The stream crossing finished without anyone getting hurt.
The storm had transformed the final path back into something out of a disaster film, rain coming in sheets. Lightning cracked so close the horses flinched. Jamie gasped.
Rose lifted her voice, calm and sharp. “Breathe. Talk to your horses. Keep them moving.”
We finally reached the ranch in a rush of wet bodies and snorting horses. Hank appeared at the barn door, raincoat on, ready.
Rose didn’t waste a breath.
“Inside,” she ordered, voice carrying clean over the rain. “Towels are by the entry. Boots off. Hot drinks in the kitchen. No one goes wandering.”
She pointed once, decisive. “Kaya. You’ve got them.”
Kaya gave a crisp little salute. “Aye, boss.”
Rose didn’t smile. Not even close.
She turned to Hank. “Check the generator and the backup water lines. Storm this heavy, we might lose power.”
Hank nodded and headed off without a word.
Then Rose turned back to the horses.
I should’ve followed the others inside. That would’ve been sensible. That would’ve been what she wanted, me nowhere near her after yesterday.
But the barn was full of nervous animals, and Rose was only one person.
I followed her down the barn aisle.
She glanced over her shoulder once. The look was sharp enough to cut rope, half warning, half the smallest crack of reluctant acceptance.
“Stay out of my way,” she said.
“I will. But I can help.”
Her gaze held mine a fraction longer than it needed to, considering how hard she’d worked all day to pretend I didn’t exist.
Then she gave one curt nod. “Fine.”
She turned toward the first stall, and I made the mistake of actually looking at her.
Rose was soaked. Completely, thoroughly drenched. Her shirt clung to her in a way that made her body impossible to ignore. Her hair had gone dark with rain, plastered against her neck and collarbone, and water ran down her throat in a path my eyes followed before my brain could intervene.
She was so goddamn beautiful it physically hurt.
And she had no idea. She was already moving, already working, completely focused on the horses, oblivious to the fact that my brain had stopped functioning.
Focus. Horses. Storm.
“Saddles off,” Rose commanded, cutting through the noise in my head. “Loosen girths. Don’t yank anything. If you spook them, I’ll feed you to Brutus.”
It was almost a joke. The fact she could find humor right now, looking likethat, adrenaline buzzing through the barn, made me want to say something I’d regret.
I kept my mouth shut and worked.
We moved fast. Saddles slid free. Pads peeled away heavy with rain. Leather slapped against racks. Buckles clicked. Buckets got topped off, hay nets rehung.
I kept my eyes on the work. Mostly. Every now and then they’d drift back to Rose, the way her wet clothes moved with her, the glimpse of skin at her collarbone, the efficiency in every motion, and I’d force myself to look away before she caught me staring.
