Page 4 of Dirty-Talking Cowboy
The sun was just starting to come up when I reached the property line, painting everything gold and orange. From here, I could see her barn, the older farmhouse, the fences that needed work. Could see her, too, already outside and struggling with a bucket, heading toward the barn in jeans that should be illegal and a t-shirt that clung to every soft curve.
She hadn’t noticed me yet, too focused on whatever disaster she was about to walk into. I’d bet solid money that at least one of those horses would give her trouble. Claire’s horses weren’t exactly beginner-friendly, especially that black bastard Diablo. The horse was a mean son of a bitch with an attitude problem and zero patience for people who didn’t know what they were doing.
And Maggie clearly did not know what she was doing. I felt a small measure of guilt at not offering to send a ranch hand over to help, but I pushed it down. I hadn’t made my family’s ranch what it was by feeling guilt.
No, this morning was the perfect opportunity to step in and show her exactly how out of her depth she really was.
I was almost there when I heard it—a high yelp from inside the barn, followed by the sharp crack of hooves against wood. “Damn it,” I muttered urging my horse forward.
Surely, she had enough sense not to go into a stall with an unknown horse? That didn’t prevent the pulse of fear that ran through me at the thought of her being hurt. When I reached the barn, I dismounted quickly and tied my horse to the post outside. The door was open, and I could hear her inside, talking to herself in a voice that was trying hard to sound confident and failing miserably.
“Okay. It’s fine. You’re fine. Just a horse. Just a big, scary horse who wants to kill you, but it’s fine.”
I stepped inside, letting my boots make enough noise that she’d hear me coming this time. She was pressed against the far wall, holding that bucket in front of her like a shield. Diablo was in his stall, ears pinned back, stamping and snorting like the temperamental asshole he was. The other two horses were watching with what I swear looked like amusement.
“He can smell you fear,” I said.
She spun around, dropping the bucket to the floor. “Oh my God! Do you have to keep doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Showing up unannounced! Normal people call ahead, or—”
“This is a ranch, not an office building. And you left your barn door wide open. That’s an invitation.” I walked past her, slow and easy, and Diablo’s ears flicked forward. He knew me. Knew I didn’t take his shit. “Step back. You’re making him nervous.”
“I’m making him nervous? He tried to bite me.”
“Because you came in here acting scared.” I opened the stall door and stepped inside without hesitation. Diablo shifted hisweight but didn’t protest when I ran my hand down his neck, firm and steady. Years of handling horses, of being around animals bigger and meaner than me, had taught me confidence was everything. “Easy, boy. She’s not going to hurt you. She doesn’t know how.”
“I can hear you,” Maggie said from behind me, voice sharp with indignation.
“Good. Pay attention, and you might learn something.” I grabbed some grain from barrel just outside the stall and let Diablo eat from my palm. His lips were soft, careful, nothing like the snapping teeth he’d shown her. “Horses pick up on everything. The way you move, the way you breathe. You came in nervous, and he felt it.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
I glanced at her over my shoulder, one eyebrow raised. She was still pressed against that wall, breathing too fast. “You’re terrified right now. I can see it from here.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, and damn if that wasn’t a sight. She straightened her shoulders, trying to pull herself together, but I could see her nipples had gone hard beneath that thin shirt. Fear or arousal or both—didn’t matter. Either way, I liked it.
“Fine,” she said, lifting that stubborn chin. “Maybe I’m a little nervous around the giant animal that tried to eat me. Is that a crime?”
Was she nervous around me? Because right now I wanted nothing more than to taste her. Everywhere. Her lips, her breasts, that sweet pussy.
“His name’s Diablo. Claire bought him at auction about five years back. He’s got a bad attitude and worse manners, but he’s solid once he respects you.” I gave the horse one last pat and stepped out of the stall, closing it behind me. “You won’t earn his respect by hiding.”
“I wasn’t hiding. I was being cautious.”
“You were cowering.” I walked toward her, watched her eyes go wide as I closed the distance between us. Just like yesterday, she didn’t back up. Just stood there, hands fisted at her sides, looking up at me like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hit me or something else entirely. “There’s a difference.”
“Well, excuse me for not being some kind of horse whisperer.” Her voice had an edge, but underneath it I could hear the shakiness. The uncertainty. “I’ve been here one day. One. I’m doing the best I can.”
“Your best isn’t good enough.” I stopped right in front of her, so close I could smell the citrus scented soap she’d used this morning. “You’re going to get hurt, Maggie. Or worse. And all because you’re too damn stubborn to admit you need help.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Make me.” The words slipped out like a dare I already knew she’d answer. She was glaring, sure, but there was curiosity under it too. The kind that made me want to lean in and find out how far she’d let me take it.
Her tongue darted out, wet her bottom lip. God, help me, I wanted to do it for her. “You’re unbelievable.”
