Page 5 of Frosty in Flannel
I shook my head and forced my attention back to the feed buckets. This was exactly the kind of distraction I didn’t need. She was here to do a job. I was here to do mine. That was it.
Keep it simple. Keep it professional.
I’d been doing this since the military sent me home—up before daylight, hands busy, silence thick enough to hold back the nightmares
I finished with the morning feed and headed out to the round pen attached to the barn. Wildfire’s stall was the only one that opened to it. He didn’t like enclosed places. He only stayed inside when the weather was bad, or I coaxed him in with his favorite treat of an apple. The mustang was already there, pacing the fence line with that restless energy that said he hadn’t slept much either.
“Yeah,” I muttered, slipping through the gate. “I know the feeling.”
He snorted and tossed his head but didn’t bolt. Six weeks ago, he would’ve been on the other side of the pen before I gotthe gate closed. Now he just watched me with those dark, wary eyes.
Waiting to see what I’d do.
I stood there, hands loose at my sides, and just breathed. Letting him see me. Letting him decide if I was a threat or not.
That’s how it worked with damaged things. You didn’t chase. You didn’t force. You just showed up, day after day, and proved you weren’t going to hurt them.
Eventually, they came to you.
Or they didn’t.
Either way, you respected the choice.
That was why I was on the Off-Duty Ranch. The owners here gave that same respect to the men they rescued. I’d been just as damaged as Wildfire when I’d arrived. Hell, I was still damaged.
Wildfire took a step closer. Then another. His nostrils flared, testing the air, and I stayed perfectly still. When he was close enough, I slowly raised one hand and let him sniff it.
He huffed warm breath across my palm, ears swiveling.
“That’s it,” I said quietly. “That’s it.”
I’d been working with him every day since I’d pulled him out of a canyon. Just the two of us, no audience, no pressure. Everyone thought I was wasting time that could be spent on horses with better prospects. But they didn’t understand.
Wildfire wasn’t just another rescue case.
He was me.
Scarred up on the outside, wrecked on the inside, and so damn tired of people trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed. All he wanted was to be left alone. To exist without expectation or judgment.
I saw the same thing in his eyes that I still saw in the mirror every morning—fight or flee. And no real peace either way.
“Morning.”
I recognized the voice instantly. I turned before I could stop myself.
Libby stood at the rail, forearms resting on the top bar. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the early light caught her face. She wore jeans that fit her like they’d been made for her and a work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her curves were absolutely fucking perfect.
She was beautiful.
Not the polished kind of beautiful you saw in magazines. Real beautiful. The kind that came from being comfortable in your own skin.
The kind that made a man want things he had no right wanting.
“You always sneak up on people like that?” I asked, keeping my voice flat.
She smiled a little. “Comes with the job. No sudden moves. Light touches. Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You did anyway.” I couldn’t tell her just by being in the same space as me, she distracted me.
