Page 7 of Hard Bred

4

CLAIRE

The hay bale hits the stack with a resounding thud, sending up a cloud of dust that hangs in the air. The sweet, earthy scent of fresh hay fills my nostrils as I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

I take a moment to catch my breath, leaning on my pitchfork. The barn is quiet except for the soft nickering of horses and the rustling of straw. It should be a peaceful quiet. But today, the silence feels loaded, amplifying the thoughts swirling through my mind.

Brady Magnuson is driving me crazy.

Last night at his birthday party, I thought we’d made progress. There were moments when his guard was actually down for once, when I caught glimpses of the man behind that hard exterior. The way his eyes softened when he opened my gift, the low rumble of his laugh when I was joking around in his truck—it felt like maybe, just maybe, we were getting somewhere.

But today? He’s more distant than ever, refusing to look at me, speaking only when absolutely necessary. It’s like last night never happened, like we’ve taken ten steps backward.

I grab another bale, the rough texture of the twine biting into my palms as I heft it onto the stack. The motion is part of my muscle memory, allowing my mind to wander.

Why is he acting this way? Did I say something to offend him? Was I too forward?

Or is this just Brady being Brady, keeping me at arm’s length because it’s what he does?

The questions spin in my head as I reach for the next bale. But as I lift it, my foot catches on a loose piece of twine. I stumble, the hay bale slipping from my grasp. It hits the ground with a muffled thump, straw scattering across the barn floor.

Suddenly I’m completely off-balance, and my ankle twists beneath me, a sharp pain shooting up my leg like a bolt of lightning. I manage to grab onto a nearby post, the rough wood scraping my palms as I try to catch myself.

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing and the thundering of my heart. Dust swirls around me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pain to fade.

“Claire?”

Brady’s voice, deep and concerned, cuts through my haze of pain and frustration. I look up to see him striding towards me, jaw tight with worry. Of course he’d show up now, when I’m at my most vulnerable. When did he even come into the barn? I didn’t hear him over the noise in my own head.

Despite my frustration with him, I can’t stop myself from noticing how goddamn good he looks right now. His shirt clings to him, damp with sweat from his own work, defining the muscles of his chest and arms. His hair is tousled from the wind, and there’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek that my fingers ache to wipe away.

It’s not fair that he can affect me like this even when I’m angry with him.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, waving him off. But he doesn’t budge, his intense gaze fixed on me. Those steel-blue eyes of his, usually so guarded, are now filled with unmistakable concern. It’s at odds with how he’s been acting all day, and it only fuels my frustration.

“I said I’m fine,” I repeat, more firmly this time. I try to take a step to prove it, but wince as pain shoots through my ankle.

Brady moves closer, his hand reaching out to steady me. I can smell the intoxicating scent of him, and for a moment, I’m tempted to lean into him. But I pull away instead.

“Don’t,” I say, my voice sharp. “You don’t get to act all concerned now, not after how you’ve been treating me all day.”

He flinches at my words, but doesn’t retreat.

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice brusque. “Let me help you.”

I shake my head stubbornly, ignoring the way my ankle throbs. “Not until you tell me what’s going on with you. Why have you been so cold to me today? Did I do something wrong?”

Brady runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “It’s not you, Claire. It’s me. I just—I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” I press, my heart pounding. “Talk to me, Brady. Please.”

He’s quiet for several seconds, the silence stretching between us. I can hear the soft rustle of a horse in a nearby stall and the creak of the barn in the wind.

Finally, so low I almost miss it, he mutters, “Being near you stirs up things I can’t afford to feel.”

The admission stuns me into silence. Before I can fully process his words, Brady’s arms are around me, lifting me effortlessly off my feet. The hard planes of his body kiss against my curves in a way that sends a surge of heat through me. Jesus, he’s so solid. Sostrong.

Without another word, Brady carries me out of the barn and into his house, his face a mask of determination. I can barely take in my new surroundings because I’m still so distracted by the sensation of our bodies pressed together.

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