“There you go,” I said, waving it off. “You’re free. Now back to your family.”
The pony darted a few feet away, then looped around, galloping straight for me.
“Ah!” I shouted, stumbling back through a hedge. My foot slid exactly wrong on a wet patch of grass, and the next thing I knew, the trash can flew out of my hand, pinging off one of those stone statues, and I was twisting through the air.
Flying?
No, definitely falling.
Oomph. I landed hard on my stomach, skidding across grass, slick mud caking the side of my face. My breath left me in a rush, and I struggled for my next one. In the hazy vision that followed, all I could see was that demon pony trotting over to nibble at the plastic clip I used to hold back my hair.
“Get off!” I groaned, feeling a muzzle at my back as I tasted dirt. It was on my tongue and inside my nose and gritty between my teeth. Note to self: close your mouth next time you eat the ground with your face.
I finally caught my breath and propped myself up on my elbows, and a pair of buttercreamed horse lips came right for my head. “Oh, hell no, tiny pony!” I redirected that muzzle, but the thing was relentless, trying to gnaw at my hair like it was a sack of straw that had just been dropped in front of it with one direction: feast.
“No, horse!” I said. “Leave my hair.Ugggh.”
The thing chuffed, stomping its short legs while making a sound that could only be described as disgruntled. Then it came for me again.
“Stop, horsey. Down. Sit! Yes, sit. Why won’t you listen?” My arm ached as I fought off the beast. Commands clearly weren’t going to work on it, so I did the only thing I could.
I rolled.
And I kept rolling.
That was how Weston and Callum found me—covered in dirt in the garden and fighting for my life against an equine that barely came up to my waist.
“Oi, you all right?” Callum called, racing over to help me.
Weston was right behind him, jogging, his dark hair blown back in the breeze, his shirt clinging to him in a way his suits didn’t, and in my fall-induced confusion, all I could think of was my gorgeous Highland warriors. Why wasn’t he wearing a kilt?
I’d always known Weston was attractive, but I’d learned to compartmentalize over the years. I’d grown used to seeing him in his tailored suits, andthatversion of him didn’t affect me, so long as he kept his jacket on and his arms covered. Butthe outdoorsy Scot was something I had no defenses against. Something that had me struggling to compose myself.
Not that there was anything composed about me at the moment.
His lips curled in amusement. “If I’d known you wanted to get your hands dirty, I would have invited you on the tour of the estate,” he said, giving me a look that immediately sparked irritation.
A hot blush surged across my entire body, and I resolutely pushed any fantasies aside as Callum wrestled Satan’s tiny horse off me and helped me to my feet. My head spun for a beat. When it stopped, I dusted myself off the best I could, but there was no point. I needed a full-body hose down before I’d be fit for human company again.
Weston was shaking his head at me, trying to hold back laughter. “How did a little horse do all this?”
“That thing is freakishly strong!” I snapped, narrowing my eyes as he started to shake with silent laughter.
“Sorry about her,” Callum said, doing his best to hold onto the pony. “Bonnie thinks she’s a pet and likes to muck about in the gardens. I’m always chasing her off, but somehow she always finds a way in.”
“Maybe we need a bigger fence,” I muttered.
“Aye,” Callum said. “But we’ve yet to find one that can hold her. Our Bonnie’s an expert infiltrator.”
“Maybe we’ll just have to put the fence around you,” Weston said to me.
“Not funny,” I grumbled.
“I’ll get her back outside the fence,” Callum said, trudging off with the pony in tow.
“Well, you look like you’ve had about as good of a day as I have,” Weston said.
“That thing is going to haunt my nightmares,” I agreed, looking back at him. Now that I wasn’t trying to defend myself from a deranged, hair-eating pony, I took him in and had to agree he looked a little rough. But not pony-attack rough. Just muddy and deliciously sweat soaked. Weston in boots and hiking gear was an incredible look, and that Highland fantasy reared to life again.
