Page 15

Instead, I keep going. I hip-check the Cheshire fucking Cat out of the way so I can unlock the stall door and pry it open.

The first tug on the lead rope attached to the halter, Ruin resists. He ducks his head, giving it a good shake and blowing indignantly. Carefully, I relinquish half of my grip so I can rub light, soothing circles on his wide forehead. “Just a little longer and then we’ll leave you alone.”

Another blow. A whinny. A clop as Ruin indulges me with a single, indignant step, waiting an entire minute before gracing me with another. And then another, and another, and another until finally, he clomps out of the stall and lets me line him up where Finn wants him.

Finn, who pats me on the shoulder and murmurs the same words I do to Ruin, a soft good job that makes my stomach feel a little funny, my skin a little warm.

As quickly as the odd feeling descends, I shake it off. “Am I trying a cross-tie or just holding him?”

“Hold him.” Starting from his head, Finn rubs a palm all the way down to Ruin’s flank, making sure the stallion knows he’s there before bending at the waist to drag his touch down a back leg. “I think tying him up will freak him out.”

I agree, but considering the simple act of being alive seems to freak him out too, I’m not sure it’s a viable argument. “Not that I can’t do it—”

Finn snorts.

“But,” I continue, narrowing my eyes at his hunched form. “What, exactly, am I supposed to do if he loses it?”

I’m plenty capable, but I’m not fucking Superman. Ruin isn’t the biggest horse I’ve dealt with, but he’s still pretty damn big. He’s got to be, what, four times my weight? Five? If he wants out of my hold, he’s getting out.

A fact that doesn’t seem to at all bother the man who bends a strong, equine leg at the knee, pins the limb between both of his, and positions the rear hoof of an exceptionally erratic horse a few inches from his face so he can inspect the first of four horseshoes.

“He’s not gonna lose it,” Finn murmurs, as sure as he is relaxed. “Because you’re gonna keep him calm.”

Surely, he knows how ironic of an ask that is of me , of all people. He can’t possibly trust me with the safe-keeping of that irritatingly handsome face.

Except inexplicably, he must. Because if he didn’t, he sure as hell wouldn’t slide one of the tools from his belt and get to work. “Keep talking. He likes your voice.”

Carry on sweet-talking my new friend is what he means. Yet instead, I find myself addressing my not-so-friend instead. “You’re a farrier?”

A hum answers exactly what I asked, and provides not a single bit of information more.

“That what you did on your family’s ranch?”

“No.”

I wait for him to elaborate, sighing when he doesn’t—when I realize he’s never going to give me anything more than I ask. So I do, in a sarcastic, saccharine tone, “What did you do?”

He takes his time answering, really dragging out the seconds as he swaps tools. “A lot of the same as what we do here, except with cattle.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Why’d you leave?” he throws back at me, but after we reposition slightly so he can get to the other back hoof, he says, “I like horses more.”

“That’s it?”

“Not enough for you?”

Not even nearly. “You left home because your parents wouldn’t buy you a pony.”

“You calling me a brat, Lottie?”

I shrug even though he can’t see me.

Finn hums thoughtfully. Finishing up with the back hooves, he moves to the front one on the opposite side of Ruin. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

I don’t laugh—I scoff. I definitely scoff. I am definitely not amused. “You know I’m the only thing standing between you and a broken nose, right?”

“You know you’re the one who started it, right?”

“Sorry,” I drawl, not the least bit apologetic. “Am I supposed to go easy on you too?”

Sighing, Finn straightens and comes to join me on Ruin’s other side, a distracted crease to his features as he messes with his tool belt. “You can do whatever you want with me, Lottie.”

“Kinky. Is that a promise?”

Finn freezes. He looks up slowly, face literally falling as he slowly understands what he said—what I said, what I didn’t even mean to say.

The suggestive words just slipped out of my mouth, and now they’re forcing their way into Finn’s, choking him, making him…

well, blush is the word that comes to mind.

His complexion doesn’t change, but he gets that wide-eyed, bashful look as he clears his throat and hurriedly looks away, eyes finding the floor, and I would revel in provoking such an adorably flustered reaction, if his gaze was the only thing that dropped.

Even before the metal hoof tester slips through his fingers and hits the ground, I flinch. I anticipate the loud, ringing thud, yet when it actually sounds, I don’t quite manage to avoid the hard, equine head that clunks against my own as Ruin startles.

Pain radiating from my temple, I lose my balance, losing my grip too as I stumble to the side.

I curse, one hand pressed to the throbbing side of my face as the other reaches out for the horse stomping and huffing in agitation, grasping frantically for his lead rope only for Finn to beat me to it.

Looping it around his forearm, he tugs it taut as he leans his weight into Ruin, pressing the stallion against the side of his stall.

I don’t hesitate to join him, positioning myself at the base of that damn hard head and smoothing one hand over Ruin’s chest, palming behind his withers with the other.

“Relax,” I croon just as gently as I hold the calming technique I don’t even remember learning, let alone where I learned it. A book, I think. Or a documentary. Or maybe, most likely, an episode of Heartland. “Did the big, dumb man startle you, my boy?”

The big, dumb man in question grunts.

“Ignore him,” I continue, hiding the quirk of my lips against a soft, sleek coat. “I think he’s scared of women.”

“ Woman ,” Finn corrects lowly.

Slowly retracting the hand on Ruin’s chest, I press it against my own instead, right above my heart. “Thank you.”

A laugh claws its way out of Finn, rough as if he fought like hell to keep it in only to fail miserably. Clearing his throat, he gives his head a little shake before jerking it towards the barn door. “Let’s turn him out so he can burn off some of that energy.”

I nod, and together, we guide him into the grazing paddock attached to the barn. Leaning against the fence, I watch as Ruin avoids the handful of other horses chewing up the grass and claims the farthest corner, eyeing his surroundings warily before dropping his head.

Right as he does, someone taps the back of mine. “You okay?”

I dip out of Finn’s reach, palming the patch on my crown that suddenly tickles. “Yup.”

“He hit you pretty hard.”

“I’m fine.”

I don’t have to look at Finn to know he doesn’t believe me. I don’t care that he doesn’t believe me. My throbbing head is none of his concern, and he must agree because he leaves it alone. He leaves me alone.

For the rest of the day, I barely see him.

But when I get home, when I trudge my way up the stairs and down the hallway, I come up short a foot shy of the ladder.

And I stare at the bowl of sugar cubes sitting on the ground in front of it for a long, long time before I find myself capable of moving again.