Her throat thickened at the memory of the loss, the kind that stayed keen, no matter how many scenes like it she’d walked through. Horses didn’t forget their partners. Neither did good officers. Grief lingered in bodies long after the paperwork was filed, long after the cause was named and cataloged.
Talon’s stall stood apart, shadowed, the bedding inside undisturbed, as if movement itself had become something to fear.
He wasn’t unridable because he was dangerous. He was unridable because he was still carrying the weight of what had happened, and Blair had learned the hard way what it cost to move forward before something like that had been faced.
She stiffened as Breakneck stopped walking, his body snapping into a tension that wasn’t negative. It was understanding.
His profile was turned toward her, the air alive with dust motes and dispersed light, catching the sharp, unyielding cut of his jaw, the rough stubble forming there, dark against his skin when he turned his head. His shoulders looked impossibly broad, the shirt outlining his upper body in heat and shadow.
Her heart stuttered, then beat hard.
Somewhere behind them, tack leather shifted softly as one of the men leaned against a stall, boots scraping faintly against packed dirt.
He changed direction away from the remounts. She started after him, catching oh-shit glances from Beef and Tyler.
“Breakneck,” she said, catching up to him. “He’s not a viable mount right now.”
He kept walking. She grabbed his arm and turned him.
The contact felt too loud in the quiet, skin on fabric, breath on breath.
He didn’t look at her. His head dipped instead, his gaze tracking her hand on his sleeve, and that messy shock of silky hair fell forward over his forehead in an unapologetic, rakish sweep. The sides were shaved close, stark and punk-cool, a quiet rebellion he wore without explanation.
Her touch detonated through them both, a sharp, electric awareness that left her fingers tingling. She released him at the same moment he pulled away.
“They fell during a rescue,” she said, steadying herself. “The constable was crushed. He blames himself. He’s still grieving.”
The barn seemed to still around them, the horses listening, ears flicking, bodies quiet.
“You’re feeding that guilt and grief by keeping him locked up.” His voice low and gravelly, dragged up from somewhere he didn’t let many people hear.
“The vet said it was for his own good.”
Pain shifted the gray of his eyes to charcoal ash, anger smoldering there as he tensed, like he was bracing against something fresh and raw. “Yeah, fuck that. I’ve heard that before, and Blair, it’s never...ever…true.” The bitterness tinged the roughness in his voice, making her gut clench. Damn if there wasn’t a story there.
“He needs to know that he’s still useful,” he murmured. “I’ve got this.”
Leather creaked as he moved, the sound deliberate, unhurried.
Blair stood there dumbfounded as he approached the stall, unlatched the door, and simply turned away, walking past her. His words slammed into her, tangling her emotions, and making her brain seize. Of course. Why hadn’t she seen that? She didn’t lock Jet Relevé up like he’d been broken, his spirit was too alive for that. She’d worked him, and he’d healed.
This man just humbled her with honesty.
God, she freaking wanted him.
The barn breathed again, a long exhale of animal sound and shifting weight.
Talon whinnied again, softer, almost a nicker. Her mouth dropped open, and the big Palomino pushed the door the rest of the way and started after Breakneck.
She stood there until the gelding passed her, then she got her wits back. She raced after him. “Wait! I’ll saddle?—”
“No. We need to get acquainted.”
Hooves scuffed softly on dirt as Talon followed.
Breakneck kept walking, and she once again hurried after him. “You’re going to ride him bareback without a bridle. Are you mad?”
“He’s sometimes batshit crazy, but no one ever said that was wrong,” Boomer grumbled. “Kid, you break something, and I’m going to kick your ass.”
