chapter two

Hazel awoke with a start, mouth dry as she sat up, scanning herself for any evidence of what had just happened. The valley between her breasts was dewy, sweat leaching from her skin as she struggled to regain her breath. Sunlight spilled in from the open window, a gentle breeze blowing against butter yellow curtains. The realization of where she was hit her hard, her gaze shifting to the empty space beside her in bed. She allowed her eyes to close, her back resting against the headboard as she took a moment to process.

A week. She’d been back in town for less than a week and the dreams had been relentless. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she tossed the sheets aside, feeling the fabric cling to the dampness between her inner thighs. Grasping her robe from the back of the bedroom door, she slid the silk across her body and creaked open the door. The scrape of a knife and fork on a plate rang out from the kitchen, the only sound filling the eerily quiet house.

In Manhattan, the hustle and bustle of the city had filled the silent spaces, infiltrated the quietest parts of the apartment she’d shared with Max. The farm brought a sense of unnatural stillness, the absence of noise pollution leaving the ebbing thoughts of Hazel’s dream echoing through her mind.

Her feet padded against the worn floorboards, her gaze taking in Max’s broad back, the crisp fabric of his uniform spilling out over the spokes of the chair. His muscles were tense, a slight flutter in Hazel’s stomach. Had her pants and moans leaked out from her dream? Had Cole’s name slipped her lips as she tossed and turned? Tentatively, she ran her palms along the hard ridges of his shoulders. He relaxed beneath her touch, and she released a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding.

“Morning, baby,” he grinned, sandy hair flopping over his forehead as he turned to face her, vibrant blue eyes gazing up at her beneath heavy lids.

“Morning,” Hazel smiled. She dipped down to kiss him, a chuckle lingering in her throat as he held her in place, kissing her once more. “How’d you sleep?”

“Dude, how long does it take to get used to a fucking rooster crowing at the ass-crack of dawn?”

Stretching her arms over her head, Hazel’s laugh petered off into a yawn as she shuffled towards the coffee pot, reaching up to grab a cup and filling it to the brim. “I really don’t know, honey. I’ve had Bruce waking me up for as long as I can remember.”

“Well, Bruce better be careful. He’s on his way to becoming dinner.” Max puffed out his chest, patting his stomach as he settled his plate onto the dusty floorboards and clicked his fingers. Blue rose from his bed, the click-clack of his nails reverberating off the wood as a steady stream of drool leaked from his jowls. The plate was squeaky clean in a matter of seconds.

Hazel shook her head, a small dancing on her lips as she took a sip of coffee. “You leave Bruce alone.”

The chair shuddered as Max pushed himself out from underneath the table, straightening his shirt as he rose. Clean fingers weaved through the wavy strands of hair falling into his face, his tongue rolling across his lips to catch any remnants from breakfast.

“You going in to work already?”

He nodded, snatching his phone, wallet and keys from the table. “You wouldn’t believe the cases this old town has, babe. There’s no one here even remotely equipped to deal with it, and because I’m a city boy, they think I’m the fucking Olivia Benson of solving crimes, so they’ve shafted it all to me. I’ll probably be home late, so don’t wait up, okay?”

His broad body hovered inches away from her, the scent of his cologne infiltrating the morning fog. Hazel rose on her tiptoes, planting a gentle kiss against lips. “You know there’s a guy in SVU, don’t you? You could’ve chosen to be Stabler.”

“We all know Benson’s the mastermind, babe,” he winked, kissing her forehead once more before twirling his keys around his finger, his heavy boots clomping toward the front door.

Hazel rested against the kitchen bench, arms folded across her chest as she took another sip of coffee. Her gaze travelled out the window, watching as Max crunched across the gravel, sinking his large frame into the cramped quarters of his Mini JCW. He edged tentatively out of the driveway, trying hard to avoid the cloud of dust that would be sure to dirty the sleek black exterior. Hazel rolled her eyes, glancing out at the pastures that stretched out the front of the house. The goat paddock stood empty, the field usually dotted with chickens and ducks still and green.

“Shit,” Hazel sighed, running her hand through her matted hair. The clock above the oven showed it was almost nine – far too late for her to be standing in the kitchen with her pajamas on. She hurried back into the bedroom, her feet easily sidestepping the creaky floorboard without so much as a second thought and tugged on a pair of dusty jeans and one of Max’s hoodies. She slicked her hair back into a messy ponytail, tucking her phone and the house keys into her pockets, before rushing out the front door, coffee mug still securely held in her palm.

Blue followed close behind, his large head nudging into her empty hand as they strolled across the grass, the trees waving down at them gently. A grimy tennis ball lingered in a midst of green, and Blue swept over to retrieve it, dropping it at Hazel’s feet with a timid bark. She groaned as she bent down to pick it up, flinging it onto the other side of the field and laughing as the Rottweiler almost tripped over his own feet in his mad dash to chase it.

Chickens and ducks bustled at the fence, pecking through the wire as if displaying their displeasure. Hazel mumbled an apology, releasing the latches on the gate and swinging it open. The birds spilled out, clucking and chirping as they fussed around her boots, waiting impatiently for their breakfast. She refilled their feeders and put out fresh water, before rummaging around in the nesting boxes for fresh eggs. With her basket full, she dodged the stray birds that still pecked at the ground inside the enclosure and started the process she hated the most – cleaning out the duck pool.

It was filthy and smelled horrid, the stench she’d somehow forgotten in her time in New York, but even as she walked toward the goat pen, the smell lingered in her nostrils. She chugged down the last of her coffee, setting it on the post as she released the goats out into their pasture. She repeated the process – refilling the feed and hay, topping up the water – before running her fingers along the fence line, ensuring no goats had tried to make an escape during the night.

Blue padded along beside her, the ball now firmly latched in his mouth as he panted. Hazel laughed, slowly meandering along the fence until she reached the outside of the house. She rested her forearms against the wooden beams, watching as the animals teetered around, the birds plucking bugs and worms from the ground, the goats climbing on anything remotely climbable. She thought she’d left this life behind when she moved, the peaceful tranquillity becoming a distant memory, but as she sucked in the crisp air, she allowed her eyes to close and bask in the gentle crackle of the leaves brushing together, the bleats and chirps of the animals around her, even the heavy panting of the dog beside her.

“Well butter my backside and call me a biscuit. Hazel Jean, ‘sthat you?”