Page 10 of Reckless

“Okay,” he said, shuffling his feet on my doorstep. “I’ll tell Kat.” He started to turn.

“Can I meet your horse?” I didn’t want him to leave quite yet.

This time he met my gaze, confusion etched on his face. “What?”

“I’ve never met a horse,” I said.

“Never?” He sounded shocked, as though I’d admitted to something truly bizarre and alien.

“I was born and raised in the city.” I tilted my head at the horse. “Is it friendly? Does it bite? Do they all bite?”

“She won’t bite,” Robbie said, his expression softening into something open and unguarded at last. “Maybe nibble a little.”

He walked over to the horse, and it huffed at him as he approached, almost as though it was admonishing him for taking too long to get back. I followed and stopped well out of what I hoped was biting range.

Robbie flashed me a quick smile, and then reached out so the horse could nuzzle his hand. He seemed heedless of those huge teeth and the damage they could do. “Come on.”

I moved closer.

“You can give her nose a scratch,” he said. “She likes that.”

I scratched the horse’s nose obediently, trying not to notice just how big she was. “What’s she called?”

“Gerty,” he said, and the horse’s ears flicked at the sound of her name. Robbie’s smile grew. His eyes, which had been so dark last night, seemed to reflect the blue of the sky today, and I fought the urge to run my fingers through his tousled dark hair instead of down Gerty’s broad face.

It was an uncomfortable feeling—not because it was unwelcome, but because it was unexpected. I hadn’t slept with anyone since Neal, and attraction, for me, had always felt more like a gentle question rather than a strident demand. The urge to touch Robbie was all want. He interested me—his shyness, his quietness, his sudden bursts of something sharper underneath—and interesting had always been the hook that was guaranteed to snag me. Just not usually so quickly.

“My husband had a great aunt called Gertrude,” I said. It was a lie, but I wanted to see the flash of understanding in Robbie’s gaze when I dropped the word ‘husband’, and see what followed it. Surprise? Awkwardness? Hostility?

Heat flared in his gaze before he turned his face away. “Gerty’s not short for anything. It’s just Gerty.”

“Oh.” I continued to scratch Gerty’s nose, my shoulder bumping against Robbie’s. He didn’t move away. “How have you been feeling? Everything cleared up?”

“You asked me that the other night,” he told his boots.

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

He lifted his gaze. There was a small furrow in his brow. I wanted to press it with my fingertips and smooth it away. “You had a husband?”

“Yes. He passed away last year in a traffic accident.” I felt an ache in my chest when I said it. Not a fresh wound, but it would always be a bruise, and giving the Cliff's Notes version of my story to each islander I met was bound to press on it, again and again.

“Sorry,” he said.

I didn’t say anything, just smiled as Gerty bumped his chin with her nose. He reached up and gently pushed her head away. She retaliated by biting a mouthful of his curls. I took a reflexive step back, my heartbeat ticking up, but Robbie only curled his hand around Gerty’s nose and let her chomp his hair.

“Are you— Do you need me to do anything?”

“Nah. She’s alright.”

“Robbie, she’s eating your hair.”

“She’s just having a nibble.” He gave a broad, happy grin that almost took my breath away. It showed a side to him I hadn’t seen before—joyful and carefree—and I couldn’t shake the idea that nobody else got to see him like this, except possibly Gerty and his cows and his goats. I’d seen Robbie last night around people, his own friends, his own community, and he hadn’t smiled then like he did now. It was a conceit, probably, but a pleasant one.

Gerty’s lips rolled back, and she huffed out a breath, plastering Robbie’s chewed hair to his forehead with a splat. His grin only grew.

“Oh God,” I said. “Come inside. Wash your face. That’s revolting.”

I retreated to the front door, and Robbie followed me. “Thought a doctor would be a bit less squeamish about some spit.”