“Hi.” My voice sounds embarrassingly soft, like just looking at him knocked the wind out of me.
He picks up his hat and quickly runs a hand through his hair before placing it back on his head, and the barn suddenly feels a little smaller. He doesn’t come down here often. At least not when I’m around. And he definitely doesn’t come dressed like this.
“I-I didn’t even know you owned chaps,” I tease, trying to will my heartbeat into something less deafening.
His mouth twitches. “Sweetheart, I was wearing chaps before I ever owned a suit.”
Oh.
Oh, that sends something dangerous down my spine.
I clear my throat and walk back into the barn, completely forgetting the reason I was about to walk out of it. Grabbing the pitchfork back up, needing something to do with my hands, I ask, “What brings you down here? I was starting to think you were permanently chained to your desk.”
“I am. But today I escaped.” He leans a shoulder against a stall door, crossing his arms. “Too much paperwork. My brain started leaking out my ears.”
A snort slips free before I can help it. “Was—was that ajoke?”
He shrugs. “Don’t get used to it.” He jerks his chin toward Griffin’s stall. “Saw you working him earlier. He’s looking good. He deserves a little more attention than he’s gotten.”
“He’s perfect,” I reply. “I think he’s really starting to like me.
Lincoln huffs a quiet laugh. “Sweetheart, that horse likes almost no one. But he follows you around like a damn puppy.”
Sweetheart. That’s twice now.
My cheeks warm. “We understand each other, I think.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think you do.”
There’s a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable, just thick with something I don’t think either of us want to name. “So…” I finally ask, brushing the hay off my jeans. “Whatareyou doing down here? Besides protecting your leaky brain?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Wanted to go for a ride. Clear my head a bit.”
“Oh.” My brows lift. “Which horse is yours?” For some reason, it didn’t even cross my mind that he had one. In the two weeks I’ve been here, I haven’t seen him on the back of a horse once.
A faint smirk appears, like he’s amused I didn’t already know. “Chesnut gelding out in the paddock. Blaze on his nose.”
“Ranger?” I ask, already having each of the horses memorized.
“Yeah.”
“I see it. He fits you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was.”
Another pause. Then—
“Want to come?” he asks as casually as possible. But it’s not really. His eyes are too focused for casual. “Ride with me, I mean? I’ll go slow.”
I freeze.
I think I may be in shock.
Not because I don’t want to.
But because I may want to entirely too much.
