Page 17 of Mustang Valley

His voice is low. “Sorry.”

I’m not sorry. I’ll probably feel him on me for days to come and Lord knows I’ll enjoy it. Tattooed men who are totally wrong for me are my vice. And my go-to fantasy. And I haven’t had one touch me in a very long time.

When he’s upright, he examines his finger. “Shit…” he whispers.

He’s bleeding on his finger that slammed into the cement blocks. It’s dripping right down into his palm.

Instinctively, I reach out for his hand to help, but he yanks it away.

“Don’t…” His brow is pinched. He’s annoyed and he takes two more steps back from me.

I’m such an idiot. Two seconds ago, I was in la-la land, thinking we were perfectly poised for a romantic embrace, but this man doesn’t even want me to put a bandage on him.

He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, shoves it around his finger, and squeezes. “I texted Jolie. She’s going to give Romeo some pain meds and take the afternoon shift here so you can tend to the others.”

I can’t stop staring at his hand. “I can grab the first-aid kit, Dash. Is it bad?”

“You should be worrying about the horse, not me. You’re here to do a job, and I’m not one of them.”

His words aren’t particularly harsh, but they cut through me anyway. I remind myself he doesn’t want to be friends. I remind myself that’s not why I’m here either. “Fine.”

“I’ll stay with Romeo ’til noon,” he says. “Then Jo can take over. You come in at five, and I’ll come down at ten until twelve. Then we swap every two hours if need be. If you can handle that?”

I nod. It’s going to be a seriously long day, and night, but of course I can handle that. I’ll pull an all-nighter if I have to. This black beauty isn’t going down on my watch. And by the determination in Dash’s eyes as he sucks on the side of his finger, he won’t let it happen either.

* * *

I’ve been in the stall for hours, totally fine, but come nine o’clock, I discover I’m horribly afraid of the dark. There’s no trace of sunlight left and the moon is covered by clouds. The horses are all back in their stalls, and the sounds they make, that are usually so comforting, are now like cracking twigs behind me in a deep, dark wood.

Worse yet, since taking over from Jolie, Romeo seems to be in more and more pain. I don’t know if it’s just my imagination. Maybe I’m extra emotional and worried because I’ve been up since three or four or whenever the hell I emerged from my in-and-out sleep after Dash’s alarm went off.

Still… I have to trust my judgment. I’ve been working with horses for nearly four years. And lots of them. Romeo is sweating. He keeps lying down and wanting to roll which is just about the worst thing a horse with colic can do. But he’s enormous, and though I’m a capable horse handler now, I struggle to get him to come with me back on his feet.

I know Dash will be here in an hour. But a lot can turn for the worse in that time… so I make the decision I’ve been considering for the past thirty minutes.

I heave Romeo to his feet again, hoping he’ll stay that way while I’m gone, and I head up to the apartment. I don’t want to get Dash. I don’t want to let him know I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him to think I can’t handle all this on my own… but this isn’t about me. It’s about Romeo.

Even though he’ll probably bite my head off, I open the door to his bedroom, gingerly, quietly. It’s stupid really, because I’m about to wake him up so I should kick it open with a foot and make some noise, but part of me wants toseehim.

Am I perverted? A peeping Tom? Maybe. Because I really do want to glimpse him when his eyes are closed. I want to see the man without the mystery.

He’s dead asleep. He doesn’t even really make any sleepy breathing noises; it’s still in his room apart from the lullaby of moonlight dancing in through a curtain he left half open. A gentle glow illuminates his chiseled features. I almost suck in a breath he’s so… beautiful.

Dash’s lips gently part. They’re sensual and luscious and so… I wish I didn’t have to wake him from this serene state. He never appears this calm. His eyes are always concentrating and his brow stern. It’s wonderful to see him relaxed. And I’m no Prince Charming waking Sleeping Beauty. I’m the one who has to break his peace. Should I? I might feel guilty about it, but I have to.

But not before another peek. Half his chest is exposed, and a lean, muscular arm lies on top of his duvet. He’s almost a silhouette in this light. I can’t make out the sleeve of tattoos on his arms but I wish I could. What would a man like Dash choose to paint on his body?

All I can make out is a word in solid letters.Billy.I know from Jolie that was their dad’s name. And I can’t help the thoughts that spring into my head. Maybe Dash is hardened from grief. Maybe all he needs is some warmth to melt the ice.

I’m a nurturer. A helper. A giver. I don’t know why I’m this way but I’m sure my childhood has something to do with it. My mom’s chronic pain, addiction and physical absence forced me into a caretaker role at a very young age. But I don’t hate it. I like doing things for people and giving them what they want. It doesn’t empty my well to help people, it fills it.

And this man? I want to know what’s behind his intense eyes. Is it actually an ache? He refused my touch and even a damn bandage like a wild, wounded animal.

I contain my sigh. Like most women, I’m a glutton for punishment. A mysterious guy like Dash intrigues me more than one who tells me his story openly, which is actually messed up. I’m always out to heal the bad boys. I’m always seeking the broken ones.

But it’s time to fix myself, and besides the fact that Dash makes it very clear he doesn’t need a friend, he isn’t mine. He’s my boss. My very sexy, tattooed, tortured, hot cowboy boss. I need to serve myself an immediate cease and desist fantasizing order right now.

Plus, I’m being kind of creepy staring at him.

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