Page 25 of Death Valley

I scream but it’s carried by the wind and I fall to the earth in a heap, rolling out of the way just before the horse rears and stamps its hooves near my head. I stare up at it, the cold blue eyes meeting mine and I know this is it, it will stomp the life out of me.

But suddenly it snorts and pivots and starts running off in the direction it came.

“Aubrey!” Jensen yells again and suddenly he’s kneeling at my side. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I manage to say as he wraps his arms around me and hauls me up to my feet. “No. Maybe.” I look up at him, pressed against his warm chest as he quickly looks me over before his attention goes back to the trees. “What the fuck just happened?”

He gives his head a shake. “Feral horse.”

“More like rabid fucking horse,” I tell him. “He bit me.”

Jensen’s gaze is sharp as it returns to mine, his eyes widening slightly in fear. “Bit you? Where?”

“My side.”

“Fuck,” he swears. “Come on, let’s get you looked at.”

He keeps his arm around me as he leads me toward the barn. I want to tell him I’m fine, that I can walk, but there’s something about the strength of his arm that makes me think he might be holding me together.

We get to the barn and he leads me into the office, flicking on the lights and standing me against the wall for balance. He goes to a drawer and takes out a first aid kit, putting it down on the desk, then comes back to me.

“Take off your shirt,” he says.

I stare at him, my face scrunched up in confusion and pain. “What?”

“I need to see the wound. Take off your shirt.” His voice is as gruff as ever, his expression grave.

I shrug, not really caring in the moment, and pull my shirt over my head, tossing it to the ground.

I’m not wearing a bra.

I’m completely bare, my breasts on display, nipples automatically hardening in the cold air.

And under his gaze.

He still looks just as serious as before, but now there’s heat in his eyes, and a certain way his stance changes, like he’s trying to make himself more comfortable.

He clears his throat and walks toward me, boots echoing in the room despite the roar of the storm outside. My heart is thumping hard against my chest, though I don’t think it’s because I was attacked by a wild horse.

“You’re bruised,” he says thickly. He stops right in front of me and reaches out with tentative fingers.

Then stops, inches away.

“You can touch me, you know,” I tell him, emboldened by the liquor, made reckless by the adrenaline.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and reaches out again. I raise my arm slightly as he gently touches the area near my ribs where the horse tried to take a chunk out of me.

“Is this normal?” I ask, craning my head to get a better look. The mark is bright red, with purple in spots, and it stings like a bitch.

“Women taking their shirt off in the barn? Yeah. A little.”

I glare at him, while internally glaring at myself for feeling the tiniest bit jealous.

You’re a fucking mess, Wells.

“But wild horses attacking and biting you?” he goes on. “No.”

“Why would it do that?”

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