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“Howdy, ma’am.”
“No. Why does he say that?”
Paul stared at her, but they’d stepped into the dim light of the stable, and she couldn’t read his expression. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
She opened her mouth. Aiden and she had great sex, and she was outrageously attracted to him. But their families were historic enemies and the much more recent variety as well. His family had kidnapped her. She was not his. She couldn’t move tothe middle of a forest with a bunch of poisonous wolves and their horses. She couldn’t…
Could she?
Would he even want to?
“Thought so,” Paul said smugly and walked deeper into the stable, leading the mare. A figure in the dim took the reins from him and led the horse away.
She followed and froze as head after head popped over stall doors. This complex dwarfed Aiden’s tiny setup. It smelled of straw and animal, intense but oddly pleasant.
The closest horse to the door reached for her with questing lips and teeth.
She dodged out of the way. “Nice horsey.”
The horse swung its head, and she got an impression of speed.
Confused by the flash of vision, she stepped closer to the stall.
“Nice horsey,” she repeated softly.
The horse nuzzled into her shirt and snorted, blowing Goldie’s hair back. Her Aunt Grace was the witch with animal magic in the coven. Goldie had never had a lick of that talent, but when she looked at the horse, she couldSeesomething.
She could See long legs churning, chest heaving, and fierce determination.
What was going on?
Normally, her magic only came after a tortured writing session, but right now, it felt like she was reading the horse instead of words on a page.
Fascinated, she moved to the next stall, which held a brown horse with a white tuft on his snout. He greeted her with a loud whinny. She almost staggered back. “Wow, you’re loud.”
She thought it was a cute sound from far away. This close, it was eardrum splitting.
“Hey,” Paul said and put his hand on the horse’s nose.
“I thought they didn’t like that.”
“Some do,” he said simply. He pointed across the lane. “But not that one. He’s not broken.”
She looked at the magnificent horse in the other stall, and that disturbing dual vision happened again. She could see the barrel of his chest and the breath in his lungs. “I would hope not. He’s perfect. Too big, but perfect.”
If she hadn’t looked at Paul at that exact moment, she would’ve missed the flash of surprise across the man’s features. “Unbroken means he’s never been ridden.” He pointed to the first horse she’d approached. “Lady of the Lake’s a goer though if you want a ride. Might be more your style in a few months.”
She gaped at him. “A few months?”
“Won’t take that long to get good.” He hooked a thumb behind him. “That certainly ain’t your horse.”
She glanced at the huge, speckled horse in the next stall. What was their obsession with somebody’s one true horse? She looked back at the mare. “She’s already broken, right?”
“Won two already.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But I was wrong to suggest her. She’ll probably be gone in a few months.”
“Gone?” The horse looked perfectly fine. Goldie was outraged on her behalf. “Why?”
“We’re selling her.” His grin flashed again. “Don’t look so upset. Not to a damn glue factory. To a stable.”
