Chapter Five
Libby
I didn’t fall for men easily.
And just like the horses I worked with, I didn’t trust them quickly either.
I didn’t get giddy over muscles or brooding stares or calloused hands that looked like they knew how to wreck a woman and put her back together again.
Except, apparently, I did. With Beckett. There was just something about the grumpy, stubborn man that called to me.
And the kiss hadn’t helped. It had just unleashed a whole torrent of emotions I wasn’t sure I was prepared to own.
Ever since Beckett kissed me in the foaling shed—since that rough, perfect press of his mouth lit me up like a switch—I’d been useless, and he’d pulled back.
I gave a small snort, imitating Wildfire.
As if distance could protect us both. But I’d let him because pushing felt like the fastest way to lose him.
What I wanted was to touch him again. Kiss him again. Bury my hands in that dark hair and whisper every damn thing I wasn’t supposed to feel.
Today, I’d made it out to the paddock just after sunrise, bundled in a hoodie and leggings, hair shoved into a messy knot. He lifted his head when he saw me, that proud, wild look in his eyes softening just a little. Just for me.
I stopped at the fence and leaned against the top rail. “Where’s our grumpy partner this morning?”
The horse shook his head as if trying to answer me.
“Probably working on the other side of the ranch to avoid us.” Beckett had done that yesterday, saying Wildfire needed a rest. I’d known what he was doing and worked with another horse.
Wildfire was my main focus, but I’d been hired to help all the horses on the ranch, not just the stubborn mustang.
Or the stubborn cowboy. Both were stubborn as sin.
“You get it, don’t you boy?” I muttered. “He’s the big, tough, silent type. Probably has an ex who broke his heart and taught him love doesn’t last to go along with his scars.”
Wildfire, huffed and shook his head, mane rippling in the breeze.
“And don’t act like you’re not exactly like him. You both keep your distance. You both flinch when someone tries to get close. You both act like any kind of touch might shatter you.”
I paused, watching him watch me.
“But you came around. Didn’t you?”
He sniffed the air and took one slow, cautious step toward me.
I smiled.
“I know why you let him near you. Why you don’t bolt when he walks up with a lead rope or murmurs something quiet. Because you recognize him. Not the man, but the wound.”
Wildfire dropped his head, lips twitching near my wrist.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Me too.”
I rubbed the soft spot above his nose, and he leaned into it, eyes half-closing. He was still tense. Still wary. But he didn’t pull away.
Not like Beckett. My body burned wanting him.
“So what are we going to do about this situation? What are we going to do about the fact that I think I’m half-way in love with him already.”
Wildfire gave a loud snort that made me laugh. “Don’t judge me. You let him scratch your ears.”
The horse butted me against my shoulder much as he’d done that first day. “You think he’s in his head about it? The kiss? Us?”
Wildfire bobbed his head.
“Yeah, me too.”
I exhaled slowly, my breath fogging in the morning chill. “I’m not asking him to give me everything. I just want him to let me in a little. Let me close.”
My voice cracked on that last part, and I hated how much truth was in it.
“I see the way he holds himself together. The way he talks to the animals, like they’re the only ones he trusts. And I wonder if anyone’s ever looked at him and said, ‘You don’t have to carry it alone.’”
Wildfire gave a soft nicker and stepped away. The horse was done with the therapy session I’d just forced on him.
I took the hint.
“Alright, counselor, I’ll pretend I’m not spiraling over a kiss that lasted ten seconds and changed everything.”
The horse flicked his tail like that was obvious.
Then, bootsteps sounded behind me. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“Pen or paddock?” Beckett asked, his voice a low rumble.
“Pen,” I said, pulling myself together. “Short reps. Let’s keep it easy.”
We set up like we’d been doing this together for years. I took the far post and he took the gate. We didn’t talk much, just watched Wildfire’s shoulders, his ears, the way he moved. The mustang carried his history in every small flinch, but most days he let us in.
Today, the barometer was dropping with the incoming storm, and I could feel it in him—static under the skin.
“Let me try the lead,” I said.
Beckett hesitated. I saw the muscle jump in his jaw, the thousand reasons to say no. The thousand reasons he was with me every morning—that didn’t include simply wanting to be with me. I brushed those thoughts aside, waiting for him to hand me the lead.
Wildfire watched the trade. I angled my body halfway away, soft hands, loose stance, voice low. “That’s it. I’m right here.”
He stepped in. Good. I offered the smallest pressure and gave it right back when he followed. Two breaths of perfect.
Then a gust of wind blew through and Wildfire’s head shot up. Every line in his body went rigid.
“Easy,” I breathed, already shifting my weight to give him space.
He didn’t bolt. He lunged—a quick, panicked feint toward me that was more warning than attack.
I moved, but not fast enough.
The world jerked. Rope snapped from my palm. I stumbled—
And Beckett was there.
One arm banded my waist, hauling me up and back, placing his big body between me and the horse.
I could feel Wildfire’s breath on us as he galloped past, circling the pen.
Before I could question anything, I was lifted in Beckett’s arms and he was striding toward the gate.
I was pressed to his chest, my heart hammering against a wall of heat.
“You okay?” His voice was a low rumble as he opened the gate with me still in his arms.
Over his shoulder I could see Wildfire trotting to the far side of the pen, nostrils flaring and tail swishing.
Beckett didn’t set me down right away once we were clear of the holding pen.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his mouth brushing against my temple.
“I’m fine,” I managed. “You?”
He exhaled. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“The wind scared him.” I sounded like I was taking up for a small puppy misbehaving instead of a half ton of horse with attitude.
Beckett finally set me on my feet but didn’t step away. His hands bracketed my hips like he wasn’t ready to let me go.
“You could have taken a hoof,” he said, eyes scanning me—knees, elbows, throat—looking for any sign that Wildfire had touched me.
I shrugged my shoulder, feeling anything but calm. But that jumpy feeling was because of Beckett, not Wildfire. “All part of the job.”
“A part I damn well don’t like.”
The frustration of not being able to tell this stubborn man what I was feeling rose to the surface. Sometimes, Wildfire understood more than him. “Now, look here. This is my job and some wanna be cowboy is not going to tell me—”
My words were cut off as he pulled me into his arms. He caught my mouth like a man falling and trusting me to catch him. No hesitation. No apology. Heat detonated under my skin. I rose onto my toes and grabbed handfuls of him—shoulders, t-shirt, the back of his neck.
This kiss wasn’t like the first. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t measured. It was hungry, wild, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for days and couldn’t anymore.
I gasped, and he took advantage, tongue sliding deep, hand fisting in my hair to hold me exactly where he wanted me. My knees buckled, and he caught me, pressing me against the rail as if he needed me pinned, claimed.
His thigh slid between mine, bracing me open.
I gasped and he swallowed it, kissing me deeper, longer, like he wanted to memorize the sound.
One big hand skimmed under my shirt and found bare skin at my waist. I’d always hated being touched there, but not with Beckett.
I wanted him to feel my curves. Want my curves.
Damn it, I thought. I wanted him to love me.
I shivered so hard he swore and pressed closer, chest to chest, everything to everything. The rail dug into my back but I didn’t care. The sky grumbled. Somewhere a door banged.
“Beckett—” I broke for air and he chased me, catching my lower lip between his teeth, releasing it with a groan that went straight between my legs.
“Say my name again,” he ordered, voice gone dark.
“Beckett.”
“Again.”
“Beckett.”
Then another long, hard, desperate kiss before he was pulling away, turning away. And walking out of the pen without a backward glance. I stood there, fingers to my mouth. I wasn’t certain what had just happened, but I knew one thing for certain. Beckett wanted me.
And, heaven help me, I wanted him.