Page 9 of Love Me Dangerous

Fuck, I miss having animals around. I never realized how lonely I’d be without them.

The horses are fidgeting inside their stalls, pulling my attention back to the gravel driveway and the skittish animals that need extra care. The sudden deceleration before the Jeep went off the road no doubt spooked them, and I’m sure my leaping out of the back even before the wheels stopped moving didn’t help.

It happened so fast. I was busy staying on my feet while the trailer swayed and the mare shifted in her stall to notice the CJ-7 until it flew by us. I’ll never forget the terrified look in the young woman’s eyes, her back pressed to the seat.

Where are they now? Are they okay?

“Whoa.” Henry’s steady voice rings through the trailer.

The quarter horse whinnies and shifts his feet. He’s ready to be free again.

I know the feeling, buddy.

I leave the dogs in the shade of the trailer. The woman slips inside the back while Henry lowers the ramp. She talks in soothing tones to the mare, her words mixed with the clicking of metal hinges and the horse’s hooves scraping the metal floor. Henry swings the divider open, and the woman leads the mare down the wide ramp and toward the barn. Her ears prick in my direction, and I resist the urge to reach out to stroke her neck and apologize for scaring her. Instead, I climb the ramp, the scent of alfalfa and horse manure sharp in my nostrils. The quarter horse jerks his head back and stomps.

“You got him?” Henry asks from behind me.

I’m already slipping into the stall. “Hey, boy,” I say in a steady voice.

His ears prick, and he shifts his feet. I run my hand along his side to his left shoulder, watching for signs that he’s going to do something stupid like body-check me into the divider or kick, but he huffs several breaths as I stroke hissoft neck.

“Let’s get you out of here.” I keep one hand on him while I click the lead rope to his halter, then check the straps.

“Ready?” Henry says.

I nod, my eyes fixed on the horse.

Henry swings the divider open, and with a click of my tongue, I lead the boss down the back of the trailer. I feel the man’s eyes on me as we pass, but I keep moving, focusing my energy on getting his workhorse safely delivered to the barn. The boss tries to rush me down the ramp, but I use a firm hold on his lead rope. When we get to the gravel, his gait steadies, and we walk into the barn. The sweet scent of hay and dust itches my nose.

The woman comes out of the mare’s stall—Beatrice, according to the nameplate—and shuts the gate. “Leo’s in that one.” She nods to the stall across from the mare. I lead Leo to his stall, but he’s on autopilot now, and the rest of the chore goes off without incident. I’m shutting the gate on him when Henry leads the third horse into the barn and settles her in the stall next to the mare.

“The bunkhouse is this way,” the woman says, leading me outside. The dogs and I follow her, the bright sun making me squint. We round the barn to the side where a set of stairs zig once to a door.

“It’s open,” she says. “Supper’s at six.”

I give her a look.

“Henry and I raised four sons on this ranch.”

Henry steps out of the barn and adds, “Plus, a couple of their friends.” He eyes her, the warmth between them so powerful that I take a step back.

If the couple senses my unease, they don’t show it. Henry puts his arm around his wife’s shoulders, and the two of them turn toward the house. Honey and Rex trot alongside.

I watch them go, the breeze kicking up a tendril of dust.

When they’re inside the house, I heave another long sigh. Exhaustion drops through me, thick and soft. At the very least, I could change my clothes. Maybe dinner isn’t such a bad idea either.

Henry wasn’t put off by my silence. He also didn’t try to reassure me with meaningless words. Almost like he knew I’d balk if he had.

After grabbing my pack from the truck, I climb the stairs, the metalrailing warm under my palm. Inside is a bare bunk bed, a futon couch, a nightstand, a shelf with tattered books, and a bathroom. The air is stale and warm, like the space hasn’t been used for some time. There’s a giant Tupperware tub on the floor next to the bed. I peek inside. There are folded towels and sheets in two stacks. I brush my fingers across one of the towels. It’s soft and warm.

Unable to stop myself, I lift it from the stack and press it to my face. It holds a faint scent of the detergent and is so plush I stand there like a fool, fighting the emotions churning their way to the surface.

I lock the door, then carry the towel and my pack into the tiny bathroom. I only intend to change my clothes and wash up enough to feel human again, but taking off my watch seems to trigger a hard craving to shed everything else—my wet socks and sneakers, my clothes.

I turn on the shower and step beneath the warm water. Shivers cascade through me in painful waves. I brace against the shower wall and close my eyes. Only then do I realize I’m crying.

I’m muckingBea’s stall when Henry’s frame darkens the doorway. “Zach.”

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