Page 21 of The Rancher’s Bride

“My way keeps you from losing skin when the horse pulls.”

The horse in question, a young gelding named Rio, stands near the far side of the training pen with his ears shifting uneasily. Damian has been working with him for several weeks, trying to teach him not to panic around ropes. Today, apparently, I’m supposed to help.

Damian stops and turns toward me, the morning sun catching along the edge of his hat. “Wrap it across your palm like that again and you’ll regret it.”

I glare at him while he steps closer. Instead of continuing the argument, he takes my hands and adjusts my grip, his rough fingers sliding over mine. The contact is practical, but my body has apparently lost the ability to distinguish practical from indecent where Damian is concerned.

“Keep the slack loose. If he jerks, let it slide. Don’t fight him.”

“I thought you liked fighting.”

His mouth moves near my temple. “With you? Sure.”

I look up and find him watching me instead of the rope. The air between us changes, tightening around the hunger we’ve been trying to ignore.

Then Rio stamps, and Damian steps away.

“Pay attention,” he scolds me.

“You’re the one distracting me.”

“Can’t help how good I look.”

I mutter something impolite, earning a laugh from Damian before he returns his attention to the horse.

For the next half hour, everything goes smoothly. Damian moves Rio through the pen while I help manage the long training rope. The gelding is nervous but responsive, circling us at a controlled pace while Damian speaks to him in a low, steady voice I’ve never heard him use before.

It’s strange seeing this side of him. Patient. Focused. Gentle. Every time Rio startles, Damian gives him space to settle rather than forcing him forward.

“He’s doing better,” I say.

“He is.” Damian wipes his forearm across his forehead. “We’ll finish after one more pass.”

Rio circles again. A truck rattles along the county road beyond the pasture, too distant to matter, but a sharp metallic bang sounds from its bed as it hits a rut.

The gelding explodes.

One second, he’s moving at an easy trot. The next, he rears with a terrified scream and bolts toward the opposite side of the pen. The rope whips through my hands.

I release it, just as Damian taught me, but the loose end catches beneath the heel of my boot.

The force knocks me backward.

My shoulder hits the ground, driving the breath from my lungs, and then I’m moving. Dirt tears beneath me as the rope drags me across the pen. I twist, trying to free my foot, but the line has cinched tight around my ankle.

“Sabrina!”

Damian’s shout cuts through the thunder of hooves. I claw at the ground, reaching for anything that might stop me, but my fingers close on loose dirt. The fence rushes closer. Rio is veering toward the narrow opening beside the gate, and if he gets through it, he’ll drag me straight into the posts.

Damian runs beside me.

He catches my wrist, but the pull nearly jerks him off his feet. His grip slips to my forearm, his fingers locking hard while his boots skid through the dirt.

“Let go!” I shout, terror ripping the words from me. “Damian, let go!”

“Not happening!”

He plants one foot, muscles straining through his shirt, but Rio’s momentum drags us both forward. The gate is only yards away now. Damian looks toward it, makes a decision, and releases me.