“Want him to run, yes. Want him to win, more. Want him to do it without hating it? That’s the real trick.”
I nod, noticing the outline of his shoulders shift under the flannel of his work shirt. He seems like the kind of man who’s had to prove himself by shutting up and just doing in life. He watches me with this directness that’s not quite challenging, but it doesn’t let you off the hook either. I’m okay with that. I appreciate a straight conversation.
He asks me, “What’s your name?”
“Nicole Yazzie,” I answer.
He offers a hand. “Harrison Cole.”
Harrison’s grip is warm and dry, impossible to ignore. He holds it for a second longer than normal. I don’t flinch. His hand is big and feels a bit callused. Natural, goes with the rest of his appearance. He’s attractive in a way that could make me melt when I was younger. At thirty-three, I don’t let myself become a puddle of moldable modeling clay for any man. He lets go and takes one step back.
Harrison looks at me, head tilted, like he’s taking a mental inventory. I try not to react, but I can feel his attention. It’s the same feeling I get from certain horses — a heavy, patient kind of watching, as if he’s waiting for me to move first.
“I keep a place over in barn three,” he says, “but I’m told your boss likes to have his hands on every new arrival for at least a week. Is that your boss? The old guy with the cane and a voice like a buzz saw?”
I nod. “He’s not my boss, but he likes to think he is.”
Harrison’s mouth twitches. “Seems like you’re not much for bosses.”
“I don’t mind authority,” I say. “Just don’t like the fake kind.”
He nods once, as if I’ve passed a test I didn’t know I was taking. He then points with his chin down the aisle.
“Let me buy you a coffee. Or whatever people who work horses drink after a morning like this.”
I hesitate. It’s not a pickup line, or if it is, he’s not trying. More like he’s inviting me to a meeting. I could say no, but I accept before I overthink.
“Coffee’s fine. I’ll meet you at the office area in the main barn. About twenty minutes?”
He nods, like he knew what my answer would be. I slip past him, feeling his gaze on the back of me the whole way down the aisle. I don’t look back, but I know he watches. I can feel him tracking me until I’m out of sight.
I duck into the tack room, looking for a spare set of riding gloves, just in case I need them. Then I make my way across the barn to the office area. The coffeemaker in here is a lie, but I run water through it anyway, setting it up for a fresh brew.
I brace my hands on the counter. In the racing business, men definitely outnumber women. I don’t make a habit of noticing men. Not like that. Not the way my body just reactedto meeting Harrison Cole. Something about his broad shoulders, quiet voice, and the way his attention stayed fixed even when he stepped back.
Coffee is just coffee, I tell myself. But something tells me this isn’t.
Chapter 3
Harrison
Istep into the main barn office. Nicole is at the counter, one hip leaned back against it, posture loose but alert, like she never fully stops working and relaxes. She turns when she hears me.
“I smell the coffee,” I say, giving her a smile.
“This coffee maker is not the best. But, it will have to do. Cream or sugar for you?”
“No, just black.”
She pours me a mug and our fingers brush as I take it from her. It feels a little intimate. But I quickly ignore the acknowledgement of that. Yes, I’m curious about her. But I’m keeping it to business. Maybe she can advise me about Red Ledger.
There’s a small lounge area tucked against the far wall with worn leather chairs, a low table with magazines. We settle into it without discussion. That kind of ease tells me more than conversation ever could.
Nicole takes a sip, grimaces slightly, then shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”
“So have I,” I say.
“You work problem horses,” I say, not a question this time. “The ones other people don’t want to deal with.”
