Rachel took the blanket from Vaughn and placed it on Disco’s back. “Because she told me she’s not into your whole cowboy lawman vibe.”

A chuckle bubbled up from low in his belly. “That’s a good thing, because I’m not into her whole younger sister of my—” He froze, stuck on wondering what Rachel’s title would be in his life.

“Former lover vibe?” Rachel provided, tossing the words over her shoulder as she walked to the tack box.

Oh, doggie. Time to let that uncomfortable conversation thread die. He wandered past the rows of stalls, stopping in front of Growly Bear, and offering the horse his hand to smell.

“You want me to get Growly Bear out?”

“No. I have to take Amy’s horse, Nutmeg, today. Growly threw a shoe and our farrier couldn’t come by until tomorrow.”

Vaughn peered into Growly’s stall. The horse’s left hind leg had been fitted with a cloth boot.

Rachel appeared next to him. “Lincoln was my trail horse. Growly didn’t see much trail time, so we didn’t know his shoe was compromised until . . .” Her voice trailed off.

He was anxious to save her from having to vocalize about Lincoln’s death. “Understood. Who’s your farrier?”

“Chuck Harring.”

The farrier community was a small one. Chuck was a longtime friend of his family and an all-around decent guy. “He’s good. When he comes by, make sure you tell him Growly’s going to be seeing a lot more trail time. He might need to adjust all the shoes. Were you able to recover the thrown shoe?”

“Yes.”

Vaughn smoothed his hand along Growly’s neck. “I keep a basic farrier kit in my trunk. You’d be surprised how often it’s come in handy over the years in my line of work. Chuck wouldn’t mind me stepping in, if you’d like me to take care of it real quick.”

“That would be great, but I know you have a lot of work to do and the day’s not getting any younger. I could ride Nutmeg no problem.”

For reasons he didn’t care to analyze right then, he wanted to help Rachel out, get her riding her preferred horse. He wanted to make her happy, sure, but he suspected his offer was more about the way he felt watching her gallop with Growly across the Parillas Valley earlier that week. “Bring him out of his stall. I’ll get my kit.”

The grounds were quiet, save for two of Rachel’s farmhands who were tinkering under the hood of a tractor. They didn’t notice him, so he kept moving.

Back in the stable, he and Rachel exchanged cautious smiles. She watched from a stool as he took off his tie and utility belt, leaving them in a pile on a workbench. He hesitated with his fingers at the button of his uniform shirt’s collar. It wouldn’t be professional to get it smudged while shoeing, but stripping to his undershirt in front of Rachel was the start of a story that invariably ended with them both naked and breathing hard.

He solved the issue by turning away from her until he’d taken off his shirt and replaced it with his leather farrier apron. Still, he felt her dark eyes studying his every move. When he snapped and glanced her way, it was to see her raking her eyes up and down his body, her lower lip snared in her teeth and her eyes dark as midnight, as if the sight of him in a white T-shirt and apron was the sexiest sight she’d ever witnessed.

In college, when he worked for his parents farriering, he’d definitely managed some dates with various ranchers’ daughters using this look, but that was a solid fifteen years ago, when he was a whole lot younger and fresher faced.

He moved a stool near Growly’s tail and laid his tools out. Then he smoothed his hand over Growly’s back, then his hindquarters, until he was certain the animal was comfortable with him. Maintaining contact with his shoulder against the hindquarters, he slid his hand down Growly’s leg. In a quiet voice, he asked Growly to lift his leg as he patted his leg above the hoof. Growly complied and Vaughn pulled it onto his apron, to rest on the ledge made by his bent knees.

From the corner, Rachel let out a ragged breath that left the air in the room crackling with tension so brittle he could’ve snapped it like a stick of toffee.

Don’t look at her. Do the task at hand and keep your mind out of the gutter.

He picked up his hoof knife and took to cleaning the hoof, prepping it for the shoe. Ignoring Rachel.

He was doing fine with that until he asked her to bring him the shoe. Because then she came too close and said in a husky voice, “You might not be a rancher by profession, but your heart is pure cowboy.”

Don’t look at her. “Cowboy lawman, according to your sister.”

She let out a throaty laugh and strolled toward her perch in the corner. And then, as if he weren’t having enough trouble keeping his thoughts virtuous, he watched the sway of her ass until she resumed her seat. Their eyes met, and the look she gave him singed him where he stood.

Forcing his focus to shoeing, he tested the smoothness of Growly’s hoof with the pad of his thumb, filed down a couple rough spots, then fitted the shoe on. Before he had enough sense to restrain himself, he blurted, “Unlike Jenna, you dig my cowboy lawman vibe, don’t you?”

“What do you think?”

Actually, he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d been thinking, asking her that. He selected a No. 5 nail and a hammer, then tapped the first nail in place. Hoping to defuse the tension with humor, he painted on his best self-deprecating smile and said in an exaggerated Texas drawl, “Darlin’, how about I show you my six-shooter?”

Rachel snickered. “I bet that’s the line you use on all the ladies.”

“Hey, a guy’s got to work hard to earn the title Most Eligible Bachelor. My pretty face alone don’t cut it.” He tapped the next nail in place.

“I hate to break it to you, but I get the impression that the only requirements for Eligible Bachelor status in Quay County are: one, that a man’s single; two, that he has a steady job; and three—this one’s optional—he owns a house.”

He raised a brow and glanced her way. “That’s all women want these days? Seems simple enough.”

“You’d be surprised how hard it is for a woman to find that winning trifecta in a man.”

Oh, hell, no. She better not be saying what he thought she was. Try as he might to keep it in place, the smile wiped from his features. When he spoke, the timbre of his voice had a sharp edge of irritation. “You been looking?”

She was silent for a beat, but he refused to look up from his work, afraid of what she’d see in his expression.

“No, I’m not out looking. Just been listening to my sisters bitch about it for years.”

He hammered another nail in place, annoyed that her answer hadn’t done much to quell his jealousy. It was hypocritical of him to be bothered in the first place, since the two of them had already broached the subject of Kate Parrish. But the thought of her with another man made him want to kick his boot through the stable wall. Real mature, Vaughn. He selected another nail and concentrated on not taking out his anger on the horse.

They lapsed into a tense silence while he nailed the shoe in place. Growly had the calm disposition of a well—cared-for horse that was used to being shoed. He affectionately nibbled the back of Vaughn’s neck every so often, but otherwise stayed still. When he finished, Vaughn lowered Growly’s leg and rubbed his hindquarters, satisfied by how straightforward the shoeing had been. “Done. I’ll repack my kit and we can get moving.”

He watched Rachel’s approach out of the corner of his eye and braced himself to resist her.

“Thank you for doing that,” she said.

Still avoiding her eyes, he shrugged. “Why don’t you prep the horses to ride while I get myself put back together?”

“Sure.”

She moved away from him, toward the tack box on the far side of the stable. He released the breath he’d been holding, then walked to the washbasin and scrubbed his hands. He removed the apron and folded it. His undershirt was dotted with circles of perspiration. The damp cotton clung to his chest and rendered his dusting of black chest hairs visible. Embarrassing.

With a grimace, he ran a hand over his stomach and reached for his dress shirt. Once his shirt was on, he fixed his belt in place, then reached for his tie. As soon as he took it in hand, a flood of memories washed through him—of the times he’d blindfolded her with it, or bound her wrists. Once, he’d used it as a gag. She’d come so hard that day, he’d gone out and bought a proper one, not that he’d ever had the chance to use it on her. She’d broken their affair off the next day.

A clunk caught his attention. A pile of tack sat on the ground next to where Rachel bent over the box. He followed her worn brown work boots up her legs to the supple curve of her backside, then higher, to the sliver of black panties showing above her jeans.

Before he even realized he was moving, he was behind her, his hand on her hip, testing the curve of her body beneath the denim. Rather than flinch away, she pressed that curve more firmly into his palm as she stood. He lifted her hat off and hung it on a nail within reach. She let him do it, so he took a chance and ran the tip of his tongue over her earlobe, then bit into the curl of flesh at the top until her body shuddered.

Her upper teeth pressed onto her plump, rosy lower lip, a move that blinded him to all the reasons kissing her was wrong. He angled in, desperate for a taste of her.

With a breathy gasp, she jerked her face away and folded forward to rummage in the box, a move that presented her backside to him again. She was too smart to not be aware of what she was doing. The erection pressed against her thigh should’ve been enough to tell her his control was fraying. He cupped his hand over the firm flesh. Was she testing him? Making him prove his resolve to resist her? This was one test he’d have no qualms about failing at the moment.