Chapter 3

The golden hour was bleeding into the twilight, turning the sky above the ranch into a bruised masterpiece of violet and burnt orange. The air inside the main barn hall was thick, heavy with the scent of cured leather, sweet hay, and the musky, earthy perfume of a hundred horses settling in for the night. The event had officially ended an hour ago, the crowd of spectators and exhibitors thinning out until only the staff remained, sweeping up sawdust and polishing tack. I should have left. I should have packed my saddle bags, waved goodbye to the organizers, and driven my truck back to the rental cabin, but I couldn’t move. Not yet. He was standing by the heavy oak doors, watching me. Not with the polite, distant gaze of a stranger or the familiar ease of a friend, but with that same predatory, possessive intensity that had been simmering beneath the surface since we’d arrived. His suit jacket was gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing the forearms that looked strong enough to lift a horse by the bit. He had been helping me with my boots earlier, kneeling on the dusty floor, his hands