Chapter 3
Chapter Three
On the right, a trio of goats called out from behind a painted fence.
Clancy was still there, no doubt the one whose bleat had startled him.
What had been a plain goat pasture now had an elaborate climbing structure.
It was built from polished logs and arranged like a preschool jungle gym.
Ramps, steps, and platforms rose toward a napping area where a goat stood surveying the land like a smug monarch.
Another flopped on a nearby ledge, lazily chewing its cud.
That definitely hadn’t been there before.
The barn was warm with the breath of animals, despite another inch of snow from last night outside.
Sunbeams sliced through high windows in golden shafts that danced with dust motes.
Somewhere behind him, a goat bleated with indignation, but mostly it was silent except for bird song, the rustle of wind, and the occasional hoof scuffle or horse snort.
Darian didn’t look away from the horse in front of him.
Starling stood perfectly still in the stall, one back hoof cocked lazily.
The paint gelding’s black and white coat looked like someone had splashed ink on snow.
The horse was absolutely stunning, especially in the filtered stable light.
His mane was long and thick, and his wide eyes blinked slowly as Darian moved the oval massage curry in steady circles along his flank.
The work was soothing. Even if the horses reminded him of rides with Wilbert.
He inhaled sharply and focused on the soft rasp against warm hide.
Letting out his breath slowly, he pulled in another lungful of air and concentrated on the earthy scent of straw and animal musk.
He could get lost in it if he let himself.
Starling’s white muzzle nudged his shoulder gently.
He lowered the curry and stroked the soft velvet.
He followed the path of his fingers with his eyes.
The horse had a black patch on his upper lip that looked like a mustache and gave him a certain dapper dignity.
Starling sighed and leaned his forehead against Darian’s shoulder, and he had to brace himself.
As Darian stroked his face, Starling slowly blinked.
Those eyes were stunningly blue and vivid and full of more patience than Darian felt he deserved today.
He sighed and leaned into the horse. “You’re too good for me, Star.”
From the aisle, the quiet scuff of boots drew his attention. Travis tipped his chin in greeting, a rake in one hand and his other braced on the stall door as he leaned against it.
“Morning,” he drawled. Like the rest of him, his voice was deep and calm but somehow quiet. “You’ve got a good touch. Starling usually fidgets when dealing with newbies.”
“I’m not that new.” He kept stroking Starling’s face. “But thanks.”
Travis’s eyes narrowed. “Been here before, huh?”
He nodded. “A while ago. Just… needed to come back.”
“People say that a lot.” Travis shrugged and shifted the rake from his right hand to the other and dug the free one into his coat pocket. “There’s something about this place that doesn’t leave you alone once it’s got its hooks in.” He offered Starling a chunk of apple on a flat hand.
Darian watched as those velvety lips took the offered treat with the utmost care. “Yeah. I remember.”
They lapsed into silence, only the chomp, chomp of Starling chewing the apple and the rhythmic swish of his tail filling the space between them.
Travis eventually moved off, muttering something about Wren and a hay delivery running late.
Darian happily returned to brushing the horse.
He had enough on his plate without chasing friendly conversations.
Dr. Sam Denten was expecting him in an hour.
He swallowed hard. He’d met the therapist yesterday for intake and still couldn’t decide if the warmth in his eyes was reassuring or terrifying.
Like Wilbert, the man had a kind and measured voice, and he only spoke after careful deliberation.
But Darian had been mesmerized by his strong hands that looked like they could fix a lot more than broken psyches.
It had been too long since he felt a firm hand coming down on his butt as he was bent over muscled thighs.
But he’d seen the wedding band and hadn’t that been a relief. Because if Sam hadn’t been married, Darian’s Little would’ve already added him to his very long list of inappropriate crushes. Darian knew better than to fall for the guy.
He closed his eyes for a moment and rested his forehead against Starling’s shoulder. The horse didn’t move an inch. Just breathed with him.
A soft creak at the far end of the barn announced another person entering.
He hoped they weren’t the chatty type.
Even his inner Little, although sociable, preferred his human interactions to be interspersed with quiet alone time.
When adulting, he only could deal with a few idle chats before his energy was running low, and that was on a good day.
Today, wasn’t great. He’d slept okay, but not long or deep, and he was worrying about therapy already.
Maybe it was Travis returning or Wren looking for something. But the footsteps that followed weren’t the easy lope of a ranch hand or the energetic stomp of a Little rushing in for pony time.
These were heavy, measured and confident.
A boot scraped lightly on the floor, and the soft jingle of tack from a curious horse leaning out of a stall followed. The whisper of a coat sleeve brushing wood.
“Well, aren’t you a handsome fellow.”
Darian’s breath hitched, and a shiver ran over his body. That voice was deep and resonant and so assertive.
He knew that voice. Not in the way you knew a friend or a lover, but in the way you remembered your favorite bedtime story, the one your Daddy read every night without fail. The cadence sank into your bones. It lived there, even if you hadn’t heard it in years.
Starling nudged him again, sensing the tension before he could even shift.
Darian resumed brushing, blindly, his hand moving without thought as his vision blurred.
No. No. It can’t be. It can’t be him.
He focused on the soft rasp of the bristles, the warmth of Starling’s flank under his palm, the scent of hay and horse.
A few feet away, the man spoke again. This time, he’d reached Snickers in the neighboring pen. “Look at you, pretty girl. Bet you give the boys a run for their oats.”
Darian’s chest clenched so hard it knocked the air from his lungs. His knees wobbled. His thoughts scrambled like panicked birds.
He’s short. Potbellied. Bald. Married with four kids. He is not who I think he is.
But his ears refused to listen to reason. The voice wasn’t just familiar. It was imprinted. The sound was as warm and comforting as hot cocoa and cinnamon and made his Little melt like marshmallows on top.
Tears welled. They were unwelcome and inconvenient.
He bit the inside of his cheek.
Don’t turn around. Don’t look. He’ll see what you’ve become. How much it still hurts.
He burrowed his face in Starling’s neck.
Footsteps announced the man approaching. He inwardly willed the man to move along. No such luck. The footsteps paused.
He would look.
He wouldn’t.
He did. Despite himself, he turned his head just enough to catch the silhouette.
The man stood tall and straight. Devastatingly handsome with salt-and-pepper hair, ruffled from the wind. A dark coat dusted with snow, and a dark patch where a curious muzzle had butted against his shoulder.
Easton Emmerson.
A man who used to make his belly flutter for reasons he couldn’t explain.
Now it just made him ache.
“Danny.” His name hung in the air like a held note.
He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
He let the brush drop into the straw. Starling shifted, picking up on his handler’s tension.
For a long beat, there was nothing but breathing and nature sound.
He was frozen.
Then Darian straightened slowly and turned to face him fully. “Dr. Emmerson.” His voice came out thin, and his throat felt like paper rasping over stone.
Easton’s mouth twitched. “So, it’s like that, huh.”
Darian crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?”
Easton’s left eyebrow almost touched his hairline.
Yeah, I’m being rude.
Deliberately.
“Six-month sabbatical. Ranch offered me a place. I took it.” Easton looked around, releasing Danny momentarily from his gaze as his perceptive eyes tracked the stall door, the curry comb half-buried in straw, and Starling.
“You’re working with the horses?” There was a wealth of familiarity and comfort in his voice.
With a throat too thick to answer, Danny nodded once.
Darian. I’m Darian Merrick.
But his inner resolve was crumbling. And hadn’t that been the whole point? His bottom lip wobbled, and he pressed his mouth into a straight line.
The silence stretched between them, before Easton let out a heavy sigh. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Danny’s fingers dug into his elbows. “Uh-huh.” With the nose of his left boot, he made an indent in the bedding, stubbornly staring at the floor.
Easton cleared his throat, and Danny’s head shot up.
Their eyes locked, and Easton held his gaze.
Something unspoken passed between them. It was brittle and glowing and too damn tender for words.
Danny looked away first.