Page 32 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

The day Tim kissed me, it was very, very cold.

Ironically, I doubt it would have happened if not for Paige, my best friend. . .who hates him. Paige is a skier. She and I had very little in common when we were matched as roommates our freshman year of college, but over time, we became more and more similar. In fact, we became partners when our largest difference became our biggest connection point—I loved horses, and she loved plowing through snow on sticks.

By her sophomore year, we had realized where our interests connected and decided to try skijoring, on a lark mostly. She had a ski team friend who mentioned that they had a friendly competition the following week. Paige decided she wanted to try it, but she needed a horse to pull her with a rope through the ski course.

At forty miles an hour.

Millie probably would have killed us, but I convinced Steve and Mom to bring the horse I learned barrels on, Chromey, and he was a champ. Running in the snow didn’t scare him. Racing past screaming crowds gathered along the course didn’t faze him either. The only part that made Chromey nervous was the flag we had to carry for our college.

All in all, though we didn’t get close to first place, we were almost as far away from last. We decided to do it again.

And again.

And then again.

After my tenth or twelfth run, we started rolling Millie into the lineup. She was bred for reining, so I didn’t think she’d be great, but she got the hang of it quicker than I expected. The flag never even fazed her.

By my junior year, I’d been working for the Bear River Equine Hospital for a few months already. I knew most of the vets there. So when I showed up at the Heber City Utah skijoring competition, I wasn’t even surprised to see they were the vet for the meet. I was actually proud to introduce them to all the friends I’d made in the bizarre sport I’d fallen in love with.

“And this is Timothy Heaston,” I said to Paige. “He’s our orthopedic surgeon, so I’m not sure why he had to come.”

“I wanted to come,” he said. “I love things like this, and when I heard you would be here, I didn’t want to miss it.” But he was staring at me, not Paige.

“I know everyone here’s a potential client,” Paige said. “But you’ll have to cheer the loudest for us.” She winked.

Tim stepped closer. “Izzy’s the only one I’ll be cheering for. She’s the only one I even see.” Then he winked. . .at me.

“At first I thought it would be fun flirting with him,” Paige said. “But I didn’t think he’d actually like you. He’s way too old for you.” Paige glared as he rejoined the Bear River team.

“Let’s just worry about the race,” I said.

It was the first time we’d ever taken first place, and it was very, very exciting. We even won some money. After all the photos and the interview with the local Heber City paper, I was finally walking Chromey back to my trailer when my “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”ringtone alerted me that my mom was calling. In the process of trying to answer, I almost ran into someone. I dropped my reins, Chromey spooked, and I fumbled my phone. Chromey reared back, which was very uncommon for him, and he was hovering over me, blocking out the sun.

The person I almost plowed over was Tim.

He gracefully caught my phone, snagged Chromey’s reins before he could bolt, and swung me around behind him to keep me safe. “Careful, champion.”

I swear, the whole thing played out like a scene from a movie. He was in the right place at the right time, and without missing a beat, he set my horse at ease, kept me safe, and prevented my phone from breaking. I was inawe, even more than I had been before.

“It was exciting, watching you in your element,” he said.

“It was your cheering that did it, I think.” In spite of the cold, my cheeks felt warm. His arm—still braced around my lower back—helped.

“You were spectacular. Really.” His eyes dropped to my mouth.

I inhaled.

And then he kissed me. It felt like everything in my world dropped into place in that moment. Sometimes, when things feel hard, I think back on that moment. When I was in trouble, he swung me around and shielded me with his body. At the time, I remember thinking it might be the closest thing I’d ever experienced to having an actual white knight.

When the men who shot at us before show up again, my heart races, and I realize I’m in more danger now than I was that day, when Chromey panicked and I was almost trampled.

Sadly, Leonid Ivanovich is definitely not a knight.

He’s also not dressed in anything remotely close to white—he’s not even wearing his own clothes. But whereas Chromey could be calmed with a steady gesture and a smooth voice, I doubt anything like that will work here. In fact, as I take in their expressions and their approach, I notice something. Something very bad.

“Leonid,” I whisper. “He—he’s got a gun.”

No matter how many times you watch a heroine on a show stand up to someone bravely, no matter how many times you run through a life-and-death scenario you see in a movie or read in a book, nothing really prepares you for facing the rounded end of a metal weapon that’s pointed at your face in real life.

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