“Woah, girl!” I shout as I try to avoid her landing on me at the same time I try to pull the bag off her face.
Right as I’m within grasp of the bag, she rears up again, but this time, she turns toward me as she comes back down.
Seconds pass in what feels like snapshots of time—fast and furious.
Jack pulling me back from her front legs. The tether rope coming loose from where I tied it. Willow running toward the dead end of the stables, bag still attached to her ear as she bucks and thrashes her head.
His hands are on my shoulders as his head lowers so his eyes can meet mine. “You okay?” he asks, and when I fail to find words around the adrenaline surge, he gives me a shake. “Knox? Are you okay?”
“Yes. Sure. Fine.” But my words sound anything but sure when I get them out.
Willow’s neigh, frightened and freaked, followed by the slam of something breaking cuts through the fog and has both of us running. We find her cornered in the stables with the bag still on her ear. She apparently kicked a stall door so hard that it swung open and was pressing her into a corner with its weight.
I reach her before Jack does and focus on opening the door and getting the bag off so I can calm her down, but just as I get my hand on the door, Jack pulls me back.
“What are you—”
“She’s gonna hurt you if you do that. Kick you into the hospital. She’s freaked out, and that goddamn bag spooks her more and more every time she moves.”
“That’s why we have to get it off her!” I shout the obvious, frustrated that we’re talking about it and not doing it.
“I’ll keep the door pressed against her, you climb on the inside of the stall and remove it. She won’t be able to hurt you that way.”
But she’ll still be able to hurt you.
The thought glances through my mind as Jack pushes his hands and weight against the door to try to keep the frightened horse where she is. But the gate would never be able to protect him if she decides to let loose again.
I step on the rail so I have a better position, and Willow jerks her head as I try to grab the bag. “C’mon, Will,” I croon as I let her settle a bit before I go to try again, but when I do, I get the same result.
She’s more freaked and the bag moves violently only to spook her more. My concern for her safety is growing.
I adjust my feet in the rails for more leverage while soothing her with soft words, but she’s still jittery and unpredictable.
Just before I go to reach toward her again, Jack’s voice fills the air. Its tenor is deep, its tone is melodic, and his words are bluesy.
Stunned, I glance over to him to make sure that’s really his voice. His hands are still pressing against the gate, his head tilted down so I can’t see his lips, but it’s clear that the strong voice that echoes off the concrete floors is coming from him.
The words might be about someone who has lost their heart, but they somehow soften the fear in Willow. Her feet stop moving. Her head begins to lower. Her muscles relax.
I reach out and remove the bag as soon as I can, and she doesn’t even flinch. She just lowers her head farther as Jack slowly opens the gate, relieving its pressure from her hindquarters. He continues singing as he places his hand on her rear, running it slowly up her back toward her neck before petting the length of her nose, and then resting his forehead against it. They stand inches from me, in the depths of the stable, while he soothes her with his presence. He takes a startled animal scared of something beyond her control and calms her with words she doesn’t understand but actions she can.
I hate that I’m mesmerized by the sight of it.
I dislike that I wish it were me who had that type of superpower to calm Willow.
Even more, I hate that I want to hate him. Despite struggling with accepting his presence here on the ranch, hate is an impossible emotion when I know I’ll always remember this. Jack Sutton crooning to a petrified horse to calm her.
The thought replays over and over as he gets her to begin to move. His voice is softer now, the compassion just as poignant as he leads her out into the paddock where the other horses are all waiting and curious as to what her shrieks were all about.
All I can do is stand there and watch him with them, taking in the tenderness of a man who comes across as anything but gentle.
The singing turns to humming as he takes the bucket of halved apples and, one by one, holds a piece to each horse. Each one a reward for their calmness. Each one a bribe for it to continue.
My feet move closer without thinking. I rest my forearms on the top rail, set one foot on the bottom rung, and watch, mesmerized as they stand and wait for him to pay them attention.
“It isn’t my fault most females are taken with me.” He flashes me a grin that shows perfect teeth.
Arrogant prick.
I smile because, for some reason, this banter is what I need to calm my nerves over Willow’s freak-out and Jack . . .well, Jack saving me from being hurt. I struggle with admitting that I needed anyone to save me.
“I’m not most women.”
“If you were, I’d already have won you over.” This time, he looks at me over a sea of ears and manes and studies me with an intensity that’s unnerving.
“What?”
“You could say thank you?”
“Thank you?” I snort.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“For what?” I ask when I know the answer.
“For saving you. For helping you calm her. For giving you something good to look at while you make up reasons why you hate me so much.”
“You’re insane.” I push back off the rail and shake my head as if it will help me reject the fact that he is just that handsome. “And you should thank me for the job.”
“So you don’t think I’m good-looking? It’s a simple question, Knox.” He tilts his head to the side and gives me another disarming grin as he slides a hand up River’s neck. “You can still hate me and think I’m sexy.”
I glare in response.
“There are those daggers again.” He laughs and presses a kiss to the horse’s nose. “You mind telling me what in particular I’m doing to piss you off, or is it a permanent thing and you’re always angry?”
All the reasons I’m angry these days, all the ways I harbor resentment, flit through my mind, and I know not a single one is his fault.
“Just you.”
“Is your attraction to me that hard to fight? I’m sensing it is.”
I fight the smile and lose as I bark out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s exactly it. You’re right. I can’t resist you.”
“See? Don’t you feel better now that you got that off your chest?”
“My chest is perfectly fine. My chest is . . .” My voice drifts off as I realize what I’m saying, and the lopsided smile he offers me says his mind went right there too. “You’re an asshole.” The words come out in a laugh.
“So you’ve said.”
No apologies. No nothing. Just a man standing there with a sweat ring around the neck of his T-shirt, his biceps stretching at its cuffs, a singing voice that quite possibly could make a woman weak in the knees, and a smirk that unnerves me more than I’ll ever admit.
“You’re still admiring me, Knox,” he teases. “The ladies here are getting a bit restless with jealousy.”