For a while, we work in rhythm.
Water. Hay. Quiet voices. Boots in straw. Lightning flashing white through the cracks in the walls.
The storm builds around us, but inside the barn it narrows into something smaller. Warmer. More dangerous.
At the far end, Buddy throws his head hard against the stall and snorts, panic rising fast. “I’ve got him,” I say.
Dakota’s already there. The horse rears halfway, hooves striking wood.
“Easy,” she murmurs, keeping her voice low. “Easy, baby. Nobody’s asking for more than you can give.”
The words catch me off guard. The tone even more.
I step in beside her, one hand on the halter, the other braced against the stall frame while the horse dances sideways.
“He’s cornering himself,” I mutter.
Dakota doesn’t look away from the animal. “Then we make the space feel bigger.”
I glance at her. If only it were that easy.
Rain taps against the roof in a harder rhythm now, fast and relentless. Thunder follows a second later.
The horse jerks again.
Dakota lifts her hand slowly, letting him scent her knuckles before she touches his neck.
“Good,” she whispers. “That’s it. Nobody’s leaving you.”
The gelding shudders. Then settles. Not all the way… but enough.
Something in my chest pulls tight. She did that. Because she meant it when she said it, and I don’t know if the words are for the horses or me.
The whole damn barn feels too small all at once, but I don’t pull back. “You’ve got a way about you,” I say, before I can stop myself.
She turns her head. Our faces are closer than I realized. The air shifts.
A hard beat of thunder shakes the building. Somewhere behind us, a latch rattles. Neither of us moves.
Dakota’s eyes fall to my mouth. Then back up.
There’s no fear in her. No uncertainty. Just the same steady openness that’s been undoing me from the start.
“You only noticed that now?” she asks softly. Her voice shouldn’t sound like that in a place like this. Warm. A little breathless. As if she already knows where this is going.
I should step back. But I still don’t. Instead, I say, “I noticed.”
She goes still.
The horse exhales between us, calmer now than either of us.
“Then why do you keep pushing me away?” she asks.
Because wanting you is the kind of thing that wrecks a man, and I know how fast good things turn. Because the second I let this happen, I’ll want more than I can afford.
My throat works, but I stop my tongue.
Lightning flashes through the slats, sharp and white. For one second, her face is all I see. Rain on her skin. Mouth parted. Eyes on mine.
