Page 25 of Riding the Storm
I shrug.
“Who’s the stubborn one again?” he asks, a glint in his eye as he turns and disappears inside.
“That’s what I get for stroking your ego!” I shout after him.
His laugh, clear and deep, floats from the open door, and the sound of it slides down my spine in a way I’m uncomfortable with. “You’re welcome to stroke whatever you want anytime, darlin’.”
The way he says it—lazy, confident—makes me want to knock his hat clean off his head.
And maybe kiss him after.
God, what is wrong with me?
“I’m going in to help Grandma. Find Cabe and get to work,” I bark, brushing my hands off on my jeans.
He pokes his head back out. “Yes, ma’am.”
I don’t miss the teasing note in his voice or the way he gives me that look again—half heat, half challenge.
This is bad.
He’s a client. A stubborn, frustrating, way-too-sexy client that I’m not supposed to fantasize about between training sessions.
He’s also dangerous—not because of his reputation, but because I’m beginning to think he’s got layers I want to peel back to get to the heart of who he is.
The raw swagger and attitude? That I can handle. The skill and the quiet control I saw underneath it all today? That’s what’s going to undo me if I’m not careful.
He tips his hat, then turns and walks away.
The barn door swings shut behind him, and I let out the breath I was holding.
I’m in trouble. Big, dangerous, tattooed trouble.
And tomorrow, I have to climb right back into that arena and face it again.
Saturday starts quiet. The sun’s barely up, streaking orange over the pasture, and I can already smell the aroma of coffee brewing coming from the main house as I step out onto the little porch of the guest cabin.
These last few days have been productive. Once I made up my mind to stop resisting and start showing some real effort, training progressed quickly, and on Tuesday, Charli is taking me to a neighboring ranch to work with a couple of broncs.
I haven’t decided yet if I want to go saddle or not. Charli agrees with Shawn and thinks I should train for saddle. Although safer than bull riding, bareback bronc riding still uses rigging and relies on a rider’s raw power, whereas saddle is safer and more about the rider synchronizing his movements with the horse’s, requiring both strength and grace.
Both take athleticism. Both are fairly popular events.
Neither is as popular or thrilling as bull riding.
I scrub my hands over my beard and sigh.
Charli told me yesterday that I had the day off today.
“Go do something besides annoy me,” she said, that sharp little smirk tugging at her mouth.
I should’ve taken her advice. I could’ve slept in. Watched a baseball game. Streamed an action film. Hell, even found a pole and gone fishing. Anything other than wandering out to the barn before six, like I’m on autopilot.
I find Cabe already working through morning chores. He’s slinging hay bales like they’re light as a feather.
“Mornin’, superstar,” he calls when he spots me. “Thought Charli cut you loose today.”
“She did,” I answer.
