Page 20 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
I’m about to call Jace and ask him for help when I hear footsteps headed my way.
“Quinn?”
“Ella? Thank God. Let me out,” I request, grateful that I don’t have to bother Jace.
“Why is there a chair jammed up against your lock?” she asks just as she swings it open and lets me out.
“Your brother being immature,” I answer with an eye roll.
“I’m so sorry about him,” she sympathizes, but she can’t hide the small smile playing on her lips.
At least she finds this funny, but I do not. “Thank you for letting me out.”
“You’re welcome.”
Just to be petty, I jam the chair against his door even though I know he’s not in there and fall in step with Ella as we head downstairs.
“What does your brother do here at the ranch?” I ask, hoping to at least get some basic information on him.
“He’s a trainer—one of the best.”
“What about bareback riding? He’s not into the sport anymore?”
“No one’s really sure. He hasn’t said much about it, but we’re all leaning toward him having decided to retire,” she explains.
Beck has always given Landon a run for his money when it comes to the sport, so it’s sad that he’ll be hanging up his spurs.
Ella answers all the questions that I have and even joins me for breakfast, allowing me to probe some more about her brother. She’s quite informative, and I learn a lot, but not enough, which means I still need to find the man himself.
“Might you be kind enough to let me know where I can find that brother of yours?” I ask her after we are done eating.
“He’s in the corral. Head out the back door and take the path to the stables—it’s right at the back.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And Quinn—“
“Yeah?”
“Thank you so much for this. We know it’s not going to be easy, so we appreciate you trying.”
“I’ll do my best, but ultimately, it all lies with Beck.”
“I know. We’ll do our best to convince him to behave.”
“I would appreciate that—it will make my life so much easier.”
Exiting the kitchen, I take the path leading to the stables, the sight that meets me taking my breath away.
The world is quiet but for the soft huff of the mare and the scrape of Beck’s boots against the dirt. He moves with a patience I didn’t expect—measured steps, steady hands, a low murmur of words I can’t quite hear but feel in the way the horse relaxes beneath his touch. For a man who looks like he was carved to intimidate, there’s something almost tender about the way he guides her.
The moment feels private, like peeking into a part of him no one is supposed to see. My eyes track the way his shoulders roll, muscles shifting under sweat-damp skin, tattoos flexing withevery movement. He’s all focus, all control, and it steals the air right out of my chest.
Then, as if he can feel the weight of my stare, his head lifts. Our eyes catch across the distance, and for one charged heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then he drops the reins, gives the mare a pat, and starts toward me.
My pulse stumbles. Each step eats up the space between us, heavy and deliberate, and I swear the air changes—thicker, harder to breathe, as if even the ranch itself knows Beck Morgan is walking straight toward me.
His stride is confident in that way only a man who grew up on this land can carry. He does not look pleased to see me and doesn’t even bother hiding it.
