CHAPTER 32
Finn
What am I doing? Why do I think this is a good idea?
I just invited my new housekeeper into my inner sanctum, the place that houses many of my hopes and dreams for this ranch. I have no idea why I wanted to share it with her.
But when that voice shows up in my head this clear and this loud, I listen. I don’t always have to understand what the voice is telling me, but I’ve learned to do what it says.
I’m alive because of that voice. I came home to Jasmine in one piece because of it. It’s the voice that told me to yank the Humvee to the left just before I clipped the buried IED.
If I’d ignored the voice and stayed in the middle of that road, I’d have been directly over that shit and I’d be dead.
For eight years now, I’ve wished and hoped that voice is Amy watching over me, keeping me safe and steering me along the right path.
It isn’t. It never sounds like her, as much as I want it to.
And in this instance? Of course it isn’t Amy. Why would the love of my life want me to welcome another woman into my world, into my arms?
Because that’s where this is headed, and I know it.
And now Emma is walking by my side into the horse barn, her canvas sneakers stepping onto the rubberized flooring of what Evander calls my cathedral.
I watch her throw her head back to drag her gaze up, and up some more, all the way to the cupola. Her dark hair slides down the center of her back, nearly touching the waistband of those faded Daisy Dukes.
Those fucking Daisy Dukes.
They’re not even out of place here on Yosemite Ranch. I’ve seen a whole lot of female barn staff and ranch hands wear them over the years. But they never made my eyes cross and my heart pound the way Emma’s do.
They never made me burn from the inside out.
She adjusts her gaze down again and looks all around. “It’s like a church in here,” she whispers. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
Her eyes are filled with wonder when she looks up at me. She blinks. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“This might sound dumb…”
“It won’t.”
“I’ve never been in a barn before. I thought it would smell bad. But—” She closes her eyes and inhales. “It’s like somebody sprayed perfume in here. Sweet but earthy. I had no idea.” Her eyes open slowly. A lopsided smile spreads on her face.
Oh, fuck.
“Like grass in the rain mixed with wood and leather.” She taps a fist to the middle of her sternum. “It hits me right here.”
This girl already understands.
“You sure you’ve never been on a horse before?”
She laughs. “I think I’d remember. Why?”
“Just checking. I’ve always called that particular smell ‘barn bliss.’”
“Ha! That’s perfect.”
If don’t kiss her, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
“Can I see your new horse?”
“Absolutely.” I swallow. I pull myself together and begin to show her around.
Aside from a few horses, it’s empty in here.
Summer is out on the rim with Special K.
I saw Joe raking and grading one of the outdoor pens.
Declan is probably napping. Evander is almost certainly working, since that’s his jam.
The rest of the ranch staff is scattered in outbuildings or out on the range.
We have the barn to ourselves.
“This is incredible, Finn.”
“I think so too. I built it to house our expanding horse breeding business.”
I proceed to tell her everything she never wanted to know about my damn barn. I’m sure she’s bored, but I can’t seem to stop talking.
I tell Emma about the Brazilian hardwood and powder-coated steel. And about my plans for Yosemite Ranch’s Quarter Horse breeding operation for champion racing, reining, roping, showing, and barrel racing lines.
Then I tell her about all the different types of working horses here at the ranch and the strengths of each breed—the athleticism of Arabians, the easy-going nature and physical power of Quarter Horses, the spirit of Saddlebreds, and the intelligence of Paints.
I show her examples of a few munching on hay in their stalls.
That’s when I realize we’ve been in here over a half hour and I’ve talked her ear off.
“Sorry,” I say. “You’re probably bored out of your mind.”
“The opposite. I’m not used to people talking about the future with such hope. It’s a nice change.”
I frown at her. I don’t like the sound of that—not one bit.
“What I mean is, this is fascinating to me, a whole world I didn’t even know existed. And you’re very passionate about it. I can tell.”
She’s right.
I stare at that pretty face, so open and curious. The slender softness of her body. I’m about ready to back her up against the wall and devour her.
“It’s helpful to understand what my boss is passionate about,” she adds, licking her lips and looking away.
Right. Her boss. That would be me.
“This way to the main attraction.” I’m already grinning like a fool because I can’t believe how lucky I am to have this filly in my barn. “Here she is.”
Emma steps back as I open the stall door and step inside. “Do you want to come in?”
She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“I’ll show you. It’s okay.”
I take Emma’s hand and lead her in. “Here. Stand here.”
I bring Emma in front of me and tuck her in. She lets her back settle in against the front of my body.
We stand together in front and to the left of the filly. I know the horse has a sweet temperament, but she and I don’t yet have a relationship, and I have no idea what might spook her. I am careful to move slowly to ensure her comfort. I loop my fingers into the halter, right at the throat latch.
“The spot we’re standing in is called the safe zone. Most horses feel comfortable when people stand where they can see them but aren’t square in front of them, crowding them.”
“I can understand that,” Emma says.
“Here. Just like this.” The feel of Emma’s silky hand in mine is intoxicating. She’s hesitant as I raise her palm to the side of the filly’s neck, but she’s brave. She follows my lead to gently stroke the young horse’s brown-black coat.
I suspect Emma’s had to be brave a lot in her life.
She’s stroking the filly gently and steadily now, but I keep my hand over hers. I don’t want to let go.
“What’s her name?”
“Officially it’s Majesty’s Velvet Mirage. I call her Mira.”
“Mira. Perfect.”
“Absolutely perfect.”
“I didn’t know they could be so beautiful, Finn.”
“The most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” When I say that, I’m talking about Emma, not my horse.
I’m amazed when the filly decides to lower her nose toward Emma. She then makes direct eye contact with Emma, blinks slowly, and nuzzles her face. I’m just as amazed that Emma doesn’t jerk or jump back—she nuzzles her right back.
My heart clenches.
I’ve just realized that Emma’s shiny dark hair is the exact shade of my filly’s coat. It’s like they’re cut from the same cloth—gorgeous and sweet but on balance, an unknown quantity.
I lower my lips to whisper in Emma’s ear. “She’s royalty.”
“She’s a queen,” Emma says. “A goddess.”
“You got that right.”
Emma drops her hand. She’s aware of me behind her. She knows what I’m saying to her, and she knows what I want. I feel her body humming with need.
I drop the halter and slip my other hand away from Emma’s. I reach behind me to unlatch the stall door, then place both my hands on Emma’s slim waist and guide her backward into the aisle.
The filly watches us, alert and interested. I step around Emma to latch the stall again. When I turn, Emma is staring up at me, eyes wide.
A pink blush colors her face and chest. Her pulse pounds against the satiny skin of her throat. Her breath rises and falls, the worn sleeveless T-shirt doing little to cover the perfect breasts underneath.
“Emma.” It’s not a question.
But she gives me an almost imperceptible nod.
It’s on.