Page 27 of The Lies We Told Ourselves

Trace: You know how to do this, Book. You were always the one we came to with our problems. You always knew the right thing to say. Just be honest with her.

And that was exactly the problem right there. Honesty meant vulnerability, and I’d been so closed off all these years because vulnerability was always exploited in our family. I’d learned how to raise my shields at a young age, and I’d not put them down since. I wasn’t even sure I knew how anymore.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

REECE

Yesterday had definitely not gone to plan. I’d been so determined to talk to Booker, but the news about the foal had completely thrown me off track, and I’d got lost in the work instead.

Part of me was grateful for that. Not because I hadn’t got the chance to tell him how I felt, but because I’d finally felt like I was some use around here.

I still hadn’t thought of a name for the mare yet. It felt like something I needed to put a lot of thought into. She’d been through so much that she deserved a good name. I just couldn’t figure out what that was.

She’d been so stressed out and tired after we’d washed her down and treated the sores again that Booker said we needed to wait until today to deal with her hooves. I had no idea what that entailed, but I was ready to get to work again.

I slipped my feet into my soggy sneakers and winced. They still hadn’t dried out from the horse bath we’d all ended up having yesterday. My skills were a little lacking in that department, but Booker hadn’t once lost his temper with me, and we were both as wet as the horse by the end.

I needed to get some more shoes, something more suited to working outdoors. It would have to wait, though. I didn’t want to take anything else from Booker that I hadn’t earned yet. I hadn’t even been here a week, and I was still learning so much that most of the time I figured it would have been easier for Booker if I wasn’t here.

I’d yet to figure out what time Booker started work, and I was leaving the house half an hour earlier every morning until I found out. Which was why I slipped out the door of the cottage at seven thirty a.m. and headed to the barn.

I was still too late, though, because Booker was already set up with the mare just outside the barn, and my feet stumbled to a stop when he came into view.

Holy hot cowboy!

I was pretty sure my ovaries just exploded, and I knew my mouth was most definitely hanging open, but I seemed to have lost control of all of my muscles at once as my brain latched onto the sight in front of me.

There was a van I’d never seen before pulled up in front of the barn, and the back doors hung open, revealing an array of tools.

That wasn’t what had made my hormones go haywire, though.

Because Booker was already hard at work and, judging from the sheen of sweat coating his muscles, he’d been at it for a while already. He’d stripped down to a white tank, had a pair of wide leather chaps over his jeans, and his usual hat perched on top of his head.

And it was glorious.

Booker reached down, running his hand down the mare’s leg before she lifted her hoof for him. His muscles flexed as he inspected the curled hoof that was causing the mare so much pain.

Booker was so gentle with her. His big hands ran carefully over her skin as his muscles bunched and flexed, gleaming in the sun.

“You started without me,” I gasped when I saw one perfect-looking hoof on the mare. “Oh, that looks so much better. Does that feel good, girl,” I cooed as I moved to her head.

The mare nuzzled her face against the flat of my hand, and I smiled, my mind mostly on the beautiful man in front of me.

“I wanted to get started before the day heats up,” Booker said, not lifting his head to make eye contact with me until he gently put the mare’s hoof back on the ground.

“I could have helped.”

“I don’t need your help with this bit.”

My fists landed on my waist as I squinted in annoyance at him. “I need to learn this stuff if it’s going to be my job.”

“It takes years to learn the proper farrier skills to deal with something like this. What you need to do is rest and heal.” He glared back at me, almost daring me to deny it.

“I’m fine.”

“Then lift your shirt and show me your ribs,” he challenged, picking up a saw off the ground and balancing it on his shoulder as he raised an eyebrow at me.

He probably wouldn’t be saying stuff like that if he knew I’d just been drooling all over him. Still, part of me wanted to pull all my clothes off just to see what he’d do. I still wouldn’t be winning the argument we were having right now, though, because he was right. The bruising on my ribs had turned that mottled yellow of its final stage, which inexplicably seemed to make it look even worse.

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