She gaped at Boomer, then turned to Iceman for help. “There’s protocol,” she sputtered. “Liability. Papers to sign and file before you can handle an RCMP mount. Especially one who’s not cleared for duty! Stop!”
He did, looking back at her over his shoulder, that jaw so tough, she wanted to kiss it. “I’ve been a liability since I was sixteen years old, babe.”
“Ice?” she said, her teeth clenched.
He shrugged. “I don’t corral my operators.”
There were several snickers, and she shot a glare at GQ and Kodiak. “His instincts are always sound,” Kodiak said calmly. “Trust his process.”
Hazard clapped Blair on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, boss. I’ve never seen the kid’s confidence fail him.”
Beef caught her eye, rolling his. “A-mer-i-cans…”
“Let’s go watch Breakneck break his fucking neck.”
Tyler barked out a laugh, loud and unrestrained.
Their leader headed for the entrance, his words drifting back to her. “But this,” Ice added, “I gotta see.”
The barn doors stood open ahead, sunlight spilling across the packed earth outside.
She looked back at Jet, and the words came tumbling out to no one but his ears in an exasperated harangue. “Of all the cocky, ill-advised ideas I’ve ever heard, this had to take the American pie.” She marched over to him, unable to leave him cross-tied. “Okay, I’m mixing metaphors, Jet, but dammit…I don’t want that handsome, devastating man getting hurt.”
Suddenly, a deep voice said, “He doesn’t do reckless. He does necessary.” She whirled, her face contorted in a guilty scrunch. Preacher smiled like the stealth god he was. “I like mixed metaphors. Don’t you?” Then he, too, walked out.
“Oh, God. Shoot me now.” Her exasperation returned. “Not a lick of horse sense in the lot of them,” she groaned as she rested her forehead against his neck for a second while she trembled. Jet tossed his head like he was agreeing with her.
Fuck protocol. He was already bruised and battered, running on restraint and stubborn will, and now he was about to handle, on instinct alone, a grieving horse that hadn’t been ridden in three months. Releasing him, she got him in his stall and reached the opening to the barn, her anticipation and unease high.
He didn’t rush it.
Breakneck stood beside Talon for a breath longer, boots planted solidly in the packed earth, the worn leather grounding him as if he were taking measure of the world before moving through it. Blair saw the subtle adjustments in his stance, the way his weight settled, balanced, ready. The muscles in his legs flexed beneath the fabric of his riding pants, strong and controlled, built for power without waste. His shoulders rolled once, loose, easing tension, the second-skin shirt deliciously mapping every line of effort and restraint across his back.
He slid his hand into Talon’s mane, not gripping, just anchoring, and the horse leaned into him as if the contact made sense. As if it had been waiting for exactly this kind of presence. Breakneck murmured something too low for her to hear, his voice pitched for the animal alone, and Talon stilled, breath syncing with his.
Blair’s chest tightened.
The was all about Kelly, the way one body read another and answered without force. The way he’d read Jet. The way he’d read her.
Then he moved.
The vault was effortless, no strain, no hesitation. One smooth, economical motion powered by legs and core, boots leaving the ground. Muscles bunched and elongated, his flexibility evident in his thick legs and tight ass as he easily straddled the gelding like he’d always belonged there. The horse shifted, startled for half a second, then steadied as Breakneck adjusted with him, thighs tightening, balance flawless, his body moving in quiet conversation with the animal beneath him.
Talon quivered, and he nickered softly, then blew hard through his nostrils in a sigh that seemed to relax his whole body.
Blair’s breath left her in a rush she hadn’t realized she was holding. The sight of them together, magnificent man and horse moving as one, hit her harder than she expected. He didn’t ride Talon. He met him, giving the gelding what he needed most right now, a direction without dominance, trust without demand.
Emotion surged up her throat, hot and sharp.
If he could read a horse like that, feel the grief, the hesitation, the need for usefulness and answer it so cleanly, how was he reading her right now? How had he been reading her all along? What would it mean, now and in the future, to be seen by a man who understood bodies, balance, and truth this deeply?
Her knees threatened to give out.
God help her. She had never wanted anything the way she wanted the promise in that moment to be real.
A low whistle cut through the air.
“Holy hell,” Skull muttered. “Look at that.”
