The Grump Whisperer (Morningsong Farm #1)

Seven

I n the barn aisle, Bronwen placed a reassuring hand on the side strap of Percy’s leather halter as Martha finished clipping his heavy winter coat. Olivia stood a few feet away, watching the action with a mug of coffee warming her hands.

The weather had grudgingly acknowledged spring that morning, if barely. Instead of frost in the fields, there was now mud. And after riding Percy for about an hour in the relative warmth, Martha had announced she wasn’t going to keep walking him for another hour as his sweat dried under his coat until he finished shedding, so she broke out the clippers after she gave him a bath and let him dry in his stall.

Bronwen was glad she could stand in the aisle for a period of time without her fingers going numb for the first time that year, so she offered to help. Percy was a character, much like his owner. He had a tendency to stop dead in the middle of the ring and refuse to budge, and he had a wildly out of proportion aversion to all machinery. Including cars, the tractor, the riding lawn mower Ruth used to use around the house.

And clippers.

“Okay, I think that’s about it.” Martha straightened from under Percy’s belly, an iffy position given the way the horse’s ears were pinned back. But they pricked forward easily when Martha turned off the clippers and came around his side to give Percy’s neck a pat. “Good boy.”

“ Good might be a bit of an overstatement,” Olivia commented. “I thought he was going to take you out with his right hind leg for a minute there.”

“Never. Who’s the best-behaved boy?” Martha planted a kiss on Percy’s nose.

“Not Percy,” Olivia muttered under her breath.

Bronwen laughed and released the halter. Martha ignored both of them.

“Are you going to clip Charlie?” the older woman asked Bronwen.

She shook her head. “His coat’s not as heavy as Percy’s. And Olivia doesn’t mind walking him until he’s dry.”

“Nope,” Olivia agreed. “The more time at the barn the better, even if it’s with a sweaty horse.”

“When are we going to see you on your own horse?” Martha asked Bronwen, not for the first time.

She exchanged glances with Olivia, who as usual stepped in to deflect the question. “Bronwen’s too busy to ride,” she said. “And I monopolize Charlie. And I don’t plan to stop,” she said with a grin.

“You can ride Percy anytime, you know,” Martha insisted. “Either of you.”

Olivia choked on her coffee, earning a glare from Martha.

“Thanks,” Bronwen said. “I appreciate it.”

Martha opened her mouth, probably to continue being pushy in the best-intentioned way possible.

Bronwen didn’t mind Martha’s mild insistence that she should ride. The older woman didn’t know any better, and it probably seemed more than a little strange that despite spending the vast majority of her life in the barn, she was never on top of a horse. Only Olivia knew the truth, and she could trust her friend to help brush off any questions on the subject.

Before Martha could speak, however, a figure appeared in the large doorway to the barn. Bronwen turned to greet whichever boarder had arrived for an afternoon ride, but was struck silent when she realized it wasn’t a boarder at all.

Ian stood there, tall and broad, his face in shadow as the sunlight streamed in through the large opening behind him.

“Oh!” Martha exclaimed.

Olivia stared at him silently, eyes wide.

“Is this...is this him ?” she finally murmured to Bronwen, who nodded and shook herself out of where surprise had frozen her to the spot.

She wiped her horse-hair-covered hands on her jeans.

“Ian. Hi.”

He took three steps into the barn, then stopped.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said politely.

Martha broke out into a broad grin. “Interrupt? You’ve got to be kidding. We’ve all been dying to get a look at you!”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Subtlety, thy name is Martha.”

“Hush,” Martha threw back at her. “Come in! Come in!” She waved Ian forward like she was welcoming him into her living room. “Watch out for Percy,” she warned him as he walked past the horse, who had fallen asleep in the aisle. “He gets a little kicky when he’s clipped.”

“What happened to ‘the best-behaved boy’?” Olivia asked.

“Shush. Do you want any coffee...Ian, was it? We might have tea, if you prefer that. Have you met all the horses? Bronwen said you’d been in the barn, but I don’t know if she properly introduced you to the residents. How long will you be around, anyway?”

“Oh my God, Martha.” Olivia pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Let the poor man get a word in.”

Bronwen knew she should step in. Ask Ian what he wanted. Whisk him away from Martha’s barrage of questions. But he came to a stop about two feet from where she stood, and all she could think about was kissing him in the hay storage.

She’d meant it when she said she wasn’t looking for a relationship. She’d been burned too badly by her last couple of boyfriends, the most recent of which had been nothing but a string of broken promises leaving her second-guessing herself and her ability to trust anyone with her heart again. She was no more ready to commit to another person than she was to hop up on Percy’s back and ride off into the sunset.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t like to be kissed, and kissed well. And Ian kissed well . Gentle and sure and just forceful enough to know there was a volcano of passion somewhere under that icy exterior. And he’d smiled. Joked, even. Both of which were nearly as appealing as being kissed by him. Nearly.

But he’d made it abundantly clear that kissing—and anything else—wasn’t on his agenda. Not exactly a surprise, but still...a disappointment. She shouldn’t care, shouldn’t question why, when he’d barely wanted to be in her presence since he’d arrived, let alone push her into the hay bales and have his way with her. But it still stung a little.

She’d tried not to think about it in the days since, but here he was, tall and looking so adorably uncomfortable that she wanted to kiss him again. Instead, she pulled herself together.

“Ian, this is Martha and her horse, Percy. And this is Olivia—she rides Charlie.”

He nodded politely at both of them, and they smiled back. Then Bronwen noticed that his hand was bleeding.

“Oh! What happened? Not one of those nails on the fence, was it?”

“Fencing needs to be replaced, too,” Martha added helpfully.

Ian wisely pretended he didn’t hear her and turned to Bronwen. “Do you have any bandages in here? There aren’t any up at the house.”

Bronwen refrained from saying that, as far as she could tell, there wasn’t anything up at the house—whether it be decent furniture, heat or the sign of a living person other than Ian. But that wasn’t her business.

“What happened?”

“Hades,” he said through gritted teeth. “I tried to force the issue and got too close, and he snapped at me. I don’t think he even meant to make contact, but...”

She instinctively reached out for his hand, which had a small but nasty gash just below the thumb. Probably didn’t require stitches, but definitely needed cleaning and a bandage.

As soon as she touched him, she wished she hadn’t, as her brain—and other parts—immediately recalled that kiss. Again. She dropped his hand and took a half step back.

She almost missed the way Ian let out a shaky breath, as if he was affected by her touch, too. But he clearly wasn’t affected enough to want to kiss her again. As great as the kiss had been, she couldn’t forget how he’d tensed up and closed off immediately afterward. Things had gone from hot to teasing to awkward remarkably fast. As much as she wasn’t looking for a relationship, the quick turnaround had stung a little, and she could take a hint.

She tucked any kiss-related thoughts safely away and waved him toward the tack room.

“We have plenty of bandages. Antiseptic, too. Come on.”

The weight of all the questions Olivia and Martha would bombard her with later pressed down on her as Ian followed her into the tack room. She tried very hard not to think any more about the last time they’d been in this room, and what had come after. Instead, she opened the drawer that held the first aid supplies.

“Why don’t you wash it off in the sink, and then we can disinfect it and get a bandage on there.”

Ian obliged, standing over the sink and washing his hand thoroughly.

“Here.” She beckoned him over to the counter where she’d laid out the antiseptic ointment and a large bandage.

He took the tube of ointment and she watched as he applied it to the painful-looking cut, then stuck on the bandage. Finally, he turned and leaned back against the counter, staring at the row of saddles on the other side of the room.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said glumly. “It’s been almost two weeks since he got here, and I’ve been feeding him myself twice a day, spending at least half an hour with him every time, if not more. I’ve tried bribery. Patience. Walking around the field randomly like I’m just another horse.”

She’d seen him, out in the cold. Inching his way closer to Hades until the big horse decided enough was enough and took off to a far corner. She’d been amused, frustrated for Ian and worried for Hades. What would Ian do with a horse who couldn’t even be handled? Eventually he’d need to see the vet, the farrier. What if there was a big storm and they couldn’t get him in the barn? And what would he do with a beautiful, wonderfully bred horse if he couldn’t be ridden or used to sire foals?

“What are you going to do?” she prompted when he fell silent.

He slid a look in her direction, then went back to staring unhappily at saddles. “I need...help.”

She wanted to smile, but stopped herself just in time. Ian sounded utterly appalled at the idea that he might need assistance from anyone. And given who he was, she wasn’t surprised.

“I looked you up, you know,” she said casually.

His gaze snapped to hers, and she swallowed. But she didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.

“John, from Clover Farm, said your full name. And I was curious about the person we’re depending on to basically hold this place together.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s actually you,” he said with a wry smile, and she sighed with relief. He didn’t seem offended that she’d done her research on him.

“Okay, but financially. Your name was a bit familiar, and now I know why. Ian Kingston, ‘King of Show Jumping.’ It was all very impressive.”

A self-made man, as it were. Born poor and made his way catching rides from his teen years, going where the horses were, until he’d made enough of a reputation that he’d been offered the best horses, from the most prominent owners and trainers. There had been talk of him as a shoo-in for the next Olympics.

He looked down at his hand, picking at the bandage. “A stupid nickname. I’m a regular person from the middle of nowhere Virginia, who happens to be good at riding horses. Or I was good at it.”

“And what happened...?” She’d read about his accident, a horrific fluke of a fall when his horse caught a foot on a fence and sent him flying. The horse had walked away without a scratch. Ian had gone straight to the hospital. “Obviously I don’t know the details, or why you’re here now. And I’m not going to ask. It’s not my business. But I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t know who you were.”

“You didn’t know, though. Not until you looked me up.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been out of that scene for a long time,” she said without thinking.

One perfect eyebrow raised itself in her direction. “You were in that scene, though?”

She shook her head, not wanting to get into her past, or what she was doing at Morning Song Farm. “Not like you.” She lifted her chin. Enough talking about the past. “So. You need help with the big guy?”

He sighed heavily. “I guess I do. And you’re the only one who’s been able to handle him since he got here.”

“Well, technically no one else has even tried.” All of the boarders had a healthy respect for—in addition to avid curiosity about—the beautiful stallion. “Not that I want them to,” she added quickly. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” She glanced down at his hand. “Anyone else.”

Ian’s eyebrows knit together as he frowned. “I don’t want you to get hurt, either.”

She told herself it didn’t mean anything that he was concerned about her safety. But then he moved closer, and his gaze was so warm she let herself wonder, just for a moment. What would it be like if this gorgeous, intense man cared for her? Protected her well-being, and grumped his way around anyone or anything that threatened to harm her? Not because he felt obligated, but because he cared —cared enough to take on a little of the responsibility that she hadn’t even realized until now sat heavily on her shoulders. Perhaps more heavily than she cared to admit.

Those were dangerous, destabilizing thoughts to have in the middle of the tack room, about a man who’d made it clear that caring was not on his agenda.

“It’s my job, dealing with all kinds of horses,” she said, her voice a little shaky to her own ears. “Even the mean ones,” she said with a little smile. “Not that Hades is mean,” she added quickly. “He just needs to know he’s safe.”

“And you’re willing to help me show him that?” Ian asked quietly.

He was maybe a foot away, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Her heart was beating too fast, considering she was standing completely still. It figured that the first person who’d had this effect on her in years—maybe ever—was a man who wanted nothing but distance. Whenever his sister showed up, he’d likely be gone.

And the chill that spread through her chest at that thought was absurd. She’d only known him a short time, and other than one kiss, she had no reason to feel any sort of attachment to him.

“Of course,” she answered him. “I’m glad to help. Maybe tomorrow I can help you with his evening feed? See if he’ll let me get close?”

Ian made a face like he didn’t have much hope of her success. “That would be great. If you’re willing. And as long as you’re careful.” Worry crossed his face again, and Bronwen tried to ignore the little thunk of her heart.

Maybe he wasn’t so iced over after all. She knew all too well how a bad accident could throw you for a loop. Everything changed in an instant, and sometimes it took a long time to rearrange the pieces of your life that had been scattered.

Some pieces never found their way back into place.

But similar to Hades, pushing Ian would probably only result in him lashing out. So, she made things easy for him instead.

“There’s a side door to the outside over there.” She jerked her chin over by the tack trunks. “You can make your escape without running the gossip gauntlet, if you want.” Martha and Olivia would be mad at missing the opportunity to grill Ian about anything and everything, but they’d get over it.

“All right.” With a grateful look, Ian stepped away from her, and Bronwen turned to put away the bandages and antiseptic so she didn’t have to watch him leave.