Chapter Two
Bells jingled over the door when Finley Ashe walked into the New Hope Yoga and Wellness Studio.
A mishmash of essential oils and flute music assailed his senses, and the combination fueled his frustration instead of soothing it.
Finley hadn’t come to the shop to be well or get happy.
He sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to bend his body like a pretzel, even if he needed a good stretching session.
No, Finley was there to see a woman about a horse.
His mother, Hope Newton, glanced up from refilling a basket with lotions and potions to offer her visitor a welcoming smile.
Her mouth turned down when she spotted Finley’s expression, and the ever-present impish twinkle in her dark green eyes dimmed as he approached the counter.
Hope reached for the glasses she wore on a chain around her neck and placed them on her nose, inspecting him even closer.
“My, my, my,” she said. Her honeyed Southern drawl usually soothed Finley when he’d worked himself into a snit, but it just ruffled his frayed nerves.
“Someone’s hurting. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a thunderous expression on your handsome face.
You must not have received the care package I sent back to the ranch with your sister yesterday. ”
“I didn’t get it, but I’m not physically hurt, Mama. Just frustrated.”
Hope tsked and shook her head before sweeping her bangs to the side.
She’d been letting them grow out for the past few months, and they were in the awkward phase of being too short to tuck behind her ear but too long to rest on her forehead without getting in her eyes.
She solved the problem by pushing her eyeglasses onto her head like a headband.
Gray-and-white waves framed her face and drew the eye to her impeccable bone structure.
Hope continued her perusal and chuckled. “Someone needs to get laid.”
“Mom,” Finley groaned. Truer words had never been spoken, but they didn’t need to come from his mother, and not when a different frustration was riding him hard.
“There are healthier ways to deal with your bad-boy addiction than waging an all-out moratorium on sex.” She released an exaggerated shudder at the mere thought of abstinence.
And his addiction wasn’t bad boys per se.
Finley was a sucker for broken souls and sad eyes—both the four-legged and two-legged varieties.
That bad boys were often a little broken was a mere coincidence.
“You could try dating nice guys for once,” Hope continued.
“You might even like it. They’re not all boring in bed. ”
“Mom.” This time, his voice came out in a low growl.
“Masturbation,” she suggested. “Because celibacy doesn’t look good on you.”
Finley opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He ended up choking on his saliva instead. Christ. Why was he so crazy about this lunatic who’d brought him into the world?
Nonplussed, Hope reached for her reusable water bottle under the counter and handed it to him. Finley uncapped it and took a drink. The water was chilly and infused with real strawberries and kiwi.
“I started a new line of oils that are so much better than the lubricants you can buy at the drugstore,” his mother said.
“They’re wonderful for your skin, especially in the most sensitive areas, they provide a much better glide, and they don’t leave a sticky residue.
I even customize the fragrance to enhance the experience. ”
Finley sprayed a mouthful of water all over her counter and stared at her with a slack-jawed expression.
He should’ve been used to her casual attitude toward sex and, well, everything, but she still surprised him.
Heat infused his cheeks, and he looked around the store and the attached yoga studio.
Luckily, no one else was around to overhear their conversation or to see his reaction, but Finley should’ve known better.
Hope never hesitated to say outlandish things but never in a manner that would embarrass him in front of others.
She had a filter, but she used it selectively. Today was an unlucky day all around.
Hope gasped in outrage, then reached under the counter and removed a hand towel.
She tossed it at Finley, hitting him square in the chest. He caught it before it could fall to the floor.
His mom retrieved a spray bottle and blasted the counter with a mixture of water and white vinegar, which according to her was also nature’s cure-all.
“Sorry about the mess,” Finley said as he wiped the counter. The bitterness of the vinegar slashed through the cloying scents in the air, helping him regain his equilibrium and to remember why he came. “I’m not here for sex advice.”
“What sex?” she asked. “You quit cold turkey…” Her voice drifted off as she tried to calculate how long he’d gone without sex.
Finley opened his mouth to tell her it was none of her business but, “Six months,” exited his lips instead.
It had been six long, miserable months since his last breakup when he’d initiated his detox from broken men.
Finley wasn’t wholly celibate, though. He jerked off in the shower every morning, but it wasn’t the same as sharing sex with another person.
Finley loved everything about intimacy, especially the sounds a partner made, the press of eager lips, the slide of seeking hands, and the thrill of penetration—his or theirs.
He craved the messiness, the tangled limbs, and a climax turning his muscles to rubber and rendering his bones limp noodles. Damn, he missed fucking.
He tossed the towel onto the counter and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m here to see a woman about a horse.”
Hope arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Have you finally met a beast you can’t tame?”
According to his mother and older sister, Finley’s affinity for horses began before he could walk.
His memories didn’t stretch back that far, but what he could remember usually centered on horses.
He’d seen hundreds of pictures of him on the majestic animals as a toddler with his maternal grandfather, a world-class horse trainer in Tennessee, where Finley had grown up.
Wealthy clients had sought Finnigan Donovan to ensure their thoroughbreds were in superlative condition to win races and crowns.
Occasionally, his grandfather would take on the toughest cases because he believed there wasn’t a horse he couldn’t train.
Then Pops had met Brutus, a chestnut stallion hell-bent on throwing anyone who dared to ride him, including the invincible trainer.
Pops wouldn’t give up and sought advice from the best equine veterinarians worldwide.
During one such phone conference inside his barn office, Pops heard Brutus neighing from his stall, followed by childish giggles.
Finnigan had dropped the phone, run toward the sounds, and discovered his five-year-old grandson had scaled the door to get inside the cantankerous horse’s stall.
He watched in frozen horror as Finley reached his tiny hand up and stroked Brutus’s front leg.
Instead of nipping at the boy as he did with the adults who tried to touch him, Brutus rubbed his muzzle against Finley’s cheek.
And that’s when Finnigan knew his grandson had a special gift.
Going forward, Finley was present anytime Pops worked with the horse.
After months of patient nurturing and trust-building exercises, Brutus cooperated with his training.
The gorgeous stallion wasn’t destined for the racetracks, though.
Pops bought the horse from his client as a birthday present for Finley, and the two had been inseparable until the cherished horse died of old age.
Nellie, a blue roan Appaloosa, reminded Finley of Brutus.
And just like that, his frustration with his newest foster horse deflated like a balloon.
“I’ve met a beast who doesn’t want to be tamed,” Finley corrected. “I haven’t convinced her I’m a friend, not a foe.”
“Not everyone wants to be tamed.” Hope’s voice was gentle, but her gaze was pointed.
She wasn’t just talking about Nellie or any horse.
She meant the broken guys Finley kept trying to fix and turn into boyfriend material.
How many times could a person get bitten before they learned?
His mother hadn’t asked the question out loud, but he could see it shimmering in her empathetic gaze.
He wore the scars on his skin like a badge of honor.
They represented the horses he’d rehabilitated through their trauma to flourish.
The wounds on his heart caused by men were a different story.
They cut much deeper and hadn’t healed. Those were a source of embarrassment for him and the catalyst behind his self-imposed relationship detoxification.
The thing was, Finley could give up on men much easier than he could on the horses.
His battered heart recognized Nellie was exceptional, and he couldn’t walk away from her.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t get pissed when she tried to rip out a chunk of his ass again.
It had been a daily occurrence since Nellie had arrived.
When she got close enough to rip his back pocket off his jeans, Finley knew he needed to get creative.
“Message received and appreciated,” Finley said softly. “I’m not trying to break her spirit.”
His mom’s mouth quirked up to one side. “But you’re digging in your heels.”
“Yes, ma’am, and I think you could help me.”
“Me? The horse whisperer gene skipped me, my love. What advice could I possibly give you?”
Finley gestured to the row of essential oils on display. “Which one produces calm vibes?”
Both brows went up this time. “Didn’t you once refer to my oils as hokum?”
Finley chuckled. “I was young and stupid.” And he’d heard the word on The Big Bang Theory and wanted to use it. Riling up his mama had just been a bonus.