Darlin’ (Aster Springs #4)

1. Daisy

one

Daisy

(Then)

It’s late in the day and I’m tired, but I rally with a roll of my shoulders.

I have a loose but secure hold on the lead rope in my hands.

On the other end, a light-coated gelding plants his hooves and refuses to move.

His ears are pinned, and his breathing is heavy, but there’s something soft in his eyes, and I can’t give up on it.

“See? Lots of release,” I say to Ken, the fifty-something owner of this ranch on the South Island of New Zealand. “He needs to feel safe before he trusts us.”

Ken, who watches from the fence line of the corral, doesn’t need my commentary.

The man knows as much about horses as I do, and explaining my process is like telling a sailor that water is wet.

But he’s a good guy and listens like he might learn something.

When I asked for a shot at getting this beauty under control, Ken said yes faster than I thought he would.

Now’s my chance to prove he did the right thing.

The gelding moves forward, taking two tentative steps in. It’s a glimmer of progress coming after twenty minutes of groundwork, but as my heart and hopes lift, he swishes his tail and twitches before tossing his head toward the lead rope and taking it into his mouth.

“I admire your persistence,” Ken says, sighing like he’s given up, “but he’s not right for us. He hasn’t been right since the day he got here, and it’s not going to change.”

“But—”

“He hasn’t adjusted to the new environment.” Ken gives me a comforting smile. “It’s nobody’s fault, Daisy—not yours and certainly not his. It’s just one of those things. I appreciate you trying to help, but we can’t give him any more time. I’m going to have to move him on. I’m sorry.”

“But it’s only been three months.” I allow the lead more give and watch the gelding respond. He continues to chew the rope. “He’s confused, and you can’t punish confusion. Another month, and he’ll come around.”

“If I had the time to spare, I might agree with you, but I need you in the stables and on the trail rides—not in the yard training a horse who doesn’t want to be trained.

We bought him for a reason, Daisy, and that was to be a mount for our tourists.

That’s not going to happen. He’s a bad investment. ”

My fingers tighten around the rope. “How can you say that?”

“He says that,” a voice cuts in, “because it’s true.”

I spin at the intrusion and find a guy who must have entered the yard without my notice, standing off to the side where I couldn’t see him.

In dirty jeans and well-worn boots, he’s tall and imposing, with shoulders thick from hard work and his T-shirt fitting like a second skin.

His face is shadowed by the brim of his hat… until he lifts his chin.

My irritation turns to butterflies, which only makes me more annoyed.

He’s beautiful, with a clean-shaven jaw and defined cheekbones, intense brown eyes balanced by thick eyebrows, and an intoxicating masculinity that’s tempered by a full mouth.

Judging by the width of his chest beneath those folded arms, the southern drawl, and the arrogant stare, he’s a textbook cowboy. And I’m not in the mood for it.

“You want to say that again?” I demand.

His eyes light up and his lips twitch. I scowl as my body is jerked to the side.

My gelding is on the lead rope, and it forces me to lose my balance.

On the plus side, it’s enough to break eye contact with Mr. Cocky.

I shift my attention, intent on correcting the horse.

When no amount of soothing or prompting will coax him forward, I step in and turn his nose to encourage him to move back.

When I’ve got him under control, I resume scowling at the cowboy. “Well?”

The asshole smirks. “Sure. The horse is a bad investment.”

“And who asked you?”

His eyes grow warm with silent laughter and the kind of confidence that makes my stomach flip.

“You did, Darlin’.”

That smooth, slow voice, that ego, that face… It all makes my legs shake, and I lock my knees in place to compensate.

“He’s a good boy,” I say. “He just needs more time to prove it.”

“Or perhaps this is a horse who’s learned he doesn’t have to do a damn thing you ask.”

I cut to Ken, who watches us with an invested tilt to his head, and I take it as a sign to keep fighting.

“He’s been pushed too hard,” I say. “He’s shut down. Anyone who knows horses can see that.”

“Anyone can see a horse who won’t listen.”

The gelding shakes his head, an aggressive toss that tells me he’s reached his limit.

Mr. Cocky lifts a smug eyebrow. “Not every horse deserves a second chance.”

I swallow past my fluttering pulse and let irritation give me strength. “This one does.”

When the gelding breaks again, I’m forced to give him my full attention. It takes a minute, but soon, the horse is calm again. Mr. Cocky’s expression changes. His jaw is firm, and those liquid brown eyes turn distant before regaining focus.

“Mind if I give it a go?”

I squint up at him, wondering if he’s serious, then hand him the rope. “Go for it.”

I stalk over to the fence and stand beside Ken, noting that some of the other stable hands have gathered to watch, and my cheeks flame.

Right from the outset, the cowboy’s approach is nothing like mine.

It’s quieter and more direct. There’s no talking, no soothing, just pressure and timing, and his intention is clear within minutes.

The cowboy is all about structure and purpose, setting expectations in a battle of wills.

My gelding is too stubborn for that. It’s never going to work.

The horse’s tail swishes. He tosses his head and kicks his hindquarters. The cowboy meets every challenge, cutting him off, expecting deference, then demanding even more.

“He’s pushing too hard,” I murmur as my palms start to sweat.

“No,” Ken disagrees. “He’s not.”

I glance at him, unsure whether he means to criticize me, then turn back to watch the show.

For five long minutes, the horse resists and the cowboy stands his ground.

I start to wonder if he’s onto something.

I want my gelding to prove he has what it takes to stay, so I should be rooting for the cowboy to succeed, but there’s no time to be gracious before things go haywire.

The horse spins, hindquarters loaded to kick, and Mr. Cocky almost loses him.

What follows is messy and violent, and it stirs quiet groans and gasps among the lookers-on.

Even I flinch more than once. Ken is a wall of concentration beside me, studying every move until I take an involuntary step forward.

He sets a hand on my arm. “Wait.”

After an anxious battle that tests the gelding and puts the cowboy’s competence on full display, Mr. Cocky gains control, and I must admit, he comes out of it well.

Extremely well. In other circumstances, I might even be impressed, but given what’s at stake here, I’m too devastated to give credit where it’s due.

Once the horse is settled, a stable hand walks over to take the lead. The thin crowd loses interest, and the winner saunters over, a sheen of perspiration laminating his brow.

“He’ll be happier at a rehab ranch or sanctuary,” he declares. “Much happier than he’ll ever be here.”

Ken nods, his mouth tight. “I agree. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Is that it?” I demand. “What about all the work I’ve put in?”

My boss frowns. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I gave you more than enough time to show me this horse could be an asset, but I’ve got a business to run. The horse goes.”

I want to argue, but I don’t know what else to say.

I’ve been at Ken’s ranch for months now, and this horse has been my project for most of that time.

He’s one of the reasons I’ve stayed in one place for so long.

Another reason is the pay is fantastic. Six more weeks here and I’ll have enough money to vacation in Fiji before my next job in South America.

I guess those weeks will be spent without this sweet, stubborn gelding in my life.

My small nod is defeated, and Ken accepts it without fuss.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” he says. “But I’m glad you’re both here. Daisy, this is Beau Covington. He’s our new senior stable hand. Beau, this is Daisy Davenport. She’ll show you the ropes.”

“Nice to meet you, Daisy.”

Mr. Cocky extends his hand, and when I scrunch my nose while shaking it, his eyes dance with that mirth again.

“I’ll, uh, let you two get acquainted,” Ken says. “Beau? Come see me if you need anything. It’s good to have you on board.”

Beau tips his hat as Ken walks away, and then it’s the two of us in the empty yard.

“So, where you from, Darlin’?”

I cross my arms and pop a hip. “Does that usually work for you?”

His lush mouth widens into a grin, showing off a row of perfect white teeth with a sexy little gap in the front that feels designed to toy with me. “What’s that?”

“The drawl. The hat.” I wave a disgusted hand at his beautiful body. “All that.”

He chuckles. “Never had any complaints before.”

“Well, don’t bother trying the cowboy schtick with me.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’m not interested. You do your job, I’ll do mine, and everyone will be happy.”

“Not me, Darlin’.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Well, it seems to me that getting in your way could be a hell of a lot of fun.”

I scowl and storm off, feeling the painful loss of a horse I’ve come to love as well as a rise of desire and excitement that I don’t try to douse.

Beau Covington getting in my way does, indeed, sound like a hell of a lot of fun.