Page 15 of Bravo

“You’re up early,” I blurt. “No one else is ever up this early.”

A shadow of a smile graces his handsome face. “I’ve always gotten up before everyone else. It’s when the world is at its quietest. Come on in; it’s warmer in here.” Without waiting for me to follow, he turns and heads inside. “Hier,” he orders his dog.

Just like his other brothers, he uses German commands when speaking to his dog. I’d asked Elliot about it after I first arrived, and he’d told me that it’s easier to keep the dog focused when very few people know the same commands.

I stand where I am, lingering just outside the barn, unsure whether I should go in or not. It’s none of my business that he’s up early, and the more time passes, the more foolish I feel that I came up here in the first place.

This ranch is locked down tight at night and run by brothers who served in the Army as Special Forces. The likelihood of anyone getting onto the property without them knowing is basically zero.

It’s one of the reasons I’ve felt safe settling here for a time.

I shouldn’t go in.

So why do Iwantto go in?

Because I need this job, and the last thing I should be is rude to the guy that basically runs the place. While their father is still a part of the ranch, I was told that Bradyn is the lead for it. Maybe I would have thought twice about working here if I’d known that my boss would be an absolutely gorgeous, strong, seemingly kind man with eyes that make me want to spill all of my secrets.

Buck up, Kennedy. You’ve faced down worse than a handsome cowboy.

With that in mind, I walk into the illuminated barn. His dog looks up briefly from where he lies beside the door but stays put and drops his head back down.

Bradyn Hunt stands with his back to me as he runs a brush over Rev’s massive back. I’m monetarily stunned to see Rev standing so still for him; then I remember Elliot telling me that Rev is Bradyn’s horse, and the only one—besides me apparently—who can handle him is the eldest brother.

And with that knowledge, I pause a moment so I can fully take in the sight of Bradyn Hunt in all his glory. I’d been too stunned on the street to do so yesterday, and it’s not until this very moment that I realize how much I was missing.

Standing at least six foot four, he’s the kind of strong built by a life of physical labor and hard training. He turns his head to mutter something to Rev, granting me the sight of a strong jaw coated in stubble even though he’d been clean-shaven just yesterday.

His brows are sharp, his dark hair a bit longer than his other brothers’ but shorter than it was yesterday when we ran into each other on the street.

Dark jeans hug broad hips, and since his Carhartt jacket is hanging on a hook by the door, the black thermal shirt he’s wearing hugs his torso like a second skin.

He’s gorgeous.

Stunning.

Too beautiful to be real.

Something nuzzles me, nearly making me jump. I reach up and run my hand over Midnight’s forelock, a black Appaloosa mare with a white blanket over her back. “Morning, girl,” I greet, smiling a bit to myself in embarrassment. I’m only glad it was the horse who caught me and not Bradyn.

At least, she can’t tell everyone I was gawking at him.

“So, are you an early riser too?”

“Huh?” I shift my gaze to Bradyn as the question registers in my un-caffeinated mind. “Yeah. Sorry, didn’t finish my coffee.”

“Why not?”

“I thought someone was stealing the horses.”

He stops brushing Rev and turns to fully face me. “You thought someone was in here stealing horses, and you ran up here, unarmed, ready to stop them?” He doesn’t ask in a mocking tone as some men would have, but rather one of genuine curiosity.

“I’m tougher than I look.” Besides, he doesn’t have to know that there’s a firearm tucked at my back and I’d been more thanprepared to use it. Not that I think he’d care—especially given the firearm currently holstered at his waist.

But that will lead to questions about where I learned to shoot and why I started carrying, and both of those questions will only have me spouting off more lies. I really don’t want to lie to Bradyn.

I can’t exactly tell him I learned the weight behind pulling a trigger in a moment when my life was on the line. That I’d never held a gun before it was me or him walking away.

And I certainly can’t tell him how an elderly war veteran—who pulled me out of an alley, bloody, battered, and nearly dead—took me to a range every weekend for a year.

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