“Hey Samara, how are you feeling?” Bear asked the next morning.
Samara looked up from the back of the trailer attached to the UTV. Remorse swept through her when she saw the concerned expression on Bear’s face. She had forgotten all about him.
“Hi Bear. I’m good,” she replied, leaning on the pitchfork.
He dismounted from the gelding he was riding and walked over to her. She tightened her grip on the handle of the pitchfork when he silently studied her. His intense scrutiny made her wish she had kept her hat on.
“So, what happened?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” she uneasily countered.
He eyed her with a slightly reproachful glare that made her flush. She released a loud sigh, set the pitchfork down, and sat on the bale of hay she had been working on distributing. What happened last n
