Page 10 of Saddles and Snowstorms
Chapter 4
Brooks
Istared at my calendar, dreading the note I’d left for myself. It was horse vaccination day, and that meant Dr. Walsh had to come back out to my ranch. Him and his stupidly handsome face. It was easily the most annoying thing about him, that and those personal questions he liked to ask all the time. But the horses needed their checkups, and he was the only vet in town. Calling in another from somewhere else would cost me double. I supposed I could put up with him for a couple hours. All I had to do was keep busy and forget he was there.
That was easier said than done of course. Rowan had awoken something in me that I thought I’d stamped out long ago. I took a long swig of my coffee, hoping it might prepare me for the day ahead. I’d already spent the morning readying the horses for Dr. Walsh’s arrival. I should’ve been out there waiting for the vet, but I found myself lingering in the kitchen instead, listening to the ticking of the old clock on the wall.
The sound of tires on gravel made my stomach tighten. I peered out the window and saw his truck pulling up, dust billowing behind it. Dr. Walsh climbed out, looking irritatingly fresh in a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up past his forearms. Those damn forearms. He grabbed his medical bag from the passenger seat and headed toward the barn.
I cursed under my breath and stepped outside, forcing my face into what I hoped was a neutral expression.
“Morning,” he called, that easy smile spreading across his face. The scar on his jaw caught the sunlight. I needed to ask him about that at some point, but I was doing everything I could not to be friends with the guy. Better to avoid temptation before it could even begin.
“Dr. Walsh,” I nodded, keeping my distance.
“Come on, Brooks, we’ve been through this. Call me Rowan.” He adjusted his bag, those green eyes of his catching mine and holding them for a beat too long. “Unless you’re planning to keep this strictly professional for the rest of our lives.”
I cleared my throat and looked away, focusing on the barn door as if it were the most interesting thing I’d ever seen. “The horses are ready. I’ve got them in separate stalls, just like you asked.”
“Appreciate that.” He followed me into the barn, and I could feel his presence behind me like a physical thing. The scent of his cologne—something woodsy and clean—mingled with the familiar smells of hay and horse.
Inside, the morning light filtered through the high windows, casting golden beams across the straw-covered floor. My mare, Penny, nickered softly when she saw us.
“Hey, beautiful,” Rowan murmured to her, setting his bag down and approaching her stall. The gentleness in his voice made something twist in my chest. He had the same tone when he spoke to nervous animals and reluctant ranchers alike.
I leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. “I’ve got three more after her. Think you’ll be done by noon?”
“Eager to get rid of me already?” Rowan glanced over his shoulder with that half-smile that made the scar on his jaw curve slightly. Damn that thing for always catching my attention. He ran his hand along Penny’s neck, soothing her as he prepared the vaccination.
“Got work to do,” I muttered, looking away. Truth was, I had rearranged my entire day around his visit, but he didn’t need to know that.
Rowan worked efficiently, his hands moving with practiced precision. I tried not to stare at the way his shoulders flexedbeneath his shirt as he reached up to check Penny’s eyes, or how his forearms tensed when he held her steady.
“How’s the herd doing?” he asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us.
“Fine.”
“Just fine? And the new calf is doing well too?”
I shifted uncomfortably. I really didn’t want to be having more conversation with him than I needed to. But I hadn’t left the barn yet either, so it was my own damn fault.
“He’s fine. Still can barely keep the damn thing in the barn though,” I scoffed. “He wants out onto that pasture.”
Rowan nodded. “They’ve got a lot of energy at that age. There’s a bit of a cold snap on the way, so probably best to keep him inside until it passes. He’ll be grumpy, but I’m sure he’ll thank you for the warmth.”
“Yeah. I suppose so.”
Rowan moved on to the next horse, and I found myself following along instead of heading out to check the fences like I’d planned. Something about the way he worked—confident but gentle—kept me rooted to the spot.
“You know,” he said, preparing another injection, “most ranchers I visit can’t stop talking about their livestock. You’re a man of few words, Brooks Callahan.”
“Not much to say,” I replied, watching his hands. Those damn hands. “Animals don’t need much conversation.”
He chuckled, a sound that traveled right down my spine. “Fair enough. But they do need care.” He glanced at me. “Like that little calf. Your herd’s small, but healthy. You’ve got good instincts.”
I wasn’t used to compliments, especially not from someone like him. City boy turned country vet, with those educated ways of speaking and that careful precision. Everything about him was deliberate, measured. The opposite of me.
“Been doing this a while,” I muttered, shifting my weight. “Nothing special about keeping animals alive.”
