“I know. Bertie’s been quoting bad sonnets since she got home,” he said with a laugh. “She’s very committed. Let’s just say I don’t think poetry’s her path.”
“She gives one hundred percent to everything,” I said, my whole body softening at the thought of her. “She didn’t stop until she made it to the top of the gym rope last week. It took forty minutes, but she wouldn’t quit.”
“She had a Pre-K teacher who once told Nash she was obstinate.” His voice was quiet now, sincere. “So, I’m glad she’s got a teacher now who appreciates her determination.”
I turned to look at him, caught off guard. “Thanks.”
He gave me a small smile, one that twisted something inside me. “Just saying what I feel.”
“How was your day?” I asked, taking a deep breath and moving the attention from me
“Not bad. Charlie and I took in an ex-racehorse that’d been abandoned. A stable girl smuggled him out in the middle of the night. Said what they were doing to him was wrong.”
I gasped. “She just… took him?”
“Yep. She was determined that he wouldn’t suffer any longer. And now she has a horse full of trauma.”
“That’s… brave,” I said, moved. “And reckless.”
“I don’t even want to think how she managed to get a million dollar racehorse past the security.” His smile was one that told me he was proud of what she’d done.
“And she brought him to you.” And I felt a sense of pride on his behalf.
“She’s from Sweet Maple Falls and knew about our program. Reached out to me.” He said it nonchalantly like it was no biggie, but his reputation said otherwise.
“Was she prosecuted?” I asked.
“Nope. As long as she kept quiet, the owner let it go. Which tells me he’d put that horse through some awful shit if he’s willing to do that.” He turned off the main road onto a narrow gravel path, his profile etched in moonlight. “She’s got experience. I even wondered if maybe she could replace Charlie.”
The thought made something sharp flash through me, jealousy, maybe. The idea of another woman being around him, working beside him.
“Is she young?” I asked, pretending to keep it casual. “Willing to learn?”
He glanced over, his frown telling me he heard the edge in my voice. “Probably Wilder’s age. Feisty. Not my type. Why?”
“Just curious.” I exhaled, tension leaving me in a rush. “Definitely Wilder’s type, though.”
Gunner chuckled. “Exactly. Which might just be a reason not to hire her.”
I laughed with him, but my chest still buzzed.
“You don’t want to lose her,” I said, smoothing my palms on my thighs. “You should call her back.”
His eyes flicked toward me. “I will. Tomorrow. But tonight…”
He reached over slowly, hand brushing mine where it rested on the console. His pinky grazed my knuckle, a feather-light touch that somehow made every nerve ending in my body sit up and pay attention.
“…tonight’s all about you.”
His voice was like velvet, low and warm, and that smile, lazy, intimate, just for me, knocked the breath clean out of my lungs.
My fingers curled instinctively toward his, craving contact.
I turned my head away before I could say something I shouldn’t. But my smile lingered. And so did his touch.
Around thirty minutes later, Gunner turned the truck onto a quiet farm track, the tires crunching over gravel before easing onto a smooth stretch of blacktop. The headlights lit up the courtyard ahead, and my breath caught.
Huge terracotta pots overflowed with late summer blooms, placed like sentinels along the perimeter. It was still a working farm because I could see the tack neatly hung on a rail, a barrow overflowing with fresh hay, and a tractor halfway caked in dried mud, but every detail screamed hard work, love and intention.
