Page 42 of Saving Grace

“Mack,” I plead. “It’s okay, we can try another day.”

He leans over, hands planted on his knees. With every long breath he sucks in, his back muscles move under his T-shirt. Hisbiceps, carrying a light sheen, flex in his sleeves as he pushes to stand tall, homing his gaze to mine. “Saddle.” He points toward Trigger’s back. “Seat, pommel, and fenders.” His hand moves over the tack as he explains. “Stirrup iron.”

I nod.

“I’ll show you how to put his bridle on. Then you can take it all down and redo it yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. Still in awe of this man’s grit and determination, I find myself staring. He moves closer but stalls with a wince. Oh no.

“Mackinlay?”

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” But a flush has claimed his neck and face, his breathing quickening.

“You’re not. I can put Trigger back in his stall.”

“If it doesn’t hurt, you’re not making progress, Grace. I’m fine. I’ll rest later.”

I shake my head at him and move aside as he files in closer to Trigger and explains the bridle. He slides it up Trigger’s face, waits while he takes the bit into his mouth, then gently slips the band over the horse’s ears. Mack’s eyes are tight with something I can’t place. My mouth dries up and my stomach turns into a fluttering mess.

“...and then you lift the reins over his head. Let them rest on his neck while you fix the girth.”

The bay gelding moves, shifting his feet, and Mack teeters on the spot. He grabs a handful of mane and steadies himself. I grab his arm, hoping to help, and move into his space. The last thing I want is him hurting himself because he’s entertaining me. His gaze drops to where my hands are wrapped around his bicep.

Thunder crackles overhead.

I retract my hands like I’ve been burned, and Mack’s eyes snap back to the horse. “Should probably get inside before the storm gets a go up.”

I reach up and pull the saddle from Trigger’s back. Shit, it’s so heavy and awkward. Bulky to hold. I walk it back inside and try to haul it onto the high rack. Halfway up, my arms falter—and it’s all I can do to keep from dropping it. Warmth folds in around me. Long arms slide around my arms, hands griping the wide seat. We lift it up onto the rack in one movement.

Four hands, two beating hearts. One movement.

Wow, where the hell did that come from?

The warmth disappears along with the very distinct, heady scent of Mackinlay, and I stand dazed. Still. Listening to my heart rattle through my head. Soft clip-clops see me turn away from the wall to find Trigger walking back to his stall. Mack leads him, talking away as they go. I wonder if not riding, not being physically able to ride, bothers him.

After chasing any type of romantic thoughts about my boss from my head, I cross the hay-littered floor to the barn doors to find Mack leaning against the frame. Rain is falling in light, misty waves. Shit, now the driveway is slick with it.

“Do we wait it out?” I ask.

A grin splits his face, mirth lining his eyes. “Hell no.” He grabs my hand and hauls me into the rain. With an awkward gait, he turns a circle, arms out, head tilted back, eyes closed, and mouth open. I laugh at him. Guess rain means something else entirely to ranchers. Up until now, it has always been an inconvenience. Something to duck out of, something to dampen spirits.

The joy on Mack’s face is changing the way I see rain. Lightning hits miles away. The thunder that follows echoes in, quicker than the last clap. We should go inside.

The wind moans. The rain gets heavier and heavier. I stand, getting soaked. His spinning slows and his laughter fades as he steps up to where I stand.

His dark hair is soaked. Drops run over his jaw, down his neck. Veiny forearms hang by his side as he studies my face. “Smile, Gracie. It’s rainin’.”

My lips part.

I don’t want to smile.

I want to smash my mouth to his. Send my fingers into his hair. Rest my palms on his chest and let the fire that bloomed in my core minutes ago rage to life and take me down. Every short, quick breath burns.

“Mac—”

Thunder drowns out his name. He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.

Oh god.

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