I lunge forward, grabbing on beside her, both of us hauling back with everything we've got.
"We need to move," I shout over the wind. "Now."
"The barn's too far," Hazel yells back. "He won't make it."
She's right. The barn is a hundred yards across open ground. He's already panicking. If we try to force him that far in thisstorm, he'll fight us the whole way. Could hurt himself. Could hurt us.
I scan fast.
The equipment shed. Thirty yards. Enclosed. Solid.
"There," I point. "The shed."
"Can we get him in?"
"We don't have a choice."
The colt surges again, pulling hard against both of us. My boots slide in the mud. Rain pours down, cold and relentless.
"I need you," I say, not looking at her. Not soft. Not emotional. Just fact.
"I'm here," she answers, immediate.
We move together, bodies angled in, both pulling, both fighting to keep control as the colt tries to bolt. Mud sucks at my boots. Rain blinds me. Thunder keeps cracking overhead, each one making the colt jerk harder.
Thirty yards feels like thirty miles.
But we make it.
I yank the shed door open, wind tearing at it, and haul the colt inside with Hazel right there beside me, both of us soaked through, both of us moving on instinct.
The door slams shut behind us, cutting off the worst of the storm.
The space is tight. Close. The air heavy with damp hay and sweat and rain.
The colt finally stills, sides heaving, fear giving way to confusion.
I suck in a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
And then I make the mistake of looking at her.
Hazel's hair is plastered to her neck, her shirt clinging to her shoulders, outlining every curve. Water drips from her jaw. Mud streaks her arms. She's breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
Fuck.
I've seen her like this before. Breathless. Flushed.
My jaw tightens. I look away fast.
Because we're alone. In a space barely big enough for the three of us. Storm raging outside. Adrenaline still pumping from the run, from fighting the colt, from being this close.
"That was close," she says, voice slightly breathless.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
The shed creaks around us as the storm keeps throwing itself against the walls, rain rattling the roof. The colt shifts, calmer now, finally registering that he's safe.
But I'm not calm.
