It wasn’t no paddock puppy, either.Whatever breed Amara’s horse was, it came with paperwork and a pampered ego—perfect match for the posh princess inspecting his stables.
‘I’ll move my gear to the other shed.You can have this one.’She probably needed the space just for the horse’s hair accessories.
‘This whole shed?’Amara’s eyes widened like he’d just offered her the deed to the place.
He scratched the back of his neck.‘Storing all this here was only temporary.I’ve been working on the man cave—just got the concrete poured the other week.Few trips with the trailer, and it’ll be outta here.Easy as.’
‘Does this mean I’m to expect a motorbike in the lounge room, too?’
‘No.’He hesitated, trying to remember what exactly he’d left on the kitchen table.‘You don’t mind guns and fishing reels, do you?’
She gave him a look.‘I don’t fish.Or hunt.’
He shrugged.‘No one’s perfect.’
She blinked at that, as if unsure if it was a dig or a joke.
Porter didn’t clarify.But it was hard not to notice the perfectly ironed creases in her shirt’s sleeves, no doubt with the rules stitched into her shirt’s cuffs.Her boots had a mirror shine, and not a hair dared fall from her tight bun.It had to be pulling her face as tight as her ramrod-straight spine.
Hell, even a rod had some give in it.
If anyone needed a shed, a horse, and a weekend away from rules to breathe—like he did—it was her.
Amara marched deeper into the so-called stable, which was little more than a weathered shed with a patchy tin roof and walls that had seen better days.A few half-doors lined one side, opening into narrow stalls, and at the far end stood a set of sturdy double doors that led to a couple of round pens, their fences sun-bleached and probably in need of repair.
Good thing she’d allocated those days to prepare.
Come on, Porter didn’t know the first thing about what a horse needed, but he figured it’d be some sort of walls, a roof, and doors to store stuff—surely this would count as a stable, right?
But he couldn’t stop admiring Amara’s slender figure as she inspected the place, his eyes glued to her arse in those jeans.
And the way she nibbled on those pillowy lips of hers—like she had no idea what that did to a bloke?It was outright illegal.
Deadset.
This was a bad idea.
Not only had it been a long time since he’d shared a house with someone, but having a pretty, single female under his roof made him think of Tess.The woman he’d once truly believed wasthe onefor him, who he’d hoped would help him make this place a home.
Except that lady with the long legs had kicked his heart into a million pieces.
Now here he was, copping the cold shoulder from the picky princess, who was well above his pay grade, even if he technically outranked her.
Different departments.Same police station.And now, both working and living in the same damn postcode.
Giving her this shed made sense, right?It’d give them room to escape each other.
Or maybe he should just call it quits?The smart thing would be to stop this.That way he’d skip the whole new-housemate routine—learning each other’s boundaries, figuring out who used the last of the milk, and trying not to lose it over someone reorganising his fridge like it was a crime scene.
He didn’t care about swanky smelling candles or the three dozen cushions to match the fancy blankets you couldn’t use—but letting Little Miss Judgey into his house?Well, she’d probably alphabetise his spice rack and have the pantry colour-coded by Tuesday.
Yeah, this had trouble written all over it.
‘Listen, if the horse can’t handle the noise—’
‘I’ll take it.And I’ll pay you extra for this space.’She spun on her boot heels like she’d just signed a lease.‘Don’t worry about the noise.I’ll train the horse.’She marched past him, heading for her car.‘Where is my room?’
Seven
