Page 17 of The Front Runner
I step into the stall, closing the door behind me, and slide down onto the ground near the foal’s head. With my back against the wall, I let my gaze travel over his spindly body, warm under the glow of the red lamp hanging above. He looks weak, but peaceful.
I’m momentarily transported back in time to the horse I had as a child. The same color as this foal, but not with flashy white legs and face. An entirely different type of horse. But he wasmine.He was my reprieve from the hell that was living in my childhood home.
I lean forward and let my hand trail over the sleeping colt’s leg to his knee, where the white stocking blends into the coppery brown of the rest of his coat. My body moves of its own accord, coming to kneel beside the small horse. My palm rests over his rib cage, feeling it rise and fall in a steady rhythm. He may not be out of the woods yet, but his breathing is strong. I think he’s a strong little horse.
A fighter.
When I move up to his head, cupping the round plate of his cheekbone, he nurses in his sleep. A sweet suckling noise that makes me smile. This guy knows what’s up. He’s not down for the count yet. And I’m going to make sure he succeeds.
I lean back against the wall, resting my elbows over my knees, vowing internally to make sure this is the healthiest foal anyone has ever seen.
* * *
“Wakey, wakey.”
My foot wobbles from a kick and my eyes flutter. The first thing I feel is stiffness as I try to get my bearings. Stiffness in my joints… and in my pants.
Mira’s voice filters into my consciousness. Something that is definitely not helping the morning wood situation. “Up we get, Sleeping Beauty. I made you coffee.”
And there she is, standing in the stall’s entryway, looking a tad disheveled. How I imagine she’d look after a night spent in my bed. Soft, and lacking the snarky smirk that’s always plastered on her face.
I scrub at my stubble, trying to wake myself up. A small chestnut face moves into my periphery. The foal is looking at me like I’m absolutely fascinating. Farrah is just ignoring me—the weird guy who slept on the floor of her stall.
Mira steps closer, leaning down slightly to hand me the mug of steaming coffee in her hand.
I peer down into the mug. “Cream this time?”
Her eyes flit away shyly. “You didn’t seem big on the black coffee, so I tried something else. How do you take it?”
I just don’t want you to think my soul is black.It had been a joke when she said it, but I’d let it bug me anyway. I’m inexplicably concerned with what this woman thinks of me.
“This is fine,” I reply gruffly, taking the coffee from her, willing my raging boner to disappear.Hello, morning wood.
“Okay, get up. I need to check these two over.”
I take one thoughtful sip of the coffee before I calmly say, “I can’t get up right now.”
Mira scoffs. “Of course, you can.”
I grin back at her, and after a beat, her confused eyes trail down to my lap and then go wide as she puts all the pieces together. “Oh.” She clears her throat. “I’m, uh, just going to get a few things from my truck then.” And then she darts out of the barn.
I can’t help but chuckle as I bang the back of my head on the wall a few times. That’s not the reaction I was expecting from her at all. She acts like a siren, but the mere mention of a boner, and she can’t get away fast enough.
After a couple of minutes, I stand and lean back against the wall of the stall. I sip the hot coffee and scan over the mare and foal again. The foal comes closer, clearly curious about the person who spent the night sleeping with him. His soft nose rubbing against my jeans, nostrils flaring wide as he tries to take in my scent. Bulging black globes with chestnut lashes fanning down as he wiggles his lips against my shoulder curiously.
Damn. He’sreallycute. I reach my free hand out and rub the fuzz of his goofy little forelock between my thumb and forefinger before letting my palm slide down over the wide white blaze on his face. His eyes flutter shut, like he’s enjoying the feel, and I can’t help but smile at how sweet and trusting he is. How unmarred by the world—by life.
“He’s pretty sweet, isn’t he?” Mira’s voice interrupts the dark turn in my head. She’s standing in the doorway with a stethoscope around her neck and her ponytail slicked back harshly against her scalp.
“Does he have a name yet?”
She sips her coffee and shakes her head. “No. I think Billie was pretending to have a hard time coming up with something under the guise of not wanting to get attached. You know, in case he doesn’t make it.”
It’s the perfect opportunity to take a jab at the other woman, but I can’t bring myself to do it. “What’s his breeding?” I ask, curious about the colt’s lineage.
Mira continues to sip her coffee and stare at me. Her eyes flit momentarily to my crotch, and I swear her cheeks pink a bit, but I don’t get long to think about that before she says, “He’s the black stallion’s first foal.”
I blink at her. “The one I tried to buy?”
