Must Love Horses. Vicki Tharp

money to fix. She yanked the key from the ignition and banged her forehead on the steering wheel.

      Eli nickered as her door latch clunked and Boomer forced her door open. The rusty, bent hinges creaked and groaned like an old arthritic man. With her forehead still on the wheel, she turned her head as Boomer—no, Bryan, she liked his real name better—leaned on the edge of the open door. Eli stepped up and rubbed his soft nose on her forearm like he was telling her everything was going to be okay, but it was also past his feeding time. Eli did like his pellets. So it could have gone either way.

      “Where’re your bags?”

      “Tack locker of the trailer.”

      They unloaded her bag and tack and led Eli to the barn. Once inside the sliding doors, Sidney dropped the saddle and pad in the aisleway while Bryan dumped her duffel in the room. She let Eli’s lead go and checked out her new home. A counter and sink lined the far wall. It had a foot of prep space, a coffeepot, a microwave above, and a small refrigerator beneath.

      “Breakfast and dinner is served at the big house. Lunch is on your own, but they’ll supply the groceries.”

      Bryan stepped around her, opened the cabinet above the sink, pulled out a giant Ziploc baggie with bedding, and tossed it on the naked mattress. Eli wandered past the open door, sniffing his way down the aisle, checking the place out.

      “Thanks,” she said. “I can take it from here.”

      He nodded, and she saw a flash of buckskin in the room’s only window overlooking the foaling stall. Eli had slid the stall door open; he was bad that way. His legs buckled beneath him and he rolled in the thick shavings, kicking his muscled legs in the air. Then he stood and shook the shavings out of his jet-black mane and tail. He walked over and blinked at her through the window.

      She glanced at Bryan. He had a lazy smile on his face as he watched her horse. Her stomach felt light and wiggly and she waited for it to grumble, to demand to be fed, but it didn’t.

      It didn’t want food.

      Well…crapola.

      Okay, so being attracted to her boss wasn’t so bad. He was easy on the eyes, especially when he smiled like that, but that didn’t mean she liked him. In fact, she was pretty sure she didn’t, and was confident that the feeling was mutual. Still, that didn’t stop her from eying his cargo-shorts-clad caboose as he turned to leave.

      At the door, he turned back. Her eyes shot up to his, but not before he’d caught her ogling. Double crapola.

      His eyes lit with amusement, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he glanced at the watch on his left wrist. It was clunky, with a big face and some kind of dial on top. It looked like it could withstand a nuclear blast and remotely pilot the International Space Station. “Dinner at the big house in fifteen. You coming?”

      She hadn’t had a solid meal since that morning, but the bed called much louder than the food. And she still needed to feed Eli and settle him in for the night.

      Eli nickered as if he was Carnac the Magnificent and could read her mind. He stomped an impatient foot and licked the window.

      “Nah,” she said. “I’ll catch you guys in the morning.”

      Bryan didn’t try to cajole her into coming. Just gave a little-too-quick “suit yourself” as he turned to go. Then he stopped and turned back again. “My cabin is down the hill, far left, if you need anything.”

      He didn’t lower his voice, raise his brows, wink, or pause suggestively before he said the word “anything,” but for some reason that only made it sound even more like an invitation.

      Or maybe that was just her libido talking.

      * * * *

      Sidney woke to the distant sound of her Ford’s engine spinning, spinning, spinning. The only window in her room overlooked the stall Eli had chosen. The one she couldn’t see out of because Eli’s wide ass blocked it.

      She thumped the window with her fist. He swished his tail and cocked a hip. She didn’t fight the smile. Cheeky bastard.

      Light filtered in through the top corners of the window that her horse’s butt didn’t obliterate. In the near darkness of the room, she stumbled to the switch and squinted against the light.

      Her jeans and boots were in front of an armless chair, toes pointing toward her, the cuffs of her jeans over the shafts of her boots, spurs tight against the heel, the legs and waistband of her pants accordioned on her boot tops, like a fireman’s turnout gear ready to be pulled on.

      Sitting in the chair, she tugged on her last clean pair of socks, threaded her legs through the fabric and her feet into the soft leather of her boots. Every morning when she put her boots on it was like coming home.

      She finished dressing, brushed her teeth, and finger-combed her hair. No mirror in the small room, so that was as particular as she got. She threw Eli a couple flakes of hay and he chuffed a muffled thanks around a mouthful as she headed out the back of the barn, searching for her truck.

      It was a lot earlier than she’d thought. The pink hues of dawn had just started to fade, and the light breeze swirled warm thermals around her. She caught hints of warmth, but it wasn’t enough. She rubbed her hands over her bare arms, wishing she’d grabbed her hoodie.

      Her little trailer had been unhitched and maneuvered into place beside one of the big stock trailers. Her truck was off to the side of the tractors, out of the way, the hood up—a big gaping mouth half swallowing a man. The gravel crunched beneath her feet and the man turned as she approached. Bryan. She glanced down at his right foot. There was a cowboy boot where the blade had been. He noticed her looking. Didn’t comment. Didn’t explain. Not that he owed her one.

      She tossed her chin toward her truck. “What’s up?”

      “Keys were in the ignition. Thought I’d take a look.”

      To make it easier for her to leave if she got fired? But his blue eyes were sincere, like he wanted to help. So maybe he had a thing about damsels in distress. Not that she was either a damsel or in distress now that she had a job, but she knew how some men were.

      Observation, not complaint.

      “Help yourself.”

      She wanted to wrap him in a bear hug and plant a fat, wet smack on his lips. Mostly it was the gratitude urging her on.

      He ducked under the hood and held a grease-stained T-shirt beneath something he’d disconnected. “Start the engine.”

      She climbed in. The engine cranked and wheezed like an asthmatic looking for his inhaler—not that she’d expected it to start with whatever it was that was disconnected.

      “Cut it,” he called out.

      She tugged the keys from the ignition and tossed them on the seat. “Well?”

      “Fuel pump is shot. Here.” He motioned for her to lean in next to him and pointed out the fuel pump and the gas line he’d disconnected. “No gas coming through the line when it’s cranked.”

      “Sounds expensive.”

      One more expense she couldn’t afford. But she wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. At least Eli was healthy and it wasn’t a vet bill.

      Under the hood, with no breeze, she thought she caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. The air in her lungs caught and she had to force it to move again.

      She took an involuntary step back. Her brain didn’t want any part of a man with alcohol issues, while at the same time her heart found excuses. His eyes were clear. Maybe it was mouthwash.

      Mouthwash my ass, Practical Sidney, one of her alter egos, said. Sidney much preferred Impractical Sidney. She tended to be a lot more fun.

      No, she had to stop jumping to conclusions and leaping headlong into an abyss of worst case scenarios. Besides,