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She looks up at me. “Thank you.”

“Come with me so you know what to do next time,” I toss back at her, leading Dolly away and into the barn.

She follows closely behind me; her steps are soft in her leather riding boots that probably cost more than my pickup.

I take her to the back of the barn to a room where Hank stores all the saddles, leads, and brushes. I show her where everything goes, then spin on my heel to return to Dolly.

“One more thing,” she says, holding one finger in the air. “Would you mind loosening the saddle?” Her cheeks grow pink, and she looks down at her boots. “It’s difficult…with my nails.” Her tone makes it sound like she’s hesitant to admit this.

My eyes move to her hands. Her gloves are off now and she’s holding them in one hand. Her nails aren’t long, but they’re pink and shiny.

I groan and roll my shoulders. Just ten minutes ago, I was relaxed and ready to finish my workday, but now her presence has me remembering the tension in my back.

My heavy, annoyed footsteps thump across the floor again, and I tug upward on the girth to loosen it, then unbuckle the strap and leave it dangling. “You have it from here, Princess?”

She tilts her chin toward the sky. “My name is Hattie.” Her tone is terse, clearly annoyed with me just as much as I am here.

Hattie…yes, that fits her much better than Harriet.

I walk toward the barn door once more, only for Hank to walk into the barn.

I expect him to smile or make a joke, but he freezes as he looks between me and Hattie. His gaze lingers on the woman for a long moment. He’s not frowning as he looks at her, but more contemplative.

For a moment I wonder if he knows her, or perhaps he’s just wondering why she’s wearing that ridiculous pony club outfit…but then worry creeps into his expression. I can’t decide if he senses the hostility coursing between us, or what. Hank isn’t usually so stoic.

My confusion escalates when I look at Hattie and find her staring at Hank with an expression so similar it’s uncanny. There’s a strange tension in the air, but I don’t know why. As I look between the two, I notice their hair is nearly the same red shade. Except Hank’s has gray threaded throughout.

“Linc.” Hank clears his throat, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck as he shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”

CHAPTER 6

Hattie

Lincoln blinks several times, looking like he just got the wind knocked out of him. His head swivels between me and Hank. These two men must know each other well, because Lincoln looks genuinely shocked by Hank’s declaration.

“Your what?” Lincoln asks, hands coming to land on his hips.

He looks different today…better. His flannel shirt is clean but the leather chaps covering his legs are dusty. The beard along his chiseled jaw is trimmed shorter, and his thick, dark hair falls around his ears and neck. He has really nice hair.

Beautiful hair that’s clearly wasted on him, just like those shoulders.

I hate it when sexy men have horrible personalities. And Lincoln is sexy. There’s no denying it. His chaps cover his legs, but there’s no hiding that backside. He’s muscled in a rugged way, strength formed by hard labor and not from working with a personal trainer. He’s the kind of man who could fix a leak in your kitchen sink, change a tire…then pick you up and pin you against a wall while he whispered filthy things in your ear.

That thought sends an unwanted shiver down my spine, but I blink a few times to get the vision out of my head.

“Hattie is my daughter,” Hank states, drawing me from the thoughts I shouldn’t be having. “So be nice to her.” Hank arches an eyebrow and Lincoln’s jaw tics.

“I’m always nice,” Lincoln tells him.

Hank gives him a knowing look, one that says no, you’re not. Then Hank walks toward me and slides the saddle and saddle pad off Dolly. All the mares in this barn are named after classic female country stars.

“So, are you a big country music fan?” I ask, turning toward Hank. I’m once again startled by the green eyes that stare back at me. My eyes.

Hank smiles, finally looking at me like I’m just another horse lover and not a piece of his past that showed up to haunt him.

Yeah, he’s definitely struggling with this daughter thing.

“It’s all my dad listened to growing up,” Hank says, chuckling. “Nothing is as good as the classics.” He wrinkles his nose. “The new stuff just isn’t the same.” Hank untacks Dolly as he talks, putting everything away neatly.