The Art of Husbandry (Mackenzie Country, #1)

by Jay Hogan

Holden grabbed the remaining two bags and headed up the path. And if my gaze lingered for just a second too long on all that firm flesh moving under faded denim, it was nobody’s business but my own.

Jesus fucking Christ. Since when had I found the idea of a guy cooking me breakfast adorable? Domestically inclined had never featured high in my Rolodex of traits I looked for in a man.

the sound of a soft rock band I didn’t recognise but could get used to—something that couldn’t be said of Holden’s singing, which lacked anything resembling a key, let alone the correct one.

Second by second, Holden was forcing my body to remember, forcing it to break that dusty seal of grief. To bring me back to life without even trying, without even knowing what he was doing, and in a woolshed for fuck’s sake. I was coming alive in a smelly, dusty, cobweb-strewn woolshed. I was feeling something more than grief and anger for the first time in forever.

“And also—” He leaned in again, stopping just a breath away. “—that was the saddest first kiss of my entire life.” He brushed his nose against mine. “Like hello and goodbye all wrapped up in one.”

It was slow but it was happening. Almost like the mountains were pressing me flat to the edges—exposing parts of me that had been hidden in the folds of grief and anger for eighteen months.

‘You have to see it, you have to feel it, before you can work on healing it.’

“I understood that grief and attraction and like and love don’t compete in some kind of linear race where only one can be in the lead at any one time. It’s more like a washing machine—everything present at the same time in a tangled, messy jumble. Sometimes one thing is on top, sometimes another. But paying attention to one doesn’t mean all the other stuff disappears.”

holy hell. If that was how it felt just to be touched by the man, I wasn’t sure I was going to survive the full enchilada.

Was it a bad decision? Maybe. But at least it was a decision. I was done with standing still. Standing still was going to bury me, slowly, one grey day at a time. And I was done being scared to live again.

“You know, I’d forgotten what this feels like,” I shouted into the storm. “What?” he yelled back over his shoulder. “Happiness,” I answered, my tears mingling with the rain to be washed off my face.

Instead, I kissed Gil’s head and anywhere else I could reach, murmuring reassuring nothings against his damp skin, telling him I’d be there, that I wouldn’t leave him alone. That I cared. That he meant the world to me. And in time the shaking stopped, his breathing evened, and he fell heavily into my arms. And as he slept with his eyelashes laced over his cheek, his heart beating strong against my chest, and his arm still tight around my waist, I whispered, “I love you.”

“I’ve never felt this before and it scares the shit out of me as well, but not as much as not telling you does. I’d rather tell you and lose you than have you leave without knowing the place you’ve carved out in my heart.”

cause. I had to give him his head and let him find his own way to the same conclusion. Open the gates. Encourage, don’t demand. Bring up the rear. Have his back. Help him follow the path of least resistance. Right to the station. I was going to shepherd Gil into my life for good. That was if he didn’t bolt along the way.

I’m talking about letting someone else have your back. Trusting your secrets and your doubts to another person. You were letting yourself lean on Holden, and he wasn’t taking any of your bullshit, not like I did.”

You can’t always have all the answers and there are no guarantees. That’s why it’s called a leap of faith. That’s what all love is.”