Page 83 of Lawless Rivals

I shove my feet into the spare boots she’d given me earlier, grab one of Saint’s coats from the hook, and head outside as she walks off toward the yard.

“What am I doing?” I shout after her, pulling the coat tighter around me.

The scent of Saint clings to the collar and makes my blood run hotter. I tug it closer anyway.

“You’re on barn checks,” she says without slowing. “Water buckets. Horses. I’m sure ya know the drill.”

I shut the cabin door behind me and step into the icy wind, my breath catching in my throat.

Without Saint and his brothers around, the stud feels hollow.

The barn doors groan when I slide them open. Warm air pours out, thick with the sweet scent of hay, horse and feed pellets.

Overhead lights flick on, throwing shadowy stripes across the ground like prison bars.

A bay gelding lifts his head as I pass, ears pricked.

I peer over the stall door and glance at the full bucket of water, my focus slipping for a second. I’ve gone from being their prisoner to an obedient stable hand.

Sure, I’d rather be busy than bored. It’s warmer inside the cabin than freezing in the cold. But I’m fed up with hanging around. And angry at myself for thinking about Saint.

“Good boy,” I murmur to the horse, moving on.

The chestnut mare next door snorts when I top up her water bucket, the hose dragging along the ground.

Near the barn entrance, Shay stands at the ring pen gate, hands resting on the top rail. The yard dog sits beside his heel, both of them staring into the darkness.

His gaze stays fixed on the boundary fences, on the hedgerows beyond the north fields.

There’s something unnerving about his stoic observation. As if he’s waiting for something other than the Tallon brothers returning. Which means whatever emptied the yard earlier could have consequences.

Behind me, a horse kicks out. The bang cracks through the peacefulness.

Shay doesn’t even glance back.

By this time, stable hands should have finished the evening’s last tasks. Instead, there’s only the soft snuffle of tired horses and the wind whistling through.

I work my way along the stalls and eventually finish up at the end of the barn, doing a quick check as a dappled mare suddenly lifts her head, ears snapping back.

After a heartbeat of silence, another horse stamps.

For some reason, unease prickles through me, and I check over my shoulder a few times.

I pop the collar of Saint’s coat and make my way out of the barn. Headlights appear in the distance, full beams tracking the winding driveway, the vehicles bouncing over potholes as they race toward the yard.

My pulse kicks, thinking it’s Saint, except Shay curses under his breath and the dog barks, its hackles raised.

“Sera!” Shay draws his revolver. “We’ve got company.”

This isn’t the Tallon brothers pulling up.

Gravel pelts under the chassis as the vehicles tear through the open gate. The lead SUV is followed by a second one. Their full beams sweep across the barn doors and almost blind me.

The first SUV skids sideways near the front fence. The passenger doors fly open.

Shay ducks behind his truck. “Get back inside the barn, Harrington.”

Armed men spill out with dark jackets and balaclavas, their weapons already raised.