Chapter 1
Late May
Kyla leaned her hipinto the barn door, using the familiar strength she had developed from months of forcing her way through tight spaces.The slider groaned as metal dragged along the track.She winced at the noise but stepped inside, unable to see for a moment while her eyes adjusted from sunrise to shade.Her pulse ran ahead of her, restless and lacking caffeine.She had meant to cut through and leave, but the morning had other plans.
Inside, the air felt cool against her skin.Dust drifted through narrow bands of daylight that fell between the slats.Smells layered over each other in the quiet.
Hay turned sour with sweat, while old wood carried a faint trace of river mud.Iron lingered somewhere in the plumbing, and beneath it all lay the scent of horse.Her sneakers scraped across concrete worn smooth by hooves, each step echoing through the rafters.
She pressed her palm to her chest, counted four beats, and forced her breathing to stay steady.The city never followed her this far, but the memory of it sat tight across her shoulders.Marisol’s place still felt like something borrowed, functional but lacking the right fit.
The plan remained simple.She would go straight through without stopping.She wanted coffee in hand before the day could close in.She narrowed her eyes through the light and ran through a mental list, organizing a schedule no one else would care about.
This was her first morning here without anyone to impress.No one would notice if she left with her dignity and a full mug.
A sound broke the quiet.
Her body registered motion before her mind caught up.Someone moved near the stalls at the far end.Water splashed, soft at first and then harder, as if someone rinsed off boots at the spigot.
She let out a long breath.It was likely a ranch hand or perhaps Marisol’s nephew, up too early for conversation.She turned, expecting flannel and denim.
Her breath left her.
Titus Brooks stood there.
He was naked.
He stood square under the hose bib while morning sun cut through the roof and laid lines across his skin.Water ran over his chest, tracked along the muscle beneath his collarbones, and followed the slope of his abdomen.
His thighs tightened as he shifted his stance.He made no attempt to cover himself.He remained still, showing a calm that did not bend for anyone.
Her lungs felt sharp and useless.Her pulse struck hard against her ribs.She gripped the strap of her canvas tote until her fingers ached.A metallic taste filled her mouth, hot and unwelcome.She did not look away because she could not, and that realization made the moment worse.
A line of water traveled from his shoulder down his torso.Her gaze snapped away and then jerked back, taking in his face and his chest.Titus moved as if clothing had never been required.
The edge of his jaw carried fresh stubble, and his shoulders stayed squared in the space.One hand adjusted the brass valve while the other rested against the pump handle, fingers spread wide.The sight of him stopped every word she might have said.
Heat climbed her throat.She hovered between snapping at him and staring outright, caught by the fact that he stood there without apology.In Brooklyn, she could shrink a man with a glance, but here her thoughts scattered before they formed.
Run.
The command moved through her head, but her body did not follow.Every muscle locked.She counted to three.He stayed where he was, water rolling down his skin as if nothing had changed.
He turned his head.Droplets caught along the line of his jaw and tracked down his throat.His eyes found hers without hesitation, then moved over her face and down her body.
Kyla felt heat creep up her neck.Every scrap of composure vanished.She pulled in a breath of barn air, her dignity already gone somewhere between the straw and the sawdust.She stood there with her nerves stretched tight.
No joke would fix this, and no sharp remark would change the situation.Her tongue pressed flat against her palate, every response lost before it reached her mouth.
Part of her wanted him to grab a towel or to swear at her.She wanted him to break the moment, but he did not.He watched her, water still tracing lines down his skin, entirely at ease in a space that left her exposed.
Her heel slipped on the threshold as she tried to step back.Instinct pushed for retreat, but her footing failed her.Rubber scraped against concrete, loud enough to echo.
He did not move to cover himself.He faced her fully with a steady gaze, a slow grin pulling at one corner of his mouth.It broke every rule she knew.
Her tongue pressed harder against her teeth.Years in kitchens, handling men with nothing but a look and a sharp mouth, meant nothing here.He stood there, built from muscle and certainty, the morning light resting on his skin as if it belonged there.
He shifted his weight.Water ran down his side, catching at the line of an old scar before slipping lower.Details came in fragments.She saw the rise of his chest and the fine hair across it.She noted the veins along his forearm as he reached forward.He stepped close enough to reach past her.
