Red Ledger. I picture him in his stall, sensitive to pressure changes, the way he pins his ears when the air turns heavy. And Nicole will be there. She’ll handle him. She’s calm and capable.
But storms don’t care about competence. By the time the last of the cattle are secure, sweat clings to my back and the wind has sharpened. The first distant rumble of thunder rolls across the land like a warning shot.
I don’t hesitate. I wash up fast, grab my keys, and head for the truck. If a storm’s coming, I should be at the race track. Because she’s there … and so is a horse that doesn’t trust the sky when it turns like this.
I pull out of the drive just as the clouds thicken overhead and head for the track.
♥♥♥
The wind comes in uneven bursts, kicking dust along the track and rattling the metal siding on the barns. I’m checking a latch on Red Ledger’s stall when one of the track workers jogs up, phone in hand, eyes tight.
“Hey,” he says. “Heads up. They’re saying a funnel cloud was spotted about five miles west.”
That gets my attention.
“How fast it moving?” I ask.
“Hard to say. Storm cell’s unstable. They’re telling folks to be ready to take cover.”
I don’t hesitate. The barn shifts instantly with voices raised, footsteps quickening, handlers moving with practicedurgency. I spot Nicole at the far end of the aisle, already turning Jupiter Rising back toward his stall, calm as ever but moving fast. She catches my eye. No words needed.
The wind picks up as the first drops of rain hit the roof, heavy and sharp. Thunder rolls somewhere too close for comfort. We finish securing the last of the horses.
“Follow me,” Nicole says and she moves swiftly with me following behind her. She exits the barn and opens the door to a small building I’ve never been in before.
The door slams shut behind us, shutting out the wind and rain. The space is tight with concrete walls, low ceiling, and the air thick with the smell of leather and oil. Within minutes, the noise outside intensifies. I check to make sure the door is fully closed.
Rain pounds overhead. The wind screams along the walls like it’s looking for a way in. Nicole stands a few feet from me. A huge crack of thunder rattles the shelves.
She exhales slowly. “That sounded close.”
“It was,” I say.
She nods once, trusting me without question.
Minutes go by and the wind and storm are so loud, we don’t bother to talk over the noise. At one point, the lights flicker, and instinctively, I shift closer to Nicole. We’re not touching, just closer.
Another boom shakes the walls. Nicole jumps a half-step, and before I think better of it, my hand comes out, steadying her by the arm. She freezes. So do I. My thumb rests against her skin. I should let go. I don’t.
Her gaze lifts to mine, eyes dark, searching.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
Her lips curve faintly. “The storm?”
“No,” I say. “Pretending I don’t want you.”
The admission slips out before I can stop it. This is the moment I should step back. Instead, I step closer. Nicole doesn’t retreat. I lift a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, giving myself one last chance to stop. I don’t take it.
When I kiss her, it’s not rushed or desperate. But it’s real. Her lips part beneath mine, soft and warm, and for a few seconds, the storm disappears. Then I pull back, resting my forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“That,” I say quietly, “was a mistake.”
She smiles slow, and unafraid. “Didn’t feel like one.”
I straighten, forcing space between us even though every part of me protests.
“Doesn’t change the rule,” I add.
