Page 13 of Frosty in Flannel
And just like the horses I worked with, I didn’t trust them quickly either.
I didn’t get giddy over muscles or brooding stares or calloused hands that looked like they knew how to wreck a woman and put her back together again.
Except, apparently, I did. With Beckett. There was just something about the grumpy, stubborn man that called to me.
And the kiss hadn’t helped. It had just unleashed a whole torrent of emotions I wasn’t sure I was prepared to own.
Ever since Beckett kissed me in the foaling shed—since that rough, perfect press of his mouth lit me up like a switch—I’d been useless, and he’d pulled back. I gave a small snort, imitating Wildfire. As if distance could protect us both. But I’d let him because pushing felt like the fastest way to lose him.
What I wanted was to touch him again. Kiss him again. Bury my hands in that dark hair and whisper every damn thing I wasn’t supposed to feel.
Today, I’d made it out to the paddock just after sunrise, bundled in a hoodie and leggings, hair shoved into a messy knot. He lifted his head when he saw me, that proud, wild look in his eyes softening just a little. Just for me.
I stopped at the fence and leaned against the top rail. “Where’s our grumpy partner this morning?”
The horse shook his head as if trying to answer me.
“Probably working on the other side of the ranch to avoid us.” Beckett had done that yesterday, saying Wildfire needed a rest. I’d known what he was doing and worked with another horse. Wildfire was my main focus, but I’d been hired to help all the horses on the ranch, not just the stubborn mustang.
Or the stubborn cowboy. Both were stubborn as sin.
“You get it, don’t you boy?” I muttered. “He’s the big, tough, silent type. Probably has an ex who broke his heart and taught him love doesn’t last to go along with his scars.”
Wildfire, huffed and shook his head, mane rippling in the breeze.
“And don’t act like you’re not exactly like him. You both keep your distance. You both flinch when someone tries to get close. You both act like any kind of touch might shatter you.”
I paused, watching him watch me.
“But you came around. Didn’t you?”
He sniffed the air and took one slow, cautious step toward me.
I smiled.
“I know why you let him near you. Why you don’t bolt when he walks up with a lead rope or murmurs something quiet. Because you recognize him. Not the man, but the wound.”
Wildfire dropped his head, lips twitching near my wrist.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Me too.”
I rubbed the soft spot above his nose, and he leaned into it, eyes half-closing. He was still tense. Still wary. But he didn’t pull away.
Not like Beckett. My body burned wanting him.
“So what are we going to do about this situation? What are we going to do about the fact that I think I’m half-way in love with him already.”
Wildfire gave a loud snort that made me laugh. “Don’t judge me. You let him scratch your ears.”
The horse butted me against my shoulder much as he’d done that first day. “You think he’s in his head about it? The kiss? Us?”
Wildfire bobbed his head.
“Yeah, me too.”
I exhaled slowly, my breath fogging in the morning chill. “I’m not asking him to give me everything. I just want him to let me in a little. Let me close.”
My voice cracked on that last part, and I hated how much truth was in it.
