Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
“Need a hand?” Layla’s voice cuts through the dim, and I flinch, nearly dropping the roll of bandages.
I glance over my shoulder to find her standing in the doorway, bathed in the soft golden glow of the overhead light. She’s barefoot, her hair loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing another one of my old flannels. It’s way too big on her, the sleeves rolled up, the hem brushing her thighs. My gut twists at the sight.
“No,” I reply quickly, too sharp, too fast. “Go back inside, you’ll catch a cold.”
She steps closer, undeterred. “You look like you’re about to lose a fight with that poor horse.”
The mustang tosses its head, jerking against my hold. I let out a frustrated breath. “He’s spooked. Needs someone who knows what they’re doing.”
Layla crouches beside me, her movements slow and deliberate. “Let me try.”
I want to tell her to leave, to stay out of it, but the horse has already stopped fidgeting. Layla’s hand brushes its side, her touch soft and sure, and I watch in stunned silence as the mustang stills under her gentle murmurs.
“There’s a good boy,” she whispers, her voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. Just a little scratch.”
My chest tightens. It’s not just the way she handles the horse—it’s the way she fits here, in my barn, in my world. Like she belongs, even if I’ve spent every damn day since she arrived convincing myself she doesn’t.
She glances at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Are you going to pass me that bandage, or are we waiting for this to heal itself?”
I grunt, handing it over without a word. Our hands brush, and the jolt of contact shoots straight through me. I pull back quickly, focusing on the task at hand, but my pulse is pounding too loud in my ears to ignore her presence.
Together, we work in silence, wrapping the bandage snugly around the mustang’s leg. Layla’s close enough that I catch the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla, her warmth brushing against me every time she shifts. It’s torture. Sweet, agonizing torture.
Hell, it’s been so long since I fell for anyone, I hardly remember what it feels like. But it’s starting to feel like I’m falling for her.
When we’re done, she stands, wiping her hands on my flannel. “See? Not so hard.”
I rise slowly, my knee protesting the movement. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She shrugs, leaning against the stall door. “I wanted to.”
Her eyes meet mine, and the air between us shifts, heavy with something unspoken. I can feel it—the pull, the tension. It’s been there since the day she showed up, but tonight, it’s different. Sharper. More urgent.
“You’re good with him,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “The horse.”
She smiles softly, her gaze steady. “I like animals. They’re easier to read than people.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, looking away. “Guess that’s true.”
Silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. I should walk away, put some distance between us before this goes too far, but my feet won’t move. Instead, I find myself talking, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
“My sister used to be good with horses,” I say, my voice low. “She was the one who taught me how to handle them. Carson’s mom.”
Layla straightens, her smile fading. “Oh yeah? It seems like you don’t talk about her much.”
I shrug, keeping my gaze on the ground. “Not much to say. She was... struggling for a long time. The pain meds made her a different person. It got bad.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. Something about this woman makes me want to open up, reveal the things I’ve kept locked inside my heart for too long. And her calm and comforting presence makes me think she wouldn’t judge me if I did. She’s dangerous for a guy like me, plain and simple.
“She was lucky to survive the crash,” I continue, the words feeling like stones in my throat. “Carson was still in diapers when it happened–truth be told I took over then–long before she even overdosed. Used to drop him off at daycare every morning and pick him up at night, make him dinner while she laid on the couch nursing her pain. Life just…broke her. It’s been just him and I for five years now. He doesn’t even remember her, so there’s lots of pictures around the house. Doin’ what I can to keep her memory alive.”
Her hand brushes my arm then, light and tentative, and it’s all I can do not to flinch. “You’ve done an incredible job with him, Cal. Carson’s an amazing little boy.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’ve got much to do with that. He’s just a good kid. Always has been.”
“You’re selling yourself short.”
Her voice is firm, and when I finally look at her, there’s something in her eyes that makes my chest ache. It’s not pity—it’s understanding. Respect. Like she sees me, really sees me, in a way no one else ever has.