“I know that my horse is a blasted boy,” he snapped as she went to stroke Lady’s nose. “And he doesn’t like to be stroked there.”

Except, as she caught Lady by his snout and touched her nose to his, rubbing the enormous creature in that way, the stallion nudged Myrtle affectionately, leaning into that touch.

Myrtle winged an eyebrow up. “It seems there are two things you don’t know about your horse.”

“I’ve already told you,” he gritted out. “I know he is a male.”

He may as well have saved his breath. The lady had already turned all her attention back to the mount, nudging him with her nose, mimicking those movements as if she herself were a horse. All the while, Myrtle cooed and heaped praise upon the fickle creature, who edged ever closer to her.

Val opened his mouth to order her gone, because no one went near his horse, and certainly not strangers.

But something held him back.

The way the sun’s rays played with hair so black its edges shimmered blue.

Nay, it was . . . her smile.

It held him entranced, fixed to the ground, his thoughts useless to formulate the coherent and sharp order that would send her fleeing.

Because . . . he’d not seen a smile . . . quite like hers.

There’d been another . . . close.

But this one was even more generously wide, with enormous dimples and two rows of more than slightly crooked teeth.

As if she felt his stare, Myrtle stopped midsentence to Lady. “Oh, dear,” she whispered.

Oh, dear, indeed.

She’d caught him staring, gawking like an enamored schoolboy. Which he wasn’t. He had been once but would never be again. Even with all that, however, he could not bring himself to look away . . . or formulate a response that would help him save face.

Then Myrtle slapped a horrified palm over her mouth. “I’ff-sumfing-in-my-teef.”

It took several silent attempts at deciphering those mumblings to make anything coherent out of her words.

Spinning on her heel, Myrtle presented him with her back and proceeded to—

“Are you digging around your mouth?”

“Yeff.”

And then it happened. The muscles of his mouth that had forgotten the proper movement remembered them all over again as a smile formed.

It emerged slow and painful from the effort required of muscles no longer expected to form that expression.

Suddenly, the lady turned, startling the grin from his face.

“Well?” she enjoined.

He shook his head confusedly.

She flattened her lips, revealing an uneven line of perfectly white but decidedly crooked teeth. “Did-I-get-rid-of-it?”

“You did.”

She smiled. “Splendid. It isn’t in form for a lady to go about with food stuck between her teeth . . .”