My heart hammers against my ribs as we walk the tiny colt down the concrete alleyway, small, soft hooves clopping quietly through the barn. I feel like a shmuck. Here I am, joking around and flirting with Mira, feeling all proud of myself for squeezing three dates out of the woman while a horse’s life is on the line.
And this might not even work.
I’m usually comfortable with morally gray business decisions, but this time I just feel like a dick. Mira saves lives for a living, and I leveraged that passion for my own gain. Asking for the dates was a shot in the dark, just like it was the first time I did it and every time since. But her turning me down has me fixated. I want to know Mira Thorne in ways she can’t even imagine.
Truthfully, I should probably feel worse. But watching her work, so steady and focused, just makes me more attracted to her. I’ve studied my ass off since starting this venture to learn as much as possible about the business. My closest friend, Griffin—who I bought this place from—is my go-to source for horse information. But orphaned foals haven’t come up in our chats yet.
Mira slides the stall door open and takes a deep breath. Her eyes meet mine over the back of the foal, and she gives me a decisive nod before we step into the stall.
I’m nervous. It’s so unlike me. But God, I really want this to work. I don’t even care who owns the foal. The truth is, I’d have done this even if she said no to the dates. Plus, I don’t dislike Billie Black or the Harding family enough to wish this upon them. Watching my foal die this morning was heart-wrenching. I’ve come to love these animals, and watching them suffer is torture in a league of its own.
“Hey, mama. Meet baby. He’s a real sweet boy.” Mira’s voice is deep and smooth. She doesn’t use a high-pitched baby voice. It’s almost like she could hypnotize the horses into acceptance with a tone like that. Or me. I’m a sucker for her sultry voice.
She flicks her head back at me, effectively dismissing me as she holds the small red foal and lets the mare walk toward it. Stepping back into the doorway, I watch raptly. I’m not a superstitious man, but I’m not taking any chances tonight.
I shove my hands into my pockets and cross my fingers. I think I’d cross my toes if I could.
The mare’s dark globes for eyes assess the colt, and her ears flick around in confusion as she tries to sniff him. To the colt’s credit, he may be weak, but his sense of smell is just fine. I watch his head snap toward her udder, ears pointing exactly in that direction, and spindly legs follow. His back moves right beneath her flared nostrils. They’re glistening with the rub that Mira smeared there, but she must catch some small scent of the manure, because she gives him a small nuzzle on his bony haunch with her top lip.
I don’t miss the small gasp that slips past Mira’s lips. She holds her hands up off the foal like he burned her and steps back slowly. Carefully. Like she doesn’t want to break whatever momentary connection the two horses seem to have formed.
My fingers hurt from how hard I’m squeezing them across each other. I don’t move, even as Mira’s body comes to pause only a few inches away from mine.
Within moments, the colt shoves his head beneath her belly and nuzzles at the overfull udder. Trying to figure out something he hasn’t quite learned how to do yet.
I glance down at Mira’s tense body—raised shoulders and hands fisted in front of her breasts—feeling her heat seep into the front of my body. The only part of her moving is her chest, with the rise and fall of her deep breaths.
The stall is almost entirely silent. Until a noisy suckling noise fills the space. Followed by a ragged sigh from the woman standing in front of me. In wonder, I watch the content mare go back to the hay net before her. Mira’s thick black ponytail flops forward as she drops her face into her hands.
The relief pouring off her bleeds into me, and I pull one hand out of my pocket and place it on the nape of her slender neck, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You did it.”
She just nods. She doesn’t shake me off; she stands there, soft skin beneath my palm, watching the mare and foal accept each other like life meant them to be together no matter how tragic the circumstances.
“Fuck. What a relief.” Her voice is hoarse, but I can’t see her face to confirm how emotional she might be. I absently brush my thumb across the base of her skull, and after a beat she clears her throat and steps away. “Let’s leave them for a bit.” Mira turns to exit the stall but doesn’t meet my eyes.
Usually, she covers her vulnerability with a smirk—but not today.
I shouldn’t have touched her like that. I’m like a cat playing with his food. But all I really want is for her to see that I’m not a bad guy. I don’t always play by the rules, but I’m not a bad guy. I grew up with one, and I refuse to become him.
I move away, letting her pass. Wishing my hands were still on her. I don’t know why the woman intoxicates me the way she does. Her eyes, her lips, her cool exterior, the sensual hum of her voice—it’s all driven me to distraction since the first time I met her down at the track. Her no-nonsense way of handling me while being perpetually gentle and sweet with the horses was a contradiction that fascinated me then and still does now.
She’s an equation I’d love to solve.
Or maybe the broken little boy in me just wants her to treat me the way she does a horse. With love. I shake my head at myself as I turn to follow her. The thought of her softening up for me is the ultimate carrot she could dangle. I want nothing more than to watch her melt.
I don’t love Dr. Mira Thorne. I barely even know her. I’m just fascinated though—inexplicably drawn to her. And I’m too damn accustomed to getting what I want to let it go.
“What now?” I ask as she marches toward the lounge area, complete with cushy brown leather couches, a pool table, and a fully stocked bar.
She straight-up ignores me for a few beats before flopping down onto a couch with a loud sigh. “Now we wait a bit and see what happens.”
I follow suit and drop onto the couch across from her, propping my feet up on the table and resting my hands across my ribs. “You look tired.”
She hits me with an unimpressed look. “Charming, Stefan.”
“Why don’t you sleep for a bit, and I’ll keep an eye out.”
“No.” Her head drops back, and her eyes close.
If she’s half as exhausted as I am, she must feel like utter garbage. But I don’t argue. Mira doesn’t give off the vibe that says she wants to be coddled. So, if she wants to be dead on her feet, good for her. I’ll support it.
“What’s the accent?” she asks without opening her eyes.
“Romanian.” I keep my eyes wide open. Truthfully, I can’t peel them off her.
“You’re Romanian?”
“I was raised there.”
“You just look so . . . I don’t know. Not Romanian?”
Yeah. I’m not sure how it took me so long to figure that out either. I’m about to ask her about her family’s background, but after only a few moments, her fingers fall open and her pillowy lips part.
She’s out like a light.
She looks younger and . . . softer somehow while she’s asleep. More innocent. The sight of it stirs some instinctual part of me, and all I want to do is take care of her. Make sure she’s comfortable. That she rests for a while.
I walk over to the large wicker basket at the end of the couch, pull out an Aztec style wool blanket, and drape it over her gently. She stirs slightly, but only to nuzzle her cheek into the couch.
She looks so damn tired.
I figure I can sleep tomorrow while she’ll probably have to work. With one final glance over her sleeping form, I walk back out into the barn alleyway to the stall with the mare and foal. I flip the latch and creep in. My chest warms seeing mom standing and dozing with sprawled-out baby sleeping happily beside her. They’re a perfect match. Red and red. You would never guess they aren’t related.
I step into the stall, closing the door behind me, and slide down onto the ground near the foal’s head. With my back against the wall, I let my gaze travel over his spindly body, warm under the glow of the red lamp hanging above. He looks weak, but peaceful.
I’m momentarily transported back in time to the horse I had as a child. The same color as this foal, but not with flashy white legs and face. An entirely different type of horse. But he was mine. He was my reprieve from the hell that was living in my childhood home.
I lean forward and let my hand trail over the sleeping colt’s leg to his knee, where the white stocking blends into the coppery brown of the rest of his coat. My body moves of its own accord, coming to kneel beside the small horse. My palm rests over his rib cage, feeling it rise and fall in a steady rhythm. He may not be out of the woods yet, but his breathing is strong. I think he’s a strong little horse.
A fighter.
When I move up to his head, cupping the round plate of his cheekbone, he nurses in his sleep. A sweet suckling noise that makes me smile. This guy knows what’s up. He’s not down for the count yet. And I’m going to make sure he succeeds.
I lean back against the wall, resting my elbows over my knees, vowing internally to make sure this is the healthiest foal anyone has ever seen.
“Wakey, wakey.”
My foot wobbles from a kick and my eyes flutter. The first thing I feel is stiffness as I try to get my bearings. Stiffness in my joints… and in my pants.
Mira’s voice filters into my consciousness. Something that is definitely not helping the morning wood situation. “Up we get, Sleeping Beauty. I made you coffee.”
And there she is, standing in the stall’s entryway, looking a tad disheveled. How I imagine she’d look after a night spent in my bed. Soft, and lacking the snarky smirk that’s always plastered on her face.
I scrub at my stubble, trying to wake myself up. A small chestnut face moves into my periphery. The foal is looking at me like I’m absolutely fascinating. Farrah is just ignoring me—the weird guy who slept on the floor of her stall.
Mira steps closer, leaning down slightly to hand me the mug of steaming coffee in her hand.
I peer down into the mug. “Cream this time?”
Her eyes flit away shyly. “You didn’t seem big on the black coffee, so I tried something else. How do you take it?”
I just don’t want you to think my soul is black. It had been a joke when she said it, but I’d let it bug me anyway. I’m inexplicably concerned with what this woman thinks of me.
“This is fine,” I reply gruffly, taking the coffee from her, willing my raging boner to disappear. Hello, morning wood.
“Okay, get up. I need to check these two over.”
I take one thoughtful sip of the coffee before I calmly say, “I can’t get up right now.”
Mira scoffs. “Of course, you can.”
I grin back at her, and after a beat, her confused eyes trail down to my lap and then go wide as she puts all the pieces together. “Oh.” She clears her throat. “I’m, uh, just going to get a few things from my truck then.” And then she darts out of the barn.
I can’t help but chuckle as I bang the back of my head on the wall a few times. That’s not the reaction I was expecting from her at all. She acts like a siren, but the mere mention of a boner, and she can’t get away fast enough.
After a couple of minutes, I stand and lean back against the wall of the stall. I sip the hot coffee and scan over the mare and foal again. The foal comes closer, clearly curious about the person who spent the night sleeping with him. His soft nose rubbing against my jeans, nostrils flaring wide as he tries to take in my scent. Bulging black globes with chestnut lashes fanning down as he wiggles his lips against my shoulder curiously.
Damn. He’s really cute. I reach my free hand out and rub the fuzz of his goofy little forelock between my thumb and forefinger before letting my palm slide down over the wide white blaze on his face. His eyes flutter shut, like he’s enjoying the feel, and I can’t help but smile at how sweet and trusting he is. How unmarred by the world—by life.
“He’s pretty sweet, isn’t he?” Mira’s voice interrupts the dark turn in my head. She’s standing in the doorway with a stethoscope around her neck and her ponytail slicked back harshly against her scalp.
“Does he have a name yet?”
She sips her coffee and shakes her head. “No. I think Billie was pretending to have a hard time coming up with something under the guise of not wanting to get attached. You know, in case he doesn’t make it.”
It’s the perfect opportunity to take a jab at the other woman, but I can’t bring myself to do it. “What’s his breeding?” I ask, curious about the colt’s lineage.
Mira continues to sip her coffee and stare at me. Her eyes flit momentarily to my crotch, and I swear her cheeks pink a bit, but I don’t get long to think about that before she says, “He’s the black stallion’s first foal.”
I blink at her. “The one I tried to buy?”
“Yup.”
“Jesus. Did you have to tranquilize Billie to get him over here?”
“Don’t be a dick. She’s been sick over this foal. She hates you, but she wants him to survive more.”
Feeling properly chastised, I hide behind my cup of coffee for a moment before changing the subject. “He needs a name. It’s important he has a name.”
“Why?” Her voice is quizzical as she steps in and holds the stethoscope over the nameless colt’s ribs.
“Because he’s going to make it. A name ties him to this world. It gives him an identity. Means we recognize his existence.”
I see the searching look she gives me. It’s quick, but it’s there. Full of curiosity.
Every time I ran away as a child, I’d end up with the local villagers who lived nearby. I’d hide out in their homes and listen to their stories, their teachings, their connectedness. That immense sense of community—it all stuck with me. Rather than growing up to be a man who was afraid to fall into my parents’ footsteps, I decided it was my goal to prove that I wouldn’t. I’d have a wife, I’d have a family, I’d have it all, and I would treat them like gold.
She rolls her lips together but doesn’t look up from where she’s staring down at the foal. Her mouth moves silently as she counts his heart beats.
“Then name him. He needs all the help he can get,” she says as she steps away. “I’ll be back later to check on him again. I need to go open the clinic. Can you make sure he’s nursing throughout the day? I’m going to do a blood draw when I come back. I’m probably going to bring Billie—she needs to see that everything is good. So can you either keep your mouth shut or make yourself scarce?”
I nod, trying to hide my amusement over her thinking she can dictate my behavior or whereabouts on my property. My gaze follows her decisive movements as she packs up her kit and heads out. I shouldn’t check her out the way I am, admiring the roundness of her ass in the pair of dark wash Levi’s she’s wearing. But goddamn, she fills them out so well.
Her hand taps the frame of the stall door as she leans back in, tongue darting out over her bottom lip. “And, uh, thanks for the blanket last night.”
“Next time I’m joining you.” I wink and she just rolls her eyes.
I should try harder to keep things professional and not let my curiosity about Dr. Mira Thorne take over my brain. I shouldn’t think with the wrong head.
But the more time I spend with her, the more of a challenge that feels like. I like a challenge… but keeping my hands off Mira isn’t one I’m sure I want to take on. The woman is not my biggest fan, this much I know.
But then, I’ve got three dates to make her want my hands on her body.
