Page 62 of Beat of Love
“Good thing we’re both known for our self-control,” she said dryly.
He snorted. “Yeah. That’s our defining trait.”
“What are you doing today?” she asked.
He blinked at the left field question. “Fixing the fence line up near Rattlesnake Bluff.”
“Want some company? One of my green mares needs a long ride.”
Spend more time in her company? Bad, bad idea.
“No kissing,” she added, a small grin teasing her very kissable lips.
“Practicing self-control?”
She gave a light laugh. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” he found himself saying.
What the hell, Trick?
15
Delicious cowboy hotness
Are you out of your mind?Brandy-Lyn thought for the umpteenth time as she saddled Sparrow, the three-year-old roan filly. It was the quarter’s third week under saddle, and she showed great promise. Today’s ride would be their first on open land, and riding with a seasoned ranch horse would go a long way in calming the filly down.
But her suggestion to ride together went deeper than benefiting Sparrow.
It was clear as day that the man dragged the aftermath of yesterday’s “shitshow” into today. He was strung tighter than the tightest fence line and, dammit, she was worried about him riding out to the bluff on his own.
He is not your problem.
“I know, I know,” she muttered. She swung up into the saddle without thinking, and Sparrow shifted, sidestepping just enough to throw Brandy off balance.
Cursing her inattentiveness, she shut her mind to everything but the horse beneath her. “Stand,” she instructed, injecting as much calmness into her voice as possible.
The filly flicked an ear back at her, and Brandy could feel the tension in the horse’s body. For a few beats, they remained motionless. A gate clanged at the far end of the yard, and Sparrow flinched. Brandy exhaled a long intentional breath and waited some more. After a full minute, she leaned forward to run her hand over Sparrow’s neck. “You good, sugar?”
The filly’s head dropped half an inch.
Brandy chuckled. “That’s my girl.” She gathered the reins and rode out of the stable yard, promising herself to keep her emotions firmly under control.
Alas, her resolve crumbled when she reached their meeting point.
Rafferty trotted toward her with the early sun behind him, turning the dust at his horse’s hooves to gold. Light caught the edge of his hat — not his usual ballcap but an actualcowboy hat— haloing him in morning fire, and for a beat, Brandy forgot to breathe.
The gelding, Rocco, one of the ranch horses she recognized, moved at a steady lope, muscles rippling beneath a glossy brown coat, but it was the man who held her gaze. He sat deep and loose in the saddle, every part of him moving in rhythm with the horse.
In the saddle, riding, he looked … more.
More imposing, more assured, morealive.
And incredibly sexy.
Sparrow shifted beneath her, but Brandy didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
She just watched him near, sunlight burning the edge of her vision and something quieter — warmer — burning low in her belly.
