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“Talk to the horse, you mean?”
“Sure. Don’t you talk to Gladys?”
“All the time. But I’m not usually sharing what sounds like my dating profile. I’ve never told Gladys that I like taking walks in the rain or searching for constellations in the summer sky.”
“Do you?” He tilted his head. “Like walking in the rain and looking at the stars?”
She slightly lifted one shoulder. “Yes, but not usually at the same time.”
He chuckled, and she could feel the movement along her back and shoulder where his body touched hers. She wanted to lean back into him, to tuck herself into his solid embrace.
But he wasn’t embracing her. He was trying to help her overcome one of her deepest fears, which made her feel weak and scared and even more timid than she normally found herself to be.
Had she really just told him that she liked walking in the rain and searching the night sky for constellations? Who even talks like that?
She knew, of course. Her characters did. But they were fictional. Of course they said things that sounded somewhat sappy and wildly romantic. But that probably wasn’t how most humans spoke to each other in the real world.
Ugh.Which was another reason she liked living in books and her imagination.
Focus, she told herself, just as Luke said the same word, almost as if her were in her head.
“Focus. If it helps, don’t think of her as a horse. Just imagine Scarlett as another version of Gladys.”
“But with bigger teeth,” she said.
“And longer legs.”
She heard the mirth in his voice but swiveled her head to level him with a stare. “Hey, don’t make fun of my dog’s short legs.”
“I’m just kidding,” he said then mumbled under his breath, “Sort of.” He laughed as she bumped his chest with her shoulder. “Stay focused on the horse,” he told her with a flash of a grin.
How could she even remember a horse was standing there after seeing that grin? And that playful teasing glint in his eyes? It was enough to make a grown woman swoon.
She swallowed as the front of his thigh pressed into the back of hers, nudging her closer to the horse. Taking a shaky breath, she leaned closer to the horse’s head.
“Hi, Scarlett. I’m Kaylee. I’m from Chicago, and I make up stories for a living. I’ve written quite a few stories with horses in them, but I haven’t been this close to one in a long time. I’m trying not to be scared of you, because you seem perfectly nice and have the most gorgeous brown eyes.”
The horse nodded her head as if she were listening and agreed with the assessment.
“I know your master, or owner, or whatever you call her. I know Faye. And Luke, of course. Maybe he’s your ‘whatever’ now, since he feeds you.” She took another deep breath and tried to think of something else to talk about. “This would be much easier if I could just ask you questions and let you talk.”
“Like you’ve been doing with me the last few hours,” Luke said quietly behind her. “Don’t think I didn’t catch on to what you were doing.”
“I hear you like butterscotch candy,” she said, smiling as she deftly ignored Luke’s comment.
Scarlett drew her head back at the mention of butterscotch and nodded again before letting out a low whinny.
“She knows the word,” Luke told her as he pulled an orange candy from his pocket with his free hand. He forced the candy from the wrapper and dropped it into Kaylee’s open palm. “Keep your hand flat, just like you did with Marigold.” He pulled out another candy and popped it into his mouth. “I’ve got one more if you want it.”
“No thanks. I’m more concerned about her gobbling up my entire hand right now.” She nudged her hand forward, still very aware of the pressure of Luke’s other hand where it rested on top of hers.
Scarlett sniffed at her fingers then very delicately nibbled the candy from her palm.
“She didn’t bite me,” Kaylee whispered as she turned her body towards Luke. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Luke’s gaze drop to her mouth, as ifhewere considering taking a bite of her. He was so close, their faces less than a foot apart.
She looked up at him from under her lashes, her pulse racing as he drew his gaze back to hers. She could smell the sweet sugary butterscotch on his breath mingled with the masculine scent of his cologne.
The fingers of his hand, the one still on top of hers, moved just the slightest, shifting to between hers, entwining their fingers as he closed his hand over the back of hers. It was such an intimate gesture, holding her hand that way, the way a lover might, but against the side of a horse instead of tangled between cotton sheets.
