Inside, the barn was dusty and dark. At the last stall, Whit held up his arm, blocking her from going any farther. She paused behind him. The black mustang nearly got lost in the shadows except for his bared, yellowed teeth and the whites of his eyes. His ears lay flat back and he snorted, blowing snot and air.
“Whoa, boy.” Whit slowly opened the stall door and took a cautious step forward. The young horse reared and lunged lopsided, striking out with his front hooves.
Her eyes widened. “I thought he was crippled.”
Whit sidestepped easily and snapped the lead rope onto the halter as the horse’s hoof banged into the side of the barn.
Lila threw open a wooden panel covering the window. “Maybe this will help.”
In the light streaming from the opening, both she and Whit got a good look at the horse’s injury—a gash that had nearly severed a tendon on his rear right leg. The wound was already infected.
Whit let out an expletive. “Looks like this horse suffered the attack a while ago.”
Lila felt the start of tears and dashed them away before her new boss could see. She never got used to wounded horses, especially injuries of this magnitude.
After carefully looping a lead rope around the wild mustang’s neck, Whit secured it tightly to the slats on the pen, ensuring the horse couldn't move too much. He knelt beside the wild mustang, his hands steady but gentle as he examined the nasty gash running along its leg. “This is pretty deep,” he murmured, glancing up at Lila.
Her face was etched with concern, but her hands were already moving with practiced efficiency, cleaning the wound with antiseptic. The mustang shivered, its eyes wide with fear and pain, but Lila’s soothing voice and gentle touch seemed to calm it.
“We need to stitch this up,” Whit said, reaching for the sutures. Lila nodded, her focus unwavering as they worked together, the tension between them momentarily forgotten in the shared goal of saving the injured animal.
Whit’s broad shoulders and powerful arms hinted at years of hard work, yet there was a gentleness in the way he cradled the horse’s leg, his fingers lightly caressing the length.
When he was finished stitching up the gash, Whit stroked the horse’s velvety muzzle, but the young stallion yanked back from his touch, his eyes rolling wildly. “Best to get him loaded and out of here,” he said to her. “I think I noticed a loading chute in the back. Might be safer to use that to get him loaded.”
“I’ll go get the trailer,” she told him. Seeing the doubt in his eyes, she immediately turned defensive. “What? You don’t think I can back a trailer?”
With only one try, she positioned the trailer at the chute with impressive precision. She climbed from the truck with great satisfaction and opened the back gate. “Your turn, cowboy.”
Whit nodded with amusement. He slowly coaxed the horse forward, cueing him with a kissing sound. “Atta, boy. That’s it.” He gave the horse a gentle tap on the hind quarter with his open palm, urging the skittish animal toward the pile of hay placed at the front of the trailer as an incentive.
The process took time and several tries, but with Whit’s carefully executed effort and softly spoken assurances, they got the job done. “Atta, boy. That’s it.” He fastened the safety bar and then the back gate.
He swiped his face with his bare forearm before moving to the ice chest in the back of his truck for a cold soda. He retrieved one for himself and tossed her one. “Well, that should do it.”
Lila couldn’t help but admire the way he’d handled the horse, with extraordinary patience and never showing anger. Animals sensed whom they could trust, and the young stallion responded accordingly.
She raised the can to her lips and took a large gulp—a careless gulp that left a bit of the soda escaping at the corner of her mouth.
Whit’s gaze was relentless. His ability to maintain eye contact was something she had a hard time getting used to—the way he looked at her now with that blue stare as he removed his aviator sunglasses and tossed them on the dash.
“You need a napkin?” he asked.
She nodded.
As Whit leaned over to open the glove box, Lila’s gaze drifted to the curve of his jaw, shadowed with a hint of stubble, and the way his short-cropped hair tapered at his neck—the way the muscles rippled in his back as he reached across her.
Her breath caught unexpectedly at the sight of his strong, capable hands moving with such assured precision. She hadn’t felt this in years—a sudden, undeniable spark that sent warmth flooding through her. It startled her, this unexpected jolt of physical attraction.
She’d believed that part of her was forever dormant, but here she was, unable to ignore the flutter in her chest every time Whit’s arm brushed against hers.
Her mind quickly drifted to what it would be like to kiss him.
The pit of her stomach warmed at the idea, and she chastised herself mentally.
He’s your boss, she quickly reminded herself.
Whit looked at her again with one of those unreadable stares. “You good?”
