“That’s me.” I attempt not to scoff as I say it, but whether it worked or not, I don’t know.
She eyes me a second longer before turning her attention to my father as he approaches. I’m quickly distracted when I see movement in the back of the first trailer. The spacing between the panels doesn’t allow me to see much, and without realizing it, my boots are moving of their own free will towards it.
The wheel wells are too far forward, and despite not being short, I can’t see inside. When I check over my shoulder, it seems everyone’s still thoroughly engrossed in dialogue, so I opt to begin unloading the horses, if not at least to satisfy my curiosity.
After unhooking the latches on both sides, I carefully let the gate swing open. Luckily for me, it’s not the same as our trailer, so I refrain from having a repeat performance of my unloading Chil over a week ago in this same spot.
As soon as the gate is down, my eyes catch the swish of a black tail, and I smile when a matching black head turns to the right and eyes me over his shoulder.
“Hey, guy,” I coo, smoothing my voice out as I step up into the trailer, running my hand over his backside. “You’re a handsome fella, aren’t you?” I whisper, running my hand down his side as I walk the length of his powerful body.
“You always have to talk to a horse when you walk around them or you’ll scare them. Are you listening, London?” My Momma’s voice plays in my head. “You have to speak before you touch them or they’ll be startled.”
I skim his dark coat, allowing him to know where I am, even when he can’t see me. Horses have blind spots, so talking to them and keeping continuous contact relaxes them.
When I finally reach his neck, I pat him softly. “Wall Street Warrior,” I hum out loud, reading the gold nameplate on his tan leather halter.
He snorts in response, and a small laugh escapes me, echoing inside the trailer. Some of the other horses start to get restless, but I’m completely captivated by the harnessed power under the palm of my hand.
I’ve never seen a horse this dark before. Although I’ve not moved all the way around him, I have yet to see any white markings on his entire body. He’s jet black and stunning.
Scooping my arm under his head, I rub his muzzle. “Should we get you out of here, guy?”
After loosening the lead rope, I pull it out of the hook and cluck twice with my tongue. Then I push a finger into his chest. In response, he moves backwards.
People would assume that, because horses are so large, they’d require harsh, strong touches to get them to respond, but they actually need very small, light cues to understand what you want from them. Especially if they’re well trained. If I were to lean all of my body weight into a horse, they would, in turn, lean back against me. Whereas, by pushing him with my fingers and making signals with my voice, he will move where I ask him to, with very little effort on my part.
The black beauty backs out of the trailer with ease, but the look on Charlotte’s face as I walk towards them is hardly one I’d like to see again.
“What are you doing?” she snaps, worry clouding her pretty features.
Stopping abruptly, I purse my lips at the somewhat absurdity of her question, as she can quite clearly see what I am doing. “Unloading the horses,” I answer, looking over her head to my family.
They seem equally as dumbfounded by her sudden change in demeanor.
“That’s Bran—” She shakes her head as if to correct herself. “That’s Street, Mr. Tucker’s horse. He’s not to be handled by anyone other than myself or Mr. Tucker.”
Well, okay, then.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t let it happen again,” she announces curtly, walking towards me.
Wonderful. Now I’m being reprimanded by a woman my own age for more or less petting a horse.
Something behind me pulls Charlotte’s focus and she halts in her steps. The transformation that happens on her face would be comical if it weren’t so confusing.
I’m so perplexed by the woman that it takes me a few seconds to recognize the sound of an engine approaching, and by the time I’ve turned around, the bright-red Corvette causing the composed woman in front of me to act stupid rolls to a stop, the engine still purring.
I immediately regret judging her when my eyes lock on the man behind the wheel. My hands fist into Street’s mane, and the heady sensation at the sight of him makes me dizzy. I instantly curse the way my body starts to shake, unsure if it’s from the dehydration brought on by last night’s drinking or simply an ridiculous physical reaction to a complete stranger.
After turning the engine off, he steps out from behind the wheel, and my body sways into the neck of the horse beside me. This man, whoever he is, is beautiful. My heart is wildly lunging to have him next to me, but my body is too weak from his presence to take me there.
The denim of his jeans does nothing to hide the muscular shape of his legs as he moves around the vehicle, the heels of his boots ringing out on the pavement. My eyes greedily trace up his body, taking in the white dress shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows and showing off every line of the lean body underneath it. It’s, however, his face that, unregretfully so, does me in.
His strong jaw clenches, and the five-o’clock shadow covering it seems a stark contrast to the fine lines of his clothing. Brown hair a few inches long is styled messily on top of his head, and I desperately wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. I bite down on my lip as I look at his full ones, sure I’ll have dreams haunted by them in my future. The burning desire to see his eyes floods me as I find them covered by black Ray-Ban sunglasses.
He’s a mere five feet from me, and my heart pounds in my chest. A part of me hopes he doesn’t talk to me, as I don’t trust my mouth with words in this moment. Another part of me is certain I’ll die on the spot if I don’t hear his voice.
If I could think of anything but him for even a fraction of a second, I’d be sure to find my sanity gaping at me in horror with the way I am behaving. He’s stolen every thought from my mind, all of which now belonging to the cowboy heart throb coming my way.
Lord, have mercy on me.
I want to throw a child’s tantrum when Charlotte steps into my line of vision.
“Branson,” she coos, resting a palm on his bicep. A growl creeps up my throat when my heart realizes she’s touching him. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”
Branson.
Heavens, if his name doesn’t suit him perfectly, both of them capturing elegance and grit in one entity.
“Daniels family, meet my friend”—her emphasis on the word rubs me remarkably the wrong way—“and employer, Mr. Branson Tucker.”
Well, hell.
I LOOK DOWN TO WHERE Charlotte is touching me and immediately want to rip her hand from my arm. The woman I’m here for has gone rigid at the interaction, and I’m wrapped up in fury that this moment is causing her any kind of discomfort.
I push my sunglasses up onto my head and eye her once before looking back down to the offending touch. “Charlotte.” My voice rumbles with an unspoken warning.
Reading my tone with accuracy, she hastily returns her arm to its rightful position by her side. I glance past her to see London standing but a few feet away, leaning against my horse’s neck. Without seeing her eyes, I know her attention is entirely directed at me.
As it should be.
Following my gaze, Charlotte sparks into action and struts towards her, clearly not blind that there is more to this situation than she’s been made aware of. “I’m sorry, Branson. I had yet to tell them Street was not to be handled by others, but she”—she draws out the word, and I clench my teeth to refrain from reprimanding her ridiculous behavior—“began unloading without any direction.”