“Be smart. Be discreet. And don’t get so caught up in someone’s pretty face that you forget where your future lies.”
He gave me a pat on the shoulder, like the moment hadn’t rearranged the air between us, and walked up the steps into the house.
I stood there for a second longer, Hudson’s name still echoing in my mind. What the hell kind of trouble might I be walking into that summer?
The sun hadn’t even crackedthe horizon yet, but I was already lacing up my boots.
I’d waited long enough.
The house was still, hushed in the kind of peace you only get on acres of private land. No cars. No sirens. No neighbors yelling through the walls. Just the soft hum of early morning and the comforting creak of old hardwood beneath my feet, though nothing in the house was really old. It was classic, sure—timber beams, leather furniture, and wide-open spaces—but everything had been custom-renovated to last. Dad didn’t do cheap. Not for the house. Not for the horses. Not for the land.
I slipped through the side mudroom, down the paved path, and across toward the stable. The air was sharp and cool, the sky still ink-blue with stars fading out like a closing curtain. My boots whispered over crushed gravel, and the overhead barn lights flicked on as the motion sensor caught me.
God, I’d missed this.
The stables were spotless, with redwood paneling, brass nameplates on every stall, fans already humming low to keep the air circulating, and the scent? Fresh pine shavings, leather, warm hay, and a hint of saddle oil. It was clean, functional, and expensive in a way that didn’t scream money but whispered it with confidence.
Junebug’s stall was halfway down the line, and the sight of her name engraved in polished brass made something tight in my chest loosen.
I stopped cold.
Someone was already there.
A man, shirtless, his back to me, lean muscles shifting smoothly under golden skin as he scooped a handful of grain into her feed bucket. His jeans rode low on his narrowhips, and he stood barefoot on the cushioned rubber flooring like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Junebug, my high-strung, bossy mare who barely tolerated strangers, stood there calmly. Watching him. Trusting him.
My heart did something weird in my chest.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured, brushing his fingers under her jaw with a gentleness that made my throat tighten. “Bet you’ve got everyone around here wrapped around your pretty little hoof.”
Junebug let out a low snort, her ears flicking forward.
He chuckled, low and husky. “You’re a heartbreaker for sure. Got that look about you. Like you only let folks close when you decide to.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Dad had bought Junebug from a man I found whipping her behind the auction barns. She had been all ribs and wide eyes, trembling with every movement. I’d lost my shit that day, yelled, threatened, might’ve swung a fist or two, and Dad, calm as ever, stepped in and made the guy an offer. Even then, it’d taken me almost a full year before she allowed me to ride her.
“That’s all right,” he said, even quieter. “I don’t let just anyone in either.”
Junebug leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder like she’d known him for years.
He shifted. A slight pivot at first, showing the edge of a sharp jaw, a messy halo of sunlit hair, and a trail of faint freckles that disappeared beneath his waistband. Despite Dad saying he was green, his body didn’t show it. He was hard all over in that way only real labor shaped. A rancher’s build, not a gym rat’s. Rope-slinging, saddle-wearing kind of strong.
He turned fully and damn near knocked the breath out of me. Before, I hadn’t gotten a good look at his face. He was even more gorgeous than I’d thought.
Golden-brown eyes. Full mouth. Sweat gleamed in the hollow of his throat. He looked a few years or so older than me.
A crooked grin curved his mouth when he saw me.
Fuuuuuuck.
Those lips.
“Well, shit,” he drawled, easily and amused. “Didn’t think I’d see another soul in here this early. You new?”
I blinked. “What?”
