“This is a bad fucking idea,” I mutter, tugging the cinch strap snug around Dusty’s torso. The old boy flicks an ear back at me, more annoyed by my nerves than the pressure. “Really bad.”
Griff chuckles behind me, his arms hooked over the stall door like he’s got nowhere better to be. “Wilder’ll be fine,” he says,eyes tracking the scene across the barn. “And if he falls, he’ll land in mud. How bad can it be?”
I scoff and toss him a glare while checking the girth again. “When’s the last time you got trampled by a thousand-pound horse, Sarge? And for the record, it’s not him I’m worried about.”
My gaze finds Georgia immediately—jeans tucked into her boots, a Carhartt she borrowed from one of my sister’s zipped to her chin, cheeks pink from the cold.
She’s standing with Wiki—a new stable boy I just met—Wilder, and a ranch hand named Emmy—one of Hazel’s old classmates, who can’t stop staring at Wilder.
And Wilder? He’s ready to mount Emmy, not his fuckin’ horse.
At some point, Georgia tamed her wild curls into a messy braid that drapes down her back, swishing against the curve of her round ass with every laugh and nod.
My cock throbs at that curve, at the thought of wrapping that damn braid around my fist while I fuck her from behind.
I tip my hat up and run a hand down my face. I’m losing my mind.
Griff nudges a boot through a patch of straw. “You’ve been starin’ at her for ten minutes, man.”
“I’m not staring.”
“Brooding, then.”
“I don’t brood. I’m supervising.”
Wiki touches her arm, and my jaw pulses erratically. Kid may be young and dumb, but that doesn't mean I can’t fire him.
“She’s not learning a damn thing right now except how to get dead.”
“Then why the hell aren’t you the one over there showin’ her?” he barks, brows furrowed. “You know a fuck of a lot more than that pimply-faced tween.”
My throat constricts, keeping the words I want to say trapped.
Because if I go over there, I’m gonna put my hands on that woman. If I go over there, I’m gonna see her freckles and smile and sniff her perfume, and then I’m probably gonna kiss her, like I almost did back in my house.
What started off as an easy way to make her blush, to see that little line pulse between her eyes, and her tiny fists clench like she wants to choke me—became so much more, and way too much, all at once.
Worst of all is that what I said? It was the truth.
Wilder may have been fucking with me the other day saying I have a breeding kink, but fuck, maybe I do. The idea of a bunch of kids is one thing. Having them, loving them—I want that more than anything. Always have.
But the idea of making ’em?
What’s worse is that Georgia didn’t seem all that taken aback or opposed, and that thought is what’s wrecking me the most.
I grab the bridle, and Dusty lowers his head so I can guide the bit past his teeth. I buckle the throat latch and rest a hand on his warm neck, letting my fingers press into the familiar muscle.
It’s been over two years since I rode a horse—which is two years too damn long.
It feels good to be back in the barn my grandpa built. It’s all rough wood and wide beams, but solid. Not quite as big as the newer barn a ways down the walk, but it’s warm, clean, and smells like hay, cedar shavings, and petrichor.
The animals here are family. And Archers don’t let family get hurt.
Satisfied with Dusty’s tack, I snag my Stetson from the corner post and tug it down.
“You like her,” Griff murmurs. I say nothing and he huffs. “Sure that’s smart?”
“I can’t stand her,” I say roughly. “So smarts got nothing to do with it. I’ve got a week left to get shit sorted for Aurora.” Mythroat constricts. “Sure as hell don’t have time fuck around like this.”
