Placing her hands on the table, she pushed herself backward and away from the accusations that had hit way too close to home.

“Stella, wait. Hear me out. Please.”

She froze, intrigued by Nash’s powers of observation and also terrified by them. If he’d figured her out in five seconds, how long would it be until everyone else did?

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Well, not just now anyway. The truth is, while it doesn’t do much for my ego, it’s kind of nice to see that someone has finally gotten to you. Frankly, I’m a little jealous.”

Stella shook her head. “I-it’s not like that. He’s a patient, um, a client here. I’d get fired,” she said barely above a whisper.

“Can I be honest with you?”

She nodded.

“I hated that I wasn’t the guy for you and that when I found the girl for me, it hurt you—or it would’ve hurt you if you would’ve let it. What I’m trying to say is, I wish things had happened differently. But what I have with Tess…” For a few seconds, his gaze drifted. Then he shrugged again and met her stare. “Some sins are worth it.”

“I bathed them today. Mother Maybelle rolled in the dirt immediately after.” Jesse Ramirez let out an exasperated sigh. “Shadowdancer told me to keep my soapy sponge to my damn self unless I wanted his hoof prints branded across my face.”

Stella Jo laughed for the first time in what felt like an excruciatingly long day. She raised a hand to her eyes and squinted toward where Jesse stood in front of the setting Texas sun. “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe he’ll at least let me rinse him off.”

“Good luck with that.”

After they said their goodbyes, Stella headed into her little bungalow and switched her work clothes for cut-offs and an old, faded oxford shirt. She pulled her riding boots on and tied her hair into a messy bun before heading to the stables. Washing Shadowdancer was going to be quite the event.

Her patience for difficult men was already at its limit for the day as it was.

She had a plan for Shadowdancer, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it. It involved tying him to his stall so he couldn’t stomp around or rear back on her while she was washing him down.

Now if only she could tie Van Ransom up and make him tell her what went on behind those conflicted stares of his. Sometimes he looked like he wanted to eat her alive, and others he looked like she made him regret being alive. But every now and then, like today when she’d told him she’d take that woman off his contact sheet, he looked at her with gratitude in his eyes. Eyes that darkened in a way that sent images of them tangled up in each other straight to the deep recesses of her wildest imagination.

“He’s not going to like that,” the man from her imagination called out as she looped the rope around a slat of Shadowdancer’s stall.

Stella focused on her breathing, hoping he wouldn’t notice how much just his voice alone had rattled her.

“You’re the expert on what he likes?” She had to admit that the dark horse had backed into the farthest possible corner of his stall. Both of them were looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “Since when do you even like horses?”

“I’m a man. I know we don’t like to be tied.”

Now there was a mental image she’d be recalling later.

“Well that’s too bad. I had such big plans for you.” Stella was aiming for teasing, but her words carried the irritation she felt. She wanted to throw her hands up, kick the bucket of soapy water over, and tell Van to do this his damn self. She was tired. She was frustrated. Nash had made her feel defective. He’d tried to reach her, to affect her, and hadn’t been able to because she was a cold fish. A cold, empty fish.

And now a man who sent her insides into a scorching free fall was telling her how to handle the animals she’d dealt with her entire life.

Just as she prepared to fasten Shadowdancer’s bridle, he flattened his ears and stomped a hoof in her direction. She backed up and knocked the bucket over.

“Fuck,” she bit out.

Before she had time to react, Shadowdancer leapt toward her. He wanted her out of the stall, but her legs wouldn’t move fast enough. She was about to be pinned under him. Closing her eyes, she braced for the impact. But it didn’t come.

Instead, she opened her eyes and saw black. A black shirt with faded writing on it. One she’d seen before. The first day they’d met. But this time, she was up even closer because Van Ransom had yanked her from the stall and had her wrapped tightly in his arms.

She took a deep breath, both to calm herself and to inhale his rich, intoxicating scent. Expensive masculine aftershave and the faintest hint of tobacco enveloped her. Raising her head, she met Van’s penetrating stare.

He looked as panicked and turned on as she felt. “I’m sorry. I just… I—”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I got impatient, pushed him too hard too fast. He still doesn’t trust me.”

Van stared at her. She thought he was about to let her go. But instead of releasing her, he lowered his face until their lips were almost touching. “I don’t think it’s you he doesn’t trust.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head slowly, very nearly grazing her nose with his. “I think he doesn’t trust himself.”

She was pretty certain they weren’t talking about Shadowdancer anymore. His hands gripped her arms, each finger pressing into her flesh just enough for her to savor the pressure. Her chest heaved as she breathed against him.

“He’s probably afraid he’ll hurt you, afraid he won’t be worthy of that look you give him, that trusting one that says you’ll give him anything he wants or needs—even if it puts you in danger. He knows he doesn’t deserve that. He could never be worthy of that.” His voice was heavy and raw, raking over every inch of her.

“Van.” God, she loved the way his name felt in her mouth, falling into the air from her lips and dancing in the tiny space between them.

“Yeah?” He swallowed hard, seemingly recovering from the panic of witnessing her almost being trampled.

She reached up with her hands and touched his smooth jaw. He’d shaved recently. And she was pretty sure he hadn’t shaved to come help out with the horses.

“You shaved for me?”

A small grin tugged at his masculine mouth. “Perhaps.”

“Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need from me. I’m ready for that list now.”

Eyes the color of the early morning sky began to glow with the heat her invitation provoked. “No, you’re not, Stella Jo. And for that matter, neither am I.”

“Please,” she practically whimpered.

She couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t handle the constant tension that pulled her so tight she was about to snap in half. Her body craved a release. A release in the form of Van Ransom using what she could imagine were well-acquired skills. All that confidence he carried was a result of more than just musical abilities—she’d bet her paycheck on it.

A low guttural sound rumbled through his chest and escaped his throat. “I came down here to help out with whatever you needed. Let’s focus on that for now.”

I need you. The thought came unbidden, and she put furious effort into ignoring it.

She sighed her disappointment as he released her. A breeze blew across them and she shivered. Being in Van Ransom’s arms was dangerously addicting. Being out of them left her feeling bereft.

What she needed, apparently, was this mysterious man and anything and everything he could give her. But he was holding out on her, finally listening to words she wished she hadn’t said.

“Okay,” she said softly. The skin-searing shame that blanketed her as he stepped away warmed her considerably. “See if Mother Maybelle will let you wipe her down a bit. She’s dusty.” Stella nodded to some towels nearby, and Van moved over to grab one.