At Tripp Family Farm, he bypasses the house for the dirt road leading to the stables. The property is expansive, stretching out on the horizon like an ocean. A nondescript white building serves as the dairy, and the muddy lot is surrounded by outbuildings, tractors, and trucks of every variety. Beyond that is a gorgeous red barn with a peaked roof.

“Wait. I’ll come around for you,” he says after he parks.

He meets me at the passenger side, holding rubber boots. He shifts me in my seat so my legs hang over the side, a rough but sweet move, especially the way his eyes stay locked on mine. With a featherlike touch, he runs his fingers down the back of my bare leg to my shoe, slipping it off. My breath hitches at the warmth spreading across my core. He does the same with the other leg, making me want to close them around him and yank him toward me.

His fingers drift over my feet as he smiles at me. “Don’t want you to get dirty.”

Flushed and bothered in the best way, I grin. “Just have dirty thoughts, huh?”

He chuckles. “That’s a bonus.” He slips me into the rubber boots like I’m Cinderella trying on the glass slipper, and rubber boots have never felt sexier.

In the back of The Beast, he unlocks a metal box containing his bags and supplies. He sheds his jacket and shoes, pulling on overalls and rubber boots.

His dad meets us at the door. “Hey, Marnie. Sorry to interrupt your date.”

“It’s okay, Mack. A vet must what a vet must,” I say, making Grady smirk.

Mack leads us to a wide stall where a ginormous black horse wriggles against his tethers and neighs disconcertingly. Blood stains the hay beneath his left side, where a crescent gash on his rump oozes steadily. I stand with Mack on the other side of the half door while Grady moves into the stall, assessing the wound.

“Yeah, that’s a bad one,” he says. “What spooked him?”

“A squirrel,” Mack laughs, and turns to me. “For large creatures, horses are surprisingly skittish.”

Grady snaps on gloves and gives the horse an injection. He arranges his tools, cleans the wound, and deftly sutures the gash—quick to action, just like that day. The blood stirs unpleasant memories but gratitude, too. We got through it together.

“You okay?” He says, catching my gaze from the other side of Buck Rogers.

“Yeah, good.”

The horse meanders closer to the entry, nosing in our direction.

“Can I pet him?” I ask.

“Of course,” Mack says, rubbing the creature’s long nose.

“I’ve never been around horses.” I gently run my fingers over his velvety nose. “He’s sweet.”

“So, I hear you’ve been changing my brother’s life,” Mack says.

“Turning it upside down is probably more accurate,” I say.