Page 104 of Resisting Isaac

The rescued mustang, I’ve taken to calling her Star, breaks free from a wrangler’s grip as they pass through the pasture where we’re filming. The metal gate clangs open, and she bolts, nostrils flaring and hooves thundering across the dirt. People scream. A production assistant dives out of the way, spilling cold brew and paperwork everywhere.

I freeze as I watch the scene unfold. Not from fear—but from the wayhemoves.

Isaac Logan is already running.

No hesitation. No stunt double. No need for direction. He launches himself over the fence with the kind of raw, practiced grace that makes my throat go dry.

His boots hit the ground in perfect rhythm, hands outstretched like he was born for this exact moment. The horse cuts right and almost jukes him for a breathless second,then Isaac lunges. Grabs the reins. Swings up in one fluid motion that defies logic and physics and common sense.

The entire crew holds its breath.

He rides Star back to the stables like he’s coaxing fire into submission. His voice low and gentle, one hand gripping the reins, the other stroking the animal’s neck. In seconds, the mare slows. Then stops. Blinking. Snorting. Controlled.

The danger is contained, and everyone should be getting back to work. But everyone’s eyes remain on my wild cowboy.

Just like that, he’s got the whole crew eating out of his calloused, sun-kissed hand.

Isaac Logan just earned himself a fan club. And I might be the President.

He swings off the mare and hands the reins to a stunned wrangler. His chest heaves. His mouth curves into that cocky half-smile that’s straight gasoline to my already burning nerves.

“Sorry, folks,” he calls out, voice thick with adrenaline and something darker. “Everyone okay?” His gaze scans the crew then lands squarely onme.

Ivy looks half amused and half terrified. I know the feeling. She breaths deeply. “You’re going to give me a heart attack someday, trouble.”

Isaac grins. “Nah, you should be used to me by now.”

Ivy stands beside him, eyes flicking from him to me, her expression unreadable except for the subtle arch of one brow. Then her gaze drops to where I’m clutching the fence like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

Which, honestly, it might be.

Because the only thing more dangerous than that horse is the way I want this man right now.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

isaac

The longer filming goes on, the more of a liability the production crew becomes. No one is following the protocols that were agreed upon and I let city girl know.

“They’re leaving gates open,” I tell her. “Filming in non-designated areas and spooking horses, riding as far as the summit without one of the wranglers supervising them.”

“I know, and I promise I’m on it.” Ivy sighs and I feel bad for upsetting her, but someone is going to get hurt. And that someone isn’t going to be the woman carrying my child. “They just get caught up, you know? In getting the shot, in getting it all done before we lose the light.”

“I get it,” I tell her. And I do because no one understands getting caught up more than me. “But we put those stipulations in place for a reason. To protect the safety of the animals and of the production crew, not to mention my wranglers.”

She nods. “These guys get sidetracked, perfecting the take, becoming obsessed with making their vision happen. And they don’t always ask if it’s within the confines of whatwe’ve deemed acceptable for the ranch. I’m sorry, Isaac. I’ll call a production meeting and hash it out with them.”

“No need to apologize to me. I just want to make sure El—everyone is safe.”

I’m telling myself it’s handled, when I see one of the idiot production assistants leading Lucifer out of his paddock.

He’s not supposed to be out. Noteverduring filming.

The black Arabian cuts a sleek, striking figure in the early afternoon light. Head high, nostrils flared, neck arched like he’s already half a breath from a full-blown meltdown.

And some idiot has a camera on him.

I storm forward, boots biting into the dirt, heat climbing my spine in waves.