Guilt assaulted her. The haunting image of horses who needed her seared her brain, but it was part of the business and she had to accept it. She couldn’t save them all. Compartmentalizing her emotions helped, especially when she knew there was no other choice. Phoenix had been a gift, and she needed to put the effort and focus into his training.
Groaning, she stretched out in the chair. Bagheera and Baloo had given up on her hours ago, sprawling on the threadbare couch in a sleepy pile of fur. Figaro perched on the top of the recliner, occasionally raising her head to give the dogs a long-suffering look. Maybe Figaro would get along with Phoenix. They were both disgusted by their animal companions, preferring the beauty of their own company.
This past week had been a bit of a challenge. Seemed Phoenix still wasn’t comfortable with any stablemates. Oh, he’d learned to silently suffer. He’d even stopped chasing Wheezy and Bolt away when they tried to come up and play. Yes, technically he could be around other animals now without reverting to fear or violent aggression, but she wasn’t sure if he’d be able to transition yet to a fully stocked barn with other racing horses consistently around him, battling for space.
Aidan was trying different techniques and introducing various animals to see if any made a difference. So far, no success. She’d even gone to visit neighboring farms to borrow Esther the pig; a goat named Molly; and a trio of sweet-natured cats, Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail. The horse hadn’t been amused by his new visitors, and after Phoenix chased them out of the barn and tossed crap at them—hay, apple cores, and even water—Aidan was almost out of ideas.
Too bad Flower had gotten hurt by the horse’s previous rejections to play. She was such a friendly little mare, frisky and always looking to make a new best friend. They shouldn’t have moved her out of the stall until—
Harper shot up from the chair. Shit. Had Flower been properly locked up? She’d been so damn busy with other stuff and asked Owen to lock up. She’d meant to swing by and check on him—she still didn’t trust Owen completely—but left to attack paperwork. Nibbling on her lip, she grabbed her phone and glanced at the time.
Past eleven.
She could text Ethan, but then she’d end up disturbing Mia. Aidan was at the hotel, and she wasn’t comfortable contacting Elmo yet. God knew the man barely spoke, refused to text, and still had an ancient flip phone.
Damn it. She’d just go to the stable herself. It wouldn’t take long, and she’d finish the bills tomorrow.
She moved to the door. The dogs’ heads lifted in question. “I’ll be right back. I have to go to the stables, and then we’re going to bed. Okay?”
They flopped back down on the sofa.
It was a habit to tell her crew exactly where she was going and what she was doing. They were pretty much the best roommates ever—they never annoyed her with questions or comments.
She hopped in her beat-up black truck and made the two-minute drive down the path that led straight to the barns. Jumping out, she went into the first barn, giving a whistle to alert the horses. Flower was safely locked up in her stall and seemed surprised to see her. Good. Owen had finally followed through on a task. Maybe things were getting better.
She did a quick check on all the other horses in the first barn and was headed back to her truck when she noticed a light burning in the main barn ahead. She frowned and walked over.
Who’d be checking on Phoenix this late? Was Ethan having bad dreams again? He’d seek out the horses sometimes when the memories of his past hit him hard. But since Mia, his midnight visits had practically disappeared.
She pushed the door open.
Aidan lay in a pile of hay outside Phoenix’s stall. Head propped up on his elbow, he was reading something on his phone, legs crossed at the ankles. A ragged flannel blanket lay beside him, along with a spiral notebook and pen. A battered olive-green duffel bag was open at his feet. When she stepped into the barn, his gaze rose and crashed into hers.
Golden light glowed so fierce and so bright, she stood still in shock. She caught the raw want in his eyes, which was usually carefully banked, and her body softened in response. An uncomfortable heat burned between her legs. She tried to rally, realizing she wasn’t wearing a bra and probably had that fresh-out-of-bed look. “What are you doing here?” Her voice came out like a husky invitation, so she cleared her throat. “Is Phoenix okay?”
He sat up. “Yeah, he’s fine. I couldn’t sleep and figured I’d do some work. Check on the horses. You?”
She frowned, taking a few steps closer. “I asked Owen to put Flower in her stall and lock up the barn, but then realized I never double-checked. I live only a few minutes from here, so I figured I’d come back.”
“Did he do his job?”
“Surprisingly, yes.”
He nodded. “Good.”
Her frown deepened. “Your hotel is twenty minutes away. You came all the way back this late because you couldn’t sleep?”
His gaze swept to the side. The energy between them shifted and moved, and she sensed something important hovered on his lips—a secret she was both desperate and terrified to hear. “I don’t do well in hotels,” he finally said.
She closed the rest of the distance and leaned against the scratchy wooden post, looking down at him. She should mind her own business. She should nod politely, walk away, and go home to her bed. The question flew out of her mouth, refusing to be caged. “Why?”
He muttered something in Irish. “Let’s just say I’m the most comfortable in a barn.”
A short silence fell. She allowed the familiar sounds of the barn to wrap around her. The soft hush of horses’ breath. The gentle creaks of wood. The occasional snort or shift of position. The brush of hay over the concrete. They mingled with the outside harmony of crickets and the occasional bright flash of light from the fireflies.
“This is my favorite place in the world,” she admitted. “I love my home, but when I step into the barn, I feel like I’m returning to the best part of myself. A place where I’m completely understood and capable. I feel strong here. Silly, right?”
He regarded her in the dim light for a while. He rubbed his jaw, as if caught between his own desire to share and the walls he’d built high to keep everyone out.
She studied the beautiful lines of his face, the squint around his eyes, the firming of those perfectly defined lips. And she wondered if one of her biggest regrets in her life would be not knowing how this man kissed.
“I came from a big family. My father had left, and my mom tried to raise four headstrong boys. We learned early on there wasn’t any money, and if we wanted to eat, we needed to work. So I cut out of school early and found work at a horse stable. We had a lot of racetracks and horse farms around, so it seemed like easy, plentiful work. I had no idea the moment I stepped into a barn, my life would change.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
She sucked in a breath. “You were so young.”
“Didn’t feel like it. Each one of us left home looking for work the moment it was possible. I had no money for a long time, so my home was wherever I traveled. Sometimes I’d hook up with an owner or trainer who’d give me a bed or bunk for a few weeks. Sometimes not. I got used to sleeping in the barn. All I needed was a blanket and some clean hay, and I was comfortable.” He shrugged. “When I began to study training, I slept by the horse. It was a bonding ritual for both of us.”
Her heart ached, imagining a young boy on his own, not having a safe place to stay. She couldn’t imagine being homeless. “You weren’t afraid?”
His lips quirked up in a half grin. “Never. Nerves of steel.” When she narrowed her gaze suspiciously, he chuckled. “Just kidding. Hell yes, I was scared. But I learned fast, about the job and myself. Of what I needed versus what I wanted. It all worked out. I relied on myself, so I was never disappointed. The horses gave me everything I really needed.”
He spoke with a casual tone, but his eyes gave him away. It ha
d been hard. Harder than she probably imagined, but he’d risen above and fought to make a name for himself. He’d ended up owning a business and winning the Irish Derby.
Harper stared at the lonely flannel blanket and stack of hay. What must it feel like to not belong anywhere? At least she had her family, who always supported her, and a home. Despite feeling alone and rejected at school, she’d always felt loved and a part of the bigger whole on the farm.
Ethan’s suggestion rose up and taunted her. She hesitated, torn between her head and her gut. Inviting this man into her home was an important decision. If they didn’t fit well together in a tight space or she felt uncomfortable in his constant presence, she’d regret the offer. And what if becoming roommates began to affect their working relationship?
But something about the hard lines of his face, disguising his own vulnerability from his past, touched her deep. She knew what it was like to search for a connection with others, only to find solace in the quiet of the barn. She’d also learned to rely on herself rather than offer her trust and be disappointed.
In that moment, Harper realized she didn’t want him to feel like a hired hand who meant nothing to them but a way to win. Didn’t want to think of him in a lonely hotel, unable to sleep, displaced and sent off like a spare part until another room opened up at the inn. She wanted him to know he could trust her, too.
She went with her heart. “You can bunk at my house.”
He cocked his head. “What?”
“When Ophelia has some openings, you can stay at the inn. In the meantime, I have a spare room where you can crash. It’s a short walk from here, so you can come to the barn whenever you’d like. Besides Bagheera and Baloo, I have a cranky cat named Figaro, but she’ll leave you alone. It’s tight quarters. I don’t cook, it’s always dusty, but I make a mean cup of coffee.”
He rolled to his feet and came close. A tic worked in his jaw. “You feeling sorry for me, love?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not offering up my home because I pity you, Irish. It just makes sense.”
He seemed to be battling something deep inside. His eyes seethed with primal emotion. “Ask me if I would have changed anything,” he demanded roughly.
Her breath caught. Dear God, he was fierce and prideful and strong. The intensity crackling beneath the surface tugged at her very soul. She tilted her chin in challenge. “Would you?”
“No. I may not have a bunch of stories to tell about chummy family dinners, but I got to live my life on my terms. I do what I love, and when my feet get itchy, I hit the road for the next big win. I learned how to not only survive but also thrive. Why would I ever want to change that?”
Her throat tightened. Her fingers curled into fists. Every cell in her body screamed to be close, to touch him, to feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear, to be surrounded by the whipcord strength and heat of his arms. She craved to give comfort; she craved to kiss him, part her thighs, and let him fuck her right here in the hay, in the place they both loved the most. She craved to let him really see her, and that was the most dangerous of all.
She closed her eyes halfway and fought her internal need like a wildcat. If she could walk away right now and not surrender, she’d be able to handle the next few months. If she could deny them both right now, the initial terms of their agreement would stay alive.
She crossed her arms in front of her braless breasts and stepped around him. “You’re the last man I’d ever feel sorry for, Irish,” she said lightly. “You can grab your bag and follow me.”
“And if I don’t?” His slow drawl gave her goose bumps.
She shrugged. “Then you don’t. It’s your decision. Your terms, remember? I’ll wait in the truck for two minutes before I leave.”
Harper walked out of the barn, got in her truck, and cranked the engine. Her slick hands tightened around the steering wheel as she waited. It’d be better if he didn’t show. This whole invitation was pushing fate. Maybe bunking in the barn wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. He liked it. He was comfortable. He was probably happy to stay. He—
The headlights illuminated his figure as he came out with his bag slung over his shoulder. He threw the latch and climbed inside the truck.
Without saying a word, she drove them both home.
Chapter Nine
Aidan sipped his Barry’s Tea and looked around.
The moment he walked into Harper’s home, familiarity surrounded him. The space was small and functional, from the well-worn smoke-gray lounging couch to the oversize chair situated by the large window that overlooked the woods. The coffee table looked handmade and built from tree trunks in a deep-red cedar. There was little clutter other than an overflowing bookcase, colorful braided throw rugs, and a few framed pictures. The only thing he disagreed with was the television. It was noticeably ancient. He would’ve upgraded so he could binge on Netflix or HBO on those rare occasions he had a rainy Sunday off.
The living room led straight to the kitchen with no walls blocking it off. He’d heard it termed open concept. She’d been honest about her limited cooking skills, obvious from the Spartan-like feel of the limited appliances and decor. A sturdy wood farm table and matching chairs held a vase full of wildflowers and some mismatched placemats.
But she clearly had her priorities. The counter boasted a fancy French press coffeepot, a red Keurig machine with expensive African blends, a coffee grinder, and a shelf full of every type of coffee bean he could imagine. Labeled.
The woman liked her coffee.
He’d gotten up at four thirty a.m., thrown on some clothes since he’d showered last night, and headed to the kitchen so he could at least have the coffee brewing and let the dogs out for her.
Of course, she’d already brewed a pot, the dogs had given him a standard greeting before settling back into sleep, and he heard the shower running. How much sleep did she really need? He’d always boasted he was good to go on five, but he had a feeling Harper had him beat. Another thing about her that turned him on. Nothing like a woman who was ready to go before the sun crawled up over the horizon.
Grinning, he rummaged in her kitchen, found some bread, and popped four slices in the toaster. The butter was fresh, and so was the blackberry jam, so he prepped breakfast in under five minutes. He ate at the table, waiting for her, his mind replaying the previous night.
He hadn’t intended to tell her about his childhood. It was something he kept private, those endless days after leaving his mother and his fear of failure. He’d never questioned his mother’s decision to kick them all out of the house so young, and hated to be judged. Mum had done the best she could on a limited income and with too many children his bastard father had abandoned. He’d meant every word uttered to Harper. He didn’t regret a moment, because everything that had happened had led him right here.
Even the betrayal of his best friend.
His fingers clenched around his mug. Phoenix was going to get him back in the game. If he did his job and won, he’d be able to return to Ireland as a king. Pick his own horses to work with. Prove to his ex-partner he’d fucked with the wrong guy. Everything would fall back into place.
It all hinged on Phoenix.
He’d been surprised how easy it was to share his story with Harper. Even though he’d been wary that she’d offered her home out of guilt, he’d known it was the right move. He needed quick access to Phoenix at all times, and staying with her allowed them to work constantly on their goal.
The inner voice rose up in a taunting whisper. Bullshit. You wanted access to her. You’re smitten.
He shot back his answer. I’ve got this under control. There’s too much at stake. I’m not going to screw up my only chance for a roll in the literal hay.
The mocking laughter pissed him off. He shut down the voice with a ruthless control and took a bite of his toast.
Her scent hit him first. Clean soap and the faint hint of cocoa butter from her skin drifted to his nostrils. His muscles tightened
with awareness as the energy in the room whipped up like a tornado gaining steam. He dragged in a breath, reset, and cranked his head around.
Then stared.
God, she was sexy. Hair damp from her shower, her powder-blue T-shirt and jeans could’ve been designer wear straight from Paris and couldn’t have looked better. Those Amazon legs practically begged to be wrapped around his hips while he thrust into her. Those haunting sea-green eyes were meant to go misty and dazed when he drove her straight to the edge of orgasm and kept her there, just so he could drink in her gorgeous expression of need. Those pale peach lips cried out for his mouth and his teeth and his tongue until they were swollen and ripe and her taste was ingrained in every cell of his body.
She scowled. “Why are you looking at me all weird? You better not have drank all the coffee.” She marched past him, grunting while she refilled her mug, and sat down across from him. She grabbed a piece of toast and began munching.
He decided not to respond and adjusted himself under the table. He had to stop mooning over her like a hormone-crazed teen. He was better than this.
The dogs immediately jumped down from the couch, sat by her feet, and gave her dual perfect pleading expressions. She automatically broke off two pieces of the crust and fed them. Then they trained the looks on Aidan, tongues lolling out, their begging like a well-rehearsed play repeated twice daily.
He shook his head and gave them some crust. “Guess you don’t adhere to the rule not to give them table food?”
She snorted, which shouldn’t be charming but was. “If you could only have one food for the rest of your life, wouldn’t you get depressed?”
He chuckled. “Never thought of it like that.”
“Life’s too short. As long as it’s nothing harmful and not too much, they should enjoy a varied diet. Baloo is a peanut butter fiend. Bagheera loves turkey breast. Figaro becomes halfway nice when I tempt her with tuna.”
all roads lead to you Page 11