My brain didn't know what to do with that. He was lean and athletic, with sandy blonde hair that fell across his forehead in soft waves and green eyes that caught the light from the window like sea glass. Fair skin with a scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, the kind that probably multiplied in the summer sun. He was wearing a worn henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that were strong but not bulky, dusted with fine golden hair. His hands on the mare's neck were careful, gentle, the hands of someone who knew how to touch without hurting.
"Easy." He murmured it again, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air, soothing and steady. "You're okay. Just a little inflammation. We'll get you fixed up." The mare let out a shuddering breath, and some of the tension drained from her body. She trusted him. This Alpha with his gentle hands and his calming voice—she trusted him completely.
Something in my chest twisted. I must have made a sound, or maybe he just sensed me there, because his head came up suddenly and those green eyes locked onto mine.
For a moment, neither of us moved. I watched him take me in—my defensive posture, my clenched fists, the way I was poised to bolt. His nostrils flared slightly, and I knew he'd caught my scent. Faint as it was, he'd caught it.
His pupils dilated. Just a fraction, just for a second. Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a careful, measured calm.
"Hey." His voice was the same low, gentle tone he'd used with the mare, unhurried and soft, like I was something wild thatmight spook if he moved too fast. He stayed exactly where he was, crouched in the hay, making no move to stand or approach. "I didn't realize anyone else was in here."
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My throat had closed up, and my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. He didn't seem bothered by my silence. Just stayed where he was, one hand still resting on the mare's neck, his body deliberately relaxed and non-threatening. Giving me space. Giving me room to breathe.
"I'm Nolan." He kept his voice low and even, his green eyes steady on mine, not demanding eye contact but not looking away either. "I'm the vet. Well, one of them. I handle most of the large animal work for the ranches around here." He tilted his head slightly, studying me with a quiet curiosity that held no judgment. "You must be new. I don't think I've seen you before."
"Aster." The word came out rough, more growl than greeting. I cleared my throat and tried again, forcing my voice into something resembling normal. "I just started yesterday."
"Aster." He repeated my name slowly, like he was tasting it, turning it over in his mouth before filing it away somewhere important. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening the angles of his face. "That's pretty. Like the flower."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing. Just stood there like an idiot, my hands clenched at my sides, my whole body vibrating with the urge to run. Nolan's gaze dropped to my white-knuckled fists, then back to my face. Something flickered in his expression—understanding, maybe, or recognition. The look of someone who'd seen wounded creatures before and knew exactly what they needed.
"This is Bella." He nodded toward the mare, his hand still stroking gently through her mane, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. "She's due in a few weeks, but she's been having some trouble. Nothing serious—just some swelling in her legs.I'm keeping an eye on her." He paused, his thumb tracing a soothing pattern on the mare's neck. "You can come closer, if you want. She's friendly. Won't bite."
I should have left. Should have backed away and returned to my stalls and pretended this never happened. But my feet wouldn't move. Something about him—about that calm, steady presence, that scent that didn't demand anything from me—kept me rooted to the spot.
"I'm not good with horses." The words came out before I could stop them, and I hated how defensive they sounded, how small. "Hank said not to bother them."
"You're not bothering her." Nolan's smile widened slightly, crinkling the corners of his green eyes in a way that made him look younger, warmer. "And you don't have to be good with horses. Sometimes they just want someone to be near them. Someone quiet." His eyes held mine, and there was something in them that made my breath catch—patience, maybe, or understanding. "You seem like you might be good at quiet."
I didn't know if that was a compliment or an observation. Didn't know if I was supposed to respond. I just stood there, frozen, while he watched me with those patient, knowing eyes.
The mare let out a soft nicker, her big brown eyes half-closed with contentment, and Nolan turned his attention back to her, murmuring something low and soothing that I couldn't quite hear. His hands moved over her swollen belly, checking, assessing, his touch confident but infinitely gentle. Professional. Competent. He knew exactly what he was doing.
I should leave. The thought pounded through my head, louder with every second that passed. I should leave, go back to my work, forget this ever happened.
But I didn't move.
"The feed room is at the other end of the stable." Nolan said it without looking up, his voice casual, unhurried, like we were justtwo coworkers having a normal conversation. "If you need to refill any of the hay nets, that's where it's stored. Danny usually handles it, but he gets distracted sometimes." A pause, and then he glanced up at me, something almost like warmth flickering in his green eyes. "Just in case you were looking for it."
It was an out. An excuse to leave without it feeling like running. He was giving me a graceful exit, and I should take it. I knew I should take it.
"Thanks." My voice was steadier now, though my heart was still racing, still trying to beat its way out of my chest. "I'll remember that." I made myself turn around. Made myself walk away, one foot in front of the other, back toward the stalls I'd been cleaning. I could feel his eyes on me the whole way—not threatening, not demanding, just present. Watching. Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he hadn't expected to find.
I didn't look back. Didn't let myself look back.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. I threw myself into the work, mucking stalls and hauling hay until my muscles screamed and my mind went blissfully blank. But I couldn't shake the feeling of those green eyes on me. Couldn't get rid of that scent—eucalyptus and honey—that seemed to have lodged itself somewhere in my chest.
Around noon, Danny came to find me, appearing at the end of the stable with his usual boundless energy.
"Lunch time!" He announced it like it was the best news he'd delivered all day, his grin wide and infectious. "Cook made sandwiches. You coming? You've done more work this morning than most new hires do in a week, seriously."
I followed him to the dining hall, my legs aching with every step, and ate whatever was put in front of me without tasting it. The sandwich could have been cardboard for all I noticed. My mind kept drifting back to the stable, to the Alpha with the gentle hands and the patient eyes. After lunch, Hank found mein the yard and reassigned me to fence repair on the far side of the property.
"Post holes need digging on the south line." He handed me a pair of work gloves, his blue eyes assessing. "Take the truck. Tools are in the back. Danny'll show you where."
I spent the afternoon hammering posts and stringing wire under the hot sun, grateful for the distance between me and the stable. The work was brutal—my hands blistered even through the gloves, and my shoulders burned from swinging the post driver—but I welcomed the pain. It gave me something to focus on besides the memory of green eyes and a low, gentle voice.
By the time the day ended, I was exhausted in a good way, my body aching and my mind too tired to think. I ate dinner quickly, keeping my head down over my plate, avoiding eye contact with the other workers who laughed and talked around me. As soon as I finished, I retreated to the bunkhouse.
