“Unbelievable.” I pushed my hair back as I entered the enclosure and approached him slowly. “You had one job. One. Stay where you’re supposed to stay.”
He nosed my jacket pocket for treats.
“I’m not bribing you back into your home,” I said sternly. “You’re going back the righteous way. Through the gate. Like a law-abiding equine citizen.”
He nudged me harder.
“No. Don’t give me the eyes. That doesn’t work on me.”
It absolutely worked on me.
I sighed and reached into my pocket. “Fine. One apple slice. But afterward, you’re going back.”
He accepted the apple as if he were closing a business deal.
“Okay.” I patted his neck. “Let’s go.”
Barcode took one step, paused, and then, because he possessed the comedic timing of a Broadway performer, he pranced in the opposite direction, tail high, zigzagging like a barcode pattern across the snow.
“Barcode!” I shouted. “Get your dramatic little striped butt back here!”
He did not.
He ran.
I chased.
And I was two seconds away from reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment when a voice behind me said, deep and warm and amused.
“Does he always do that?”
I shrieked.
Not a cute gasp. Not a dainty inhale.
A full, startled, prey-animal yelp.
I spun so fast I nearly face-planted in the snow.
Carson stood a few yards behind me, hands in his jacket pockets, breath clouding in the cold air, eyes dancing with something dangerously close to laughter.
“Oh my God,” I wheezed, slapping a hand over my chest. “You can’t just appear behind people like that.”
“I said something before I approached,” he replied.
“No, you rumbled.”
He tilted his head. “I rumbled.”
“Yes.” I pointed accusingly. “You have a rumble-voice.”
His eyebrows lifted. “A rumble-voice.”
“Yes.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Bad,” I blurted. “Very bad. You should stop talking immediately.”
