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6

AUbrEY

T he alarm feels like it goes off seconds after I close my eyes. I’m already dressed and lacing up my boots when I hear footsteps on the porch. I poke my head around the corner and see Jensen’s tall frame outside. Something fizzes in my chest and I quickly ignore it, smoothing down my hair in the mirror before I cross the room. I unlock the door, opening it before he can knock, and his hand drops to his side.

“Ready?” His voice is rough, like he just rolled out of bed, though he looks put together with his worn denim jacket with shearling collar, hat neatly on his head.

“As I’ll ever be. Even made coffee,” I say, gesturing towards the kitchenette.

“Brought you something better.” He hands me a beaten-up metal thermos. “Eli’s special blend. You’ll need it.”

He watches me closely as I take a tentative sip. The coffee is strong enough to strip paint, with hints of chocolate. It’s also exactly what I need after a night of fitful sleep.

We walk to the barn in silence, frost crunching under our boots. The air is sharp with wood smoke and pine, and the mountains are just visible against the lightening sky. A horse whinnies from inside the barn, a nervous sound that makes my shoulders tense up. Doesn’t help that being around Jensen in general does something to my nerves.

“Relax,” Jensen says, though he wasn’t even looking at me. “Horses can smell fear.”

I’m starting to think you can smell fear too , I think.

“That’s bears,” I tell him.

“Them too.” He slides the barn door open. “But we’re not riding bears.”

The barn is already busy, Cole and Hank leading horses out the other end, Eli mucking stalls. He barely glances our way as Jensen guides me to a stall where a stocky chestnut horse regards me with liquid black eyes. I stare right back at the horse, taking in a deep breath through my nose, the sweet smell of hay filling it.

“This is Duke,” Jensen says. “He’s steady. Reliable. Good with beginners.”

Duke’s ears flick back. I try not to take it personally.

“First lesson,” Jensen says. “You need to know how to tack up your horse. When we’re out there in the mountains, I might not always be able to help you. Before that though, you have to introduce yourself to your horse. He has to get to know you and you have to know him. No secrets.”

He slides open the stall door and gestures for me to step inside.

I take another fortifying sip of coffee before I enter and he takes it from my hand, placing it on the cement floor outside the stall. Then he steps behind me, close enough that I can feel his body heat in the cool morning air. “Step one,” he says, his breath warm against my ear as he reaches down and grabs my hand. Instinctively I want to rip it away, but his grip is strong, his palms lightly calloused. He raises my hand toward Duke’s muzzle. “Let him smell you.”

Duke exhales hot hair from his nostrils and Jensen’s hand drops away, leaving mine feeling bare.

“There,” he says, still standing right behind me.

Duke lowers his head so his lips brush against my hand, floppy and velvety-soft. I can’t help but giggle. He flaps them over my knuckles, then nuzzles me.

“Alright, now he’s looking for a treat,” Jensen says with a chuckle. “I’ll tell you what.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something out, then slips it into my palm, cool and round. “He’ll appreciate that. Just turn your hand over and hold out your palm completely flat.”

I do as he says, revealing a white-and-red peppermint candy. “Really?” I ask him.

He gives me a fleeting smile. “It’s his favorite.”

Already Duke’s lips are flapping over my palm and Jensen reminds me again to stay still and keep my palm open. The horse gobbles it up, teeth gently razing over my skin, then starts crunching loudly on the candy, raising his nose in the air comically.

“There. Now he’s your best friend. You just wait a minute and bond and I’ll get the tack.”

Jensen slips out of the stall, leaving me with Duke. For a moment I panic, even though it’s silly. All my trauma came from falling off, not from a horse doing anything to me on the ground. Still, I have to take some calming breaths until I feel myself relax.

Tentatively I place my hand on Duke’s shoulder, making his coat twitch briefly. He continues to happily munch away and I feel myself being calmed by him somehow.

Then Jensen returns with a bridle, small blanket, and saddle, and suddenly I’m nervous all over again. I just can’t tell if I’m anxious around Jensen because I feel attraction to him or because I’m scared of him. Not sure which I prefer.

“Nice to see you’ve made friends,” he comments. “Now, generally a horse would be wearing a halter and we’d have him tied up in the cross ties, saddle going on first, but he’s not going anywhere, so we’ll start with the bridle here.”

He places the saddle on the ground, leaning against the stall wall, then takes the bridle up to Duke’s face. His hands move with practiced efficiency, explaining each strap and buckle. The horse stays perfectly still for him, like they share some silent understanding that this is all for my benefit.

“Your turn,” Jensen says, slipping the bridle off and handing it to me before he takes a step back.

I take the bridle, trying to mirror his movements. Duke tosses his head, making me jump aside.

“Steady,” Jensen murmurs, though whether he’s talking to me or the horse, I’m not sure. His hand closes over mine, guiding it to Duke’s muzzle. “Start with the bit. Like this. Firm but gentle. You have to be confident. Show him who is boss. Show him he’s safe with you.”

His calloused fingers are warm against my skin, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. He smells like leather and coffee and something wild, like sage crushed underfoot.

“Now with the bit,” he says, voice low. “You have to…”

“I’ve got it,” I say quickly, stepping away from his heat. Duke gives me a look that seems to say he’s not convinced.

It takes three tries, but I finally get the metal bit through Duke’s mouth, careful to place it over the tongue and not knock it over his teeth, and then the rest of the bridle on correctly. Jensen watches with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest. By now he’s taken off his jacket, and the flannel shirt he’s wearing pulls tight across his shoulders, and I force myself to focus on the task at hand.

“Saddle next,” he says, lifting the heavy western saddle from the ground, with the small blanket underneath. “Pay attention. This is what keeps you on the horse.”

I do pay attention, but it’s hard when he keeps having to adjust my hands, showing me how to position the saddle pad across Duke’s back, where to secure the girth. Each touch feels deliberate, lingering longer than strictly necessary. When I lean down to cinch it, I feel his eyes burning into me.

“Good,” he says finally, and something in his tone makes me look up. He’s watching me with that intense gaze again, like he’s trying to figure something out. “You’re a quick study.”

“I told you I was.”

“You just need to put more oompf into it,” he says as he comes over and pulls up the girth yet again and cinching it. “The thing to remember is you always have to do it twice. Ornery old dogs like Duke here will push their ribs out on purpose the first time you try to get the saddle on. That way when you attempt to mount up, the saddle will slide right off. You fall, the horse laughs.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “Anyway, we’ll see how quick of a learner you are when you’re in the saddle.”

Right. The actual riding part. My stomach does a little flip that has nothing to do with Jensen’s proximity.

“Remember,” he says, leading Duke out of the stall as I step aside. “Horses can sense fear.”

Not helping , I think.

The morning sun breaks over the treetops as Jensen leads Duke to the round pen. My heart pounds harder with each step, memories of that childhood fall flooding back. Out here, Duke’s hooves seem massive, his back impossibly high.

Jensen brings Duke to a stop in the middle of the ring and beckons me over with a shrug of his shoulder.

“Left foot in the stirrup, always,” Jensen says, holding the stirrup out for me. “Grab the horn and pommel, then swing up and over. Try not to land hard on his back, though I doubt you can make much of an impact.”

You’d be surprised , I think, though the last thing I want to appear as is a woman concerned about her weight. I may have gained some in the last few months but I’m still packed with muscle.

I must hesitate too long because Jensen shifts. “Need a leg up?”

“No.” I grit my teeth and grab the saddle horn. My first attempt is awkward as hell—I get halfway up before losing momentum. Duke shifts underneath me and I freeze.

“I’ve got you.” Jensen’s hands settle on my waist, steadying me. “Push up with your right leg, like a squat. I’ll help. Then transfer the weight to the left ball of your foot.”

Heat spreads from where his fingers press into my sides. This time when I push up, he lifts, making it feel effortless. Suddenly I’m in the saddle, heart racing, thighs already aching from the stretch. Duke stands patient beneath me, but I can feel the raw power in him, the way his muscles shift with each breath.

“Get your other foot in the stirrup now, heels down,” Jensen says. His hand moves to my lower back, pressing gently. “Relax your hips. You’re too stiff. Move with him.”

“Move with him? I don’t want him to move.” I try to loosen up, but it’s impossible with Jensen touching me, with the ground so far away. “Are you sure horses can smell fear?”

“They can.” His hand leaves my back. “But Duke here’s too old to care. Now, hold the reins, thumb on top, one hand. Heels down, back straight. Tilt that pelvis forward.”

I swear there’s innuendo with that last command.

He starts walking and Duke shifts his weight and starts to plod forward. I grab the horn hard, wishing I didn’t feel both scared and awkward. When I was at Quantico, I was fast on my feet, top of my game when it came to running, jumping, climbing —anything athletic. But on top of a horse, I feel like I’ve lost all grace and strength, hanging on like a damn child on a pony ride.

“You’re doing fine,” Jensen says. “Relax your back but don’t let it snake. That’s it. Let your hips move with his.”

He keeps walking and Duke continues plodding around the pen. By the third circuit, I’m starting to find the rhythm of the horse’s walk, my body settling into the motion.

“Better,” Jensen says. He’s got that focused look again, like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “But the mountains aren’t going to be this smooth. Let’s try a trot.”

Before I can protest, he clicks his tongue and Duke picks up speed. The gentle walk becomes a bone-jarring bounce that has me clutching the saddle horn harder, the impact of the stride shooting up through my tailbone. It hurts, and more than that, my lungs seize up with the fear that Duke is suddenly going to spook at something and I’m going to go flying off. My body is too old now to take such a fall.

“Don’t fight it,” Jensen calls. “Sit back into it. Absorb it.”

I try, but everything feels wrong. I’m bouncing all over the place like a sack of potatoes, my knuckles white on the reins. Just when the horror takes over and I think I’m going to fall, Jensen is jogging at Duke’s side and reaching up, his hand at my back, steadying me.

“Like this,” he says before stepping away, and suddenly I feel the rhythm he’s trying to show me. “There. Now you’ve got it.”

The sun climbs higher as we work, and sweat trickles down my spine despite the morning chill. But slowly, painfully, I start to get the hang of it. By the time Jensen calls for a break, my legs are shaking but I’m still in the saddle.

That feels like victory enough for now.

Jensen helps me dismount, his hands firm on my waist. My legs nearly buckle when I hit the ground, muscles trembling from the unfamiliar activity. He steadies me before stepping back.

“How’re ya feeling?” he asks, taking Duke’s reins.

“Like I just did a thousand squats.” I stretch, trying to work out the stiffness. When I look up, I catch Jensen watching me, his expression darkening before he turns away.

He busies himself checking Duke’s tack. “You’ll be hurting worse tomorrow. But you did better than I expected.”

“You mean for a city girl?” I say wryly.

“For someone who’s afraid of horses.”

I stiffen. “I’m not afraid…”

“Please.” He gives me a look. “I can read people. It’s all over your body language. Something happened to you? Or just a general fear of horses?”

“I was obsessed with horses, actually,” I inform him. “When I was a kid, all I wanted to do was ride. My dad finally gave in and booked me a lesson at an equestrian center. English style and all that. Got thrown minutes into it. Hit my head pretty hard. Thank god I had a helmet on.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. “Never got back on after that.” Not even when Lainey got older and begged for me to go on trail rides with her so we could pretend to be pioneers. If only she could see me now.

He nods like this confirms something. “Fear’s not always bad. Keeps you sharp. Keeps you alive.” His gaze drifts to the mountains. “Up there, you need a healthy dose of fear.”

I follow his gaze. As much as I know that the Sierra Nevadas are a tough mountain range, they’re also heavily trafficked by hikers in the summer and backcountry skiers in the winter. The amount of times he’s looked at the peaks with a combination of fear and reverence are enough to make me wonder what he’s really afraid of. Last night it seemed it was wild animals, but maybe it’s something more than that. Superstition, perhaps?

Duke’s head suddenly snaps up, ears pricked toward the tree line. The horse’s muscles tense, a tremor running through his body.

“Easy,” Jensen says soothingly, but he’s not looking at the horse. His eyes scan the shadows between the trees, where the morning sun hasn’t yet reached.

Duke shifts nervously and something moves between the trunks—maybe a deer, maybe a shadow.

Maybe something else entirely.

“What is it?” I can’t help but whisper, as if I don’t want it to hear me. Whatever it is.

“Mountains are full of things that don’t want to be seen.” His voice is low, sending a shiver down my limbs. “Best to let them be.”

The moment stretches, loaded with things neither of us are saying. The forest remains dark and still. Then Duke relaxes, the spell breaks, and Jensen steps back, though his eyes linger on the trees.

“That’s enough for today,” he says. “We’ll work on your seat tomorrow, providing the storm ain’t so bad.” His eyes latch onto mine, looking more green in the morning light. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

A chill tickles my neck. “Felt what?”

“Whatever got Duke spooked, got you spooked too.”

He starts leading Duke toward the barn and I follow. “Well, it’s hard not to be spooked when you keep looking over there and talking about how I need to fear the mountains.”

He grunts, nodding his head slightly. “Well, up there, when you get that feeling? Trust it.”

“What feeling?”

“The one that tells you to be afraid.”

We lead Duke back to the barn in silence. The morning sun is fully up now, but it feels colder than before. Jensen’s shoulders are tight, his movements sharp as he leads Duke into the stall and helps me untack. Every few seconds his eyes drift to the barn doors, to the mountains beyond.

“Your arms are shaking,” he says as I struggle with a buckle. His fingers brush mine as he takes over, and I try to ignore how my skin tingles at the contact. “Go get some breakfast from the main house if you want. Eli made enough. Then get some rest. You’ll need it for the coming days.”

“What was that out there?” I try again. “In the trees?”

He focuses on removing Duke’s bridle, taking his time before answering. “Could’ve been anything. Wind. Wildlife.”

“You don’t believe that, though.”

His hands still. For a moment I think he might actually give me a straight answer, but then Eli appears in barn aisle.

“Made some more coffee,” Eli says, tipping his hat to me and giving me a warm smile. Then he looks to Jensen with a grave expression. “Weather’s turning so Red’s gone to town for our supplies now. Cole’s checking the generators. The worst of it should hit tonight night but it will be on and off until then.”

“Good to know,” Jensen says. They share another one of those loaded looks again before Eli disappears into the barn. Jensen turns back to me, his expression carefully neutral. “Better get your fill of food. You’ve earned it.”

I want to ask more questions—about the storm, about what spooked Duke, about the silent conversations that seem to be happening around me. But Jensen’s body language makes it clear we’re done, so I exit the stall, giving Duke and appreciative pat before I do so.

At the barn door, I pause. The tree line looks innocent now, just ponderosa pines swaying in the morning breeze. But I can’t shake the feeling that something out there is watching.

Waiting.