“Listen.” Nadia’s tone is so condescending that I flinch.
I’m jumpy today. I’ve barely slept for the past two nights. All the coffee in the world hasn’t helped—in fact, I’m fairly certain it’s making me worse.
“I can’t read whatever kind of sign language these dirty looks are,” I hear her say. “You’re going to have to talk to me. Or write it down or something. Wait, let me grab my crystal ball.”
I shove the swinging door open from the back room to stop her there. Nadia has been excellent her first week. She’s a hard worker, a fast learner, and she has just enough of a backbone that the good ol’ boy farmers and ranchers in the area don’t walk all over her. Doesn’t hurt that they’re all too busy trying to impress her.
The girl is a looker.
But her charm appears to be lost on Griff. He’s glaring at her from beneath his signature black cap. The man can wear a pair of wranglers and cowboy boots like no one’s business, but he’s not chatty. He’s a different dude, for sure. He trailers his horses to the clinic now and then for some work, spends a few days, and then heads back up to his cabin in the woods.
He’s a mountain man recluse personified.
“Griff! Good to see ya. You got those samples we talked about?”
The man just nods at me, places a paper bag on the front desk countertop, and then struts back out the front door like he owns the place.
“Piece of work,” Nadia mutters, rolling her brown eyes.
Brown.
It’s all I can focus on for a moment. Stefan’s eyes are green. Vibrant green. Like emeralds, and bright spring grass, and like… Hank’s.
Fuck me. Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it. Every time I close my eyes, I compare the two men on the backs of my eyelids. If it weren’t for the bump in his nose, Stefan would be a dead ringer for a younger Hank.
Maybe I’m imagining it. No doubt, there have been many a bartender in Ruby Creek. But the horse racing clue? I don’t know. It just seems like too big of a coincidence.
“Do I have something on my face?” Nadia rubs at the corners of her mouth self-consciously.
“No. No. Sorry. Just tired. I zoned out.”
“What the hell is wrong with that guy? He walked in here like he’s some sort of celebrity, like I should know him. Wouldn’t say a goddamn word. Manners leave something to be desired.” She huffs out the last part like she’s taking personal offense.
“Griff? He used to live around here.”
There are lots of stories about Griffin, none of which I feel are verified enough to share. Small town gossip can be unnecessarily cruel.
Nadia bristles and mutters, “Still a dick,” before turning back to the computer.
She’s been an immense help with organizing my schedule and keeping people paid up. It makes my life so much easier, and it doesn’t hurt that I enjoy her company. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that she’s only nineteen.
Stefan’s nineteen-year-old half-sister. Does she know? Man. I thought my family was fucked up. But my drama is minor leagues compared to the bomb Stefan dropped on me the other night.
And then, there’s the kiss.
This is why I keep to myself. Why I don’t date. I dip my toe in the shallows, and suddenly I’m flung into the goddamn deep end. I’m at a loss for how to navigate this situation. What I know. My feelings. My body’s memory of Stefan owning me the way he did.
I’m fucked up.
“I need to go check on Loki,” I blurt out. Nadia looks at me like she doesn’t understand why I’m running my schedule past her. “I, uh, won’t be back. Can you lock up?”
“Of course.” Her pale gold curls shake with her head like I’ve asked her to do the most mundane thing in the world.
“Thanks.” I grab my favorite brown coat off the hanger by the front door and shove my arms through as I head out the front door.
On the drive over to Cascade Acres, I mull over my best plan of action. For both problems: the kiss and what I think I might know.
The kiss needs to never happen again. I’ll have to tell him that much. I can’t handle it, and it’s not fair to get involved with my best friend’s nemesis. Perceived or not. Stefan and I can be friends. In secret. And he can be my client in public. That’s what I’ll offer him.
The next problem is less clear cut. I could find out his mother’s name and ask Hank. But that feels intrusive. He asked me not to share his story with anyone, and I won’t betray his trust. I don’t want to get his hopes up for nothing, because I could be very wrong, and I don’t want to drag Hank into something that might be nothing.
I think I just need to ask him more questions. Feel him out. Maybe we can chat in the barn. I’ll make coffee, and we can sit on the floor.
I look forward to our barn floor dates. Meetings? Barn floor meetings.
When I pull through the gates, from the bottom of the hill I see his SUV parked at the house, so that’s where I go. My palms slip on the steering wheel as the nerves creep in my stomach. I’m accustomed to having difficult conversations with people. It’s part of my job description. But this knowing and keeping secrets thing is killing me.
Having to keep him at arm’s length is killing me, too.
I pull up at his sprawling house up on the hill, and right as I step out of my truck, the front door opens and I’m met with the sight of a tall, shapely, blonde in a tight pencil skirt and expensive heels, leaning in to kiss Stefan on the cheek. My stomach flips and threatens to push itself up my throat.
She’s gorgeous. Standing next to Stefan in his expensive clothes, she’s the perfect match. My baggy canvas coat and ponytail look downright grubby in comparison. I realize I know nothing about Stefan’s dating history. Less than nothing, actually.
But this is perfect because I was drawing a line in the sand. Right? And I refuse to be the type of woman who lets this bother her. I’m good enough for him to kiss in a field, but in any other setting, we’re completely mismatched.
“Just don’t make me drive out to the boonies again. You can come to me next time,” the woman says with a genuine smile.
My throat thickens, and my stomach churns. I really am naive.
“Thanks, Jules.” Stefan chuckles and gives her a wave as she walks down the stairs before his eyes fall on me. “Dr. Thorne.” His voice is warm and gooey, and I want to punch him for thinking he can use that tone on me after having another woman over to his house.
And then I want to punch myself for even caring. Maybe it isn’t even what I think. Deep down, I have a hard time believing Stefan would do that to me. But I’m just far enough out of my league with him to feel insecure about it anyway.
“Hi. I’ll only be a minute.” I walk toward the front step and smile as I pass Jules. She smiles back kindly and gives a subtle dip of her chin. I don’t have it in me to hate other women, so I tell her exactly what I’m thinking. “Killer shoes.” There’s one wide buckle across her foot and a matching one that wraps around her delicate ankle in a sensual looking cuff. They really are hot. If I didn’t work in a small town and spend most of my days covered in horse shit, I’d rock the hell out of a pair.
Her perfectly white teeth flash back. “Thanks! Just got them.”
I reply with a small thumbs up and continue my beeline for Stefan while she heads over to her sporty BMW parked around the corner. Of course, she drives a BMW.
The sooner I can get this over with and get out of here, the better.
“Come in?”
“No. I can’t. I need to check on Loki and then get back to the clinic,” I lie.
He nods but can’t hide the disappointment that takes over his features for a moment.
“Listen… I don’t know how to phrase this gently, so I’m just going to say it. You can’t kiss me anymore.”
One brow quirks up as his arms cross, and he leans against the doorjamb. “Is that so?”
“It’s inappropriate. I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say anything. He just glares at me. Haunting me with those clear green eyes.
“I’m good with continuing whatever sort of friendship we’ve forged. But it needs to stay under wraps. And I’ll honor my end of the deal. One more date.”
“Mmhmm.” He sounds and looks pissed.
“You’re not my type. And I’m not yours. And it will be better this way.”
God. I’m rambling like an idiot.
“You’re not my type?” Tension lines his body even though he casually crosses his foot across his shin.
“No.”
“And I’m not yours?”
“Exactly.” My voice comes out clear and concise, despite the fact I’m rambling inside. This feels wrong.
“And I’m not allowed to kiss you?”
“Really glad we cleared this up.” I wave my hand with my truck keys and turn to leave.
He projects his voice across the driveway before I can hide in the safety of my truck. “Guess I’ll be waiting for you to kiss me then.”
Stefan Dalca is relentless.
The package Stefan had delivered to my apartment for our date tonight essentially gave me two things to do. And I’m not wild about people telling me what to do. Just ask my family.
But when I opened the shoe box, he put me between a rock and a hard place.
I already felt guilty because I didn’t tell him my hunch about Hank, instead I turned and ran like the chicken I am. I was so unnerved by seeing a woman at his house, and by his reaction to me dialing things back between us, that my mind went blank. And now it’s been a week, and I still haven’t said shit.
The guilt is eating me alive.
It just feels like me sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m good at listening, and I hear it all in this job. But I don’t run around flapping my gums about it—especially when I don’t know something for sure. I could hurt many people over an unverified hunch. It’s just a hypothesis. I’ve done no research, and that’s what I need to do. Find more information before I make a claim like that.
And then he bought me the shoes. The ones the woman leaving his house had on her feet. Hers were a nude color that matched her pretty flaxen hair. But these are black—a perfect match for mine.
I love the buckles. They’re gold and chunky and feel so rich next to the soft leather. My inner teenager who wore heavy black eyeliner loves the classy punk style. I have no idea how he knew my size, but they fit perfectly.
A note accompanied the shoes.
Dr. Thorne,
My car will pick you up at 5pm on Saturday to attend the Next Chapter Thoroughbred Rescue Fundraiser. Our final “fake” date. It’s a black-tie event. Wear the shoes.
– S
The defiant devil who lives on my shoulder says to send them back.
But I can’t.
I’m going to enjoy the shoes. Because the only person I’m punishing by getting rid of them is myself. If I’m taking the shoes, I’m sure as hell not following his instructions to wait around like some sappy love-struck date. This is fake. I’m more than capable of showing up at his place on my own.
So that’s what I do. I hop in my truck and drive to Cascade Acres. Do I feel out of place driving my dusty work truck wearing expensive heels and an evening dress? Yes. But it makes me smile. Somehow, I feel very much like myself, a woman of contradictions.
When I arrive at Cascade Acres, heels clicking delicately on the rough concrete alleyway, the staff give me a few funny looks, but they continue with their tasks. It’s almost quitting time for them, and I’ve become a regular fixture around here, so they wave and go about finishing up.
“Hello, little mister Loki.” I swing the stall door open and take in the two chestnut horses. “And you, sweet mama. How are you?”
Farrah bobs her head under my palm when I rub it across her forehead. She really is a sweet mare. And truth be told, I barely need to check on Loki anymore. I want to say he’s out of the woods. But it’s become part of my schedule. A habit.
What I don’t want to admit is that I like coming here. The thrill of running into Stefan has become an addiction. I told him to stay away, and now I’m the one loitering around.
Stefan has stayed out of my way this week. I haven’t seen him since that day on his front step when I told him we can’t kiss anymore but can continue to be friends. Judging by the way his jaw ticked and his arms crossed over his chest like a shield, he wasn’t happy.
But he also didn’t seem deterred.
He hasn’t been since that first day he asked me out, so I guess I don’t know why he’d start now. He’s been jokingly asking me out every opportunity he’s gotten, and I’ve laughed and brushed him off. It’s a running joke at this point. But it didn’t feel like a joke last weekend. It felt like it could be the start of something with the power to knock me right off my track. Right off my wobbly high heels.
It’s better this way, even if I secretly listen for his footsteps in the barn every day, and my eyes dart up to the house every time I go to leave. I should be happy he’s giving me the space I asked for, but I wish he’d go back to being completely relentless.
I think I might miss him.
Which is why the sound of dress shoes clacking against the barn alleyway sets my heart to racing. It doesn’t sound like work boots or sneakers. It sounds almost like my heels sounded. I both dread and long coming face-to-face with him tonight.
My poker face game is strong, though. I just need to keep myself in a professional frame of mind, and I should be able to handle whatever Stefan Dalca makes me feel.
I set to work on checking Loki over, keeping my back toward the stall door so I don’t have to face him when he gets here. I hear the stall door swing open even though the buds of my stethoscope are in my ears.
He doesn’t say anything. I can feel him standing behind me. I can feel his eyes on my body, searing their way over my bare skin. Having him stare at me uninterrupted is unnerving. His presence is heavy. It presses on my chest and threatens to steal my breath.
And my heart.
I somehow count the heartbeats, even with the tall glass of distraction standing behind me. But when I turn to take him in, my mind goes completely blank. He’s leaning against the frame of the stall door, hands shoved in the pockets of his bespoke midnight blue tuxedo, doing that thing he does where his tongue runs across the inside of his cheek. His hair is slicked back perfectly, totally tidy, not a single strand out of place.
But his eyes are chaos. Brambles in the wind. Darker than their usual bright tone.
“You wore the shoes.”
His voice is deep and sure—authoritative. Something I like about him. I don’t have to be tough and independent around Stefan one hundred percent of the time. He doesn’t think less of me for getting tired of being strong all the time. Last weekend in the rain was proof of that. He kissed me senseless and then still treated me like I was perfectly capable and not in need of excessive coddling.
“How could I not? They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“At least you’re walking through wood shavings and manure in them and showed up here all on your own. I’m not entirely disappointed. I fully expected you to wear a pair of sneakers just to put me in my place. But I still thought you’d maybe wear them one day.”
One side of his lips tip up suggestively.
“Ah, yes. For all the fancy events this small-town veterinarian attends.”
“Who said anything about an event?” He smirks. And then he winks. Is he implying what I think he’s implying?
Loki chooses this moment to shove past me. With a small nicker he approaches Stefan and snuggles his head in-between his body and his arm and rests there.
“Is he… snuggling you?”
Stefan smiles as he pulls his opposite hand out of his pocket and slides it up and down the young colt’s neck. “Horses are an excellent judge of character, didn’t you know?”
Loki nuzzles in farther. It’s fucking adorable. Especially now that Stefan has confided in me about his horse as a child.
“We’ve become buddies over the last several weeks. Sometimes, I sit out by his paddock with my laptop and work. He’s so innocent, you know? My first foray into breeding wasn’t exactly a success. I just want to soak this up with him while he’s still here.”
I swallow audibly. Stefan is so fucking misunderstood. Anger flares in me over how hard on him my friends are. If they could just see this side of him—the one who comes to my defense and snuggles baby horses—I just know they’d see him in a different light. It would be impossible not to.
He looks up just in time to catch me gawking, his eyes glowing in the most captivating way. “You are beautiful, Mira.”
I glance down at myself, feeling like I could almost purr at his compliment. The way he looks at me makes my pulse beat in my throat. The wine-red slip-like dress does me an awful lot of favors. Slim cut silk, it ends mid-calf and the cowl neckline gives me coverage where I need it—over my boobs, since a bra is a no-go in this dress.
I hold my hands over my stomach to still the lurching sensation. “Thank you. You don’t look so shabby yourself.” Which is to say, he looks fucking edible. Mr. Purple is going to get a hell of a workout tonight. “For a fake date.”
His lips thin, and his jaw pops as he steps back from the stall, opening the door to usher me out. With one last pat for mom and baby, I step through the door into the quiet barn. The staff have now cleared out, leaving just the two of us standing facing each other in the stable.
Stefan’s eyes coast down my body and pause at the floor. “Your buckle is undone.”
I look down at the beautiful new shoes, grateful for the excuse he’s just given me to stare at the ground and catch my breath.
“Oh, thanks,” I breathe out. I definitely should not be breathless over a man who spent the night with another woman after kissing me the way he did.
“I’ve got it.” With two long steps Stefan is right in front of me, one knee down and reaching for the strap. The sight of him kneeling before me unexpectedly takes my breath away.
His warm hand wraps around my ankle, and I shiver. His movement pauses, but his head stays down. I watch his fingers move deftly, gently tucking the strap back through the gold buckle. When it’s back in place, he continues holding my ankle like he’s entranced by the sight of my dark red toenail polish.
But then his hand slides up the back of my calf and he looks up at me, green eyes boring into mine with so many unsaid words, looking at me like I’m the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. So much overflowing emotion.
My lungs seize, and I don’t try to stop myself from getting lost in his emerald gaze. The seconds tick by as the pads of his fingers slide along the back of my calf. I feel the softest contact so intensely. The warm hum of electricity races up my inner thigh. I clench my core against the growing heat and roll my lips together to stifle a moan.
With a simple clearing of his throat, he stands, leaving my body begging for him to return his hands to my bare skin.
His fingers encircle my wrist like a bracelet. His lips press against my palm tenderly and my stomach drops. Like it always does around him. “We should go,” he says, letting go of my arm and walking toward the door looking completely unaffected. But me? I still need a few seconds to come back down to earth.
Something between us just shifted. I just can’t tell for the life of me what it is or what it means.
All I know is that I wanted his hand on my leg to keep going.
I wanted his lips on my skin.
