Page 198 of Beat of Love
With him.
Again, she ran the cow down the fence, turned it clean, sharp as a knife, then eased the gelding off when he started to fret. She didn’t push. Just brought him back, asked again. Then again.
Rafferty watched as she repeated the maneuver a fourth time — slow and deliberate — the gelding finally starting to settle. Starting to trust the rider. Learn his job.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Damn, but she was good. Not just at riding — but at reading the animal, knowing exactly when to press and when to release.All grace and control, her posture relaxed but never lazy. Every cue subtle. No wasted motion.
She wasn’t just training a horse. She was shaping a partner.
Shaping a partner …
He blinked.
Hot damn. That’s exactly what she’d done with him.
Never pushing too hard. Never demanding more than he could give. Just showing up, again and again, until he stopped flinching at the touch. Until he trusted that she wouldn’t bolt when things got dark. She hadn’t broken through his defenses — she’dgentledthem.
Brandy-Lyn turned in the saddle, eyes scanning the fence line — and found him. She smiled.
He felt it all the way to his soul.
She steered the gelding toward him and halted beside him.
“Hey, you,” she said, breathless but grinning, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“You’re something else in the saddle,” Rafferty said, voice low, still a bit in awe.
Brandy-Lyn rolled her eyes, but her smile deepened.
She was something else. Period.
And she was his.
Fuck, he was one lucky man.
A stable hand jogged over, and she handed off the reins with a quiet word, brushing the gelding’s sweaty neck one last time. Then she swung down, boots landing in the dirt with a satisfying thud. Discarding her hat, she grabbed her water bottle off the fence post, popped the cap, and took a long drink before leaning on the rail beside him.
Her shirt clung to her back, streaked with sweat and dust. Tendrils of hair stuck to her temples. She smelled of leather, horse, and sun-warmed skin — pure Brandy-Lyn.
No bottled fragrance came close.
Rafferty slid his arm around her shoulders without thinking, like his body had learned the motion on its own.
She leaned into him, eyes half-closed as she rested her head against his chest.
“That boy’s going to make a fine cow horse,” she murmured.
“He already trusts you,” Rafferty said, lips brushing her hairline. “Can’t blame him.”
Her chuckle rumbled low and soft against him. “Takes time.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching the gelding disappear toward the stable. “But some things are worth it.”
They both knew they were no longer discussing the horse.
She tilted her head to look up at him, sweat-damp hair and all, and damn if his heart didn’t knock against his ribs like it had that first time in his brother’s college apartment.
