Page 25 of Stables Spurs Suits
I have to admit I was impressed by the way Matthew handled himself earlier. Hearing him being so forceful with whoever he was on the phone with, the confidence in his voice, it had me transfixed. It was the same take-charge energy that had him jumping headfirst into the pool to save me last night. Not that I actually needed saving.
I lead the new mare, Dorris, into the stables.
“So, where do you want to call home, Dorris?” I ask as I let the lead rope go slack. She walks me all the way to the end before turning and making a start back in the other direction. Then she pauses at a stall midway and walks right in.
“Okay, here it is,” I say, unclipping the lead rope and hanging it on the hook by the gate as I close it and leave Dorris to settle herself into her new home. I spot the stallion Matthew was bringing in before I see him. This one has a dominant personality, I can tell already. He walks tall with his neckstretched long, elevating his stature as high as he can. He trots on through the doorway and immediately walks into the first stall.
“That was easy,” Matthew says, unclipping his lead rope and closing the gate behind the horse.
“Let’s hope they’re all this eager to settle in,” I say, and he fumbles then drops the lead rope as he tries to hang it on the hook by the gate. I bend to pick it up for him, but he bends too, and then a pang shoots through my head as we clash together. He stumbles sideways, holding his head as he falls to the ground. I manage to stay on my feet, but the throbbing in my skull makes my vision a little blurry.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says as I blink away the tiny stars.
“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching out my hand.
“That depends, were there always two of you?” he asks with a chuckle.
“You wish.”
“Could be fun, if you’re into that sort of thing,” he replies, and then his cheeks turn a bright shade of pink, and he covers his mouth as if he can somehow shove the words back in. “I didn’t, I mean, I…” he stammers.
“Wow. How concussed are you?” I ask with a small laugh that hopefully settles his nerves.
“Not as much as I’d like, to be honest,” he replies, finally taking my hand, warmth immediately spreading through his touch and up my arm. “Good thing Nial hasn’t set up any cameras out here yet.”
“Yeah, I expect he’d have that posted online in a heartbeat. So, you think you can manage bringing in a few more?” I ask, acutely aware that I’m still holding his hand, but I can’t convince my fingers to uncurl and release him. It’s like whatever warm energy’s being traded between us has fused his hand to mine. Is that even possible? Like with magnetic pulls and stuff?
“Yeah, I can help with the rest of them. Maybe if we get done in time, we can start plotting out some more of the trail after?”
“We can do that,” I say, and then Skye’s voice breaks whatever magnetic force was holding us together, and he rips his hand away and bends down to grab the lead again. I stay where I am and save us both the repeated headache.
“You guys okay in here?” Skye asks as he leads one of the smallest horses in from the trailer. “I was starting to think maybe you got lost on your way to the stables.”
“Funny, kid. Could you have chosen a smaller horse to bring in?” I ask, and he laughs.
“Nope. I checked. This guy is the littlest one of the them all. His name’s Flop. I think it’s because of his ears,” Skye says, and I focus on the horse he’s leading in. While most horses have ears that stick right up and twitch every which way as they focus on their surroundings, this fella’s ears are bent over like a puppy dog’s. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“Probably a birth defect. The previous owners were good to their horses, and none of the paperwork mentioned any trauma. Welcome home, Flop,” I said on my way past, giving him a scratch behind his floppy ears.
“So, handsome, which stall do you want to call home?” Matthew asks the horse, and I can’t help but smile at the way he calls this odd-looking fella handsome.
Skye laughs.
“I think he should go in next to the big guy,” Skye says, and before I can say anything, Matthew interjects.
“How about you lead him down the row and let him pick for himself. He’ll tell you where he wants to be if you let him.”
Skye shrugs and starts to lead Flop down past the stalls. Matthew looks my way with a glint in his eye that sends a shiver through me, and I turn on my heel and make my way back out to the horses. I have work to do. We both do. That’s what I needto stay focused on. The work. Not Matthew, and the way his lips pick up on one side in a sort of half smile when he looks at me. Urgh. What is this? I don’t think about the way a guy smiles. Or how deep and throaty his voice gets when he’s being all take-charge guy. No. Stop. This is not how you think. You need to focus. There are horses that need to be rehomed. Just do that. The sooner we do that, the better. The sooner we get the horses put away, the sooner I go on a walk through the woods, mapping out the new trail alone with Matthew. That thought sends a flurry of butterflies swirling through my gut.
There is seriously something wrong with me.
I grab the next horse from the truck, hoping that if I just focus on the task ahead of me, I’ll be able to shake the intrusive thoughts of Matthew, but every time I walk past him, he throws me that smirk, and I’m spiraling all over again. Urgh, why did I have to go and kiss him last night? Everything was fine before I went and did that.
I’m lying to myself, and it’s not helping at all. But the truth was that Matthew had gotten under my skin from the first day he rolled onto the ranch in his fancy suit and shiny black shoes. Never had a guy looked so out of place here. I thought for sure we’d seen the last of him when he rolled on out only an hour later, but he was back before I knew it, and I couldn’t understand why. Guys like him don’t last out here; they come to visit, they try a few activities for kicks, then they go back to their cushy life in the city with their tall glass towers and the constant buzz of traffic to put them to sleep each night. I need the feel of the clean, cool breeze on my skin, the only hum coming from the crickets that sing into the bright, clear sky on Beaker Brothers.
“You good?” Matthew asks, and I startle out of whatever haze I’d slipped into.
“Fine. I’m good. Just grabbing this guy,” I say, and he laughs.
