’ll stay.”

Grant nodded and I pulled the iPhone from the back pocket of my jeans. Pulling up his number on speed dial, I waited and he answered on the third ring.

“Hey, AJ.” My father’s rough voice came over the line.

He was the only one who called me that. It was short for my first and middle name Aurora Jane, and I adored that it was a special thing between us.

“Hey, Daddy.” I smiled into the receiver. I was nearly a grown woman, yet there was very little that made me smile as wide as the sound of my father’s voice. “The power’s out for miles out this way,” I told him.

“I heard it on the radio just now. Do you need me to come on out and pick you up?” he asked, and my heart swelled.

My father was a good man, the best.

“That’s sort of why I called.” I looked up at Grant, who was waiting patiently. “Grant suggested I stay the night in the main house and drive home when it’s light in the morning.”

There was a hum and a grunt on the other end of the line before my father’s voice started again. “I’d have to say I’m in agreement with Grant.” I gave Grant the thumbs up, and he smiled. “Tell the old man thank you, and give us a call when you’re on your way back in the morning.”

“Will do.” I shook my head as I laughed. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, AJ,” he answered, followed by a click.

“He called me old, didn’t he?” Grant frowned.

I bit my lip and shoved the phone back in my pocket. “Nope,” I lied.

“You’re a bad liar, my dear.” He shook his head, a wide smile on his face. “I’ll call up to the house and have Taylor prepare the guest room a few days ahead of schedule.

Taylor was Grant’s housekeeper and long-time friend. She was also the woman putting together the suite I’d be staying in when I started my new position next week. That and she made a mean apple crisp. One which I’d begged her countless times to give me the recipe to, but she’d never budged.

“Thank you, Grant.”

He waved me off in the manor that indicated he still had some work to do, so I stepped out of the office and shut the door behind me. It was closing in on nine o’clock in the evening. The other volunteers and youth had long since gone. It wasn’t uncommon for me to be the last person there, aside from Grant and of course now, the four men who lived on the property.

I slung my backpack up on my shoulder and started toward the main house. It was almost completely dark out, the long summer nights having yet to begin but when I squinted hard enough, I noticed something across the parking lot.

The side door to the barn was ajar.

That was odd considering I’d locked down the barn for the night prior to the meeting with Grant in his office. Nonetheless, I changed course, heading toward the barn instead of the main house. I had to look down every few steps to make sure I didn’t trip over anything in the dark.

Within a minute or two, I stood in front of the open door and peeked inside. It was pitch black, but as I reached for the handle, I stopped. There was the faint sound of someone—a man—talking, but as I crept closer to the voice, I realized whoever it was wasn’t talking, they were reading.

I turned a corner and my feet halted of their own accord. Sitting on the floor in front of a stall door, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, was Crow. From the dim yellow of the flashlight he was using to read, I could just faintly make out the edges of his body.

He was wearing black, as always according to Glitch, the same ripped jeans as the first day I’d seen him, and a faded Metallica T-shirt. His boots were crossed at his ankles, and resting in his lap was a paperback book.

The sound of the horses tucked in for the night filtered in and out as his smooth voice read to them.

He could talk.

Well, I knew that he could, but in the three Sundays since I’d been there, I’d only heard him say one word and this…this was so much more magical than that.

That word when he said it had been bitten out like gravel through a trash disposal, like it pained him to say it. This was different. The words fell off his lips like they’d been written for him and only him to speak. His body looked relaxed, that air of a tornado that usually surrounded him had subsided.

His voice was deep and smooth, like honey-covered peaches in August. Warm to the touch and sweet in the way that made your toes curl.

It didn’t take but a moment to realize the book he was reading was The Black Stallion by Walter Farley. Somehow it seemed fitting to him in a way, but I wasn’t sure I could put my finger on why.

Listening to him, I never wanted it to stop. I’d intruded on some closed-off part of another person, but for the life of me, I couldn’t walk away.