When he graduated college and chose the stables over an office, he knew it’d probably be ten years or more before he was training horses instead of shoveling up after them. Which is why when he’d gotten Andra’s email asking him to interview for a trainer position rather than a groom, he should have known it was too good to be true.

“Mr. Delisle!”

Her flat accent mangled his name so badly he almost didn’t recognize it. She jogged up to his side.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I asked you all this way, and I do want to interview you. I’m sorry about my dad.” She glanced away, a wisp of black hair blowing against her cheek. She was younger than she sounded in her emails. Possibly younger than his own twenty-eight. But at least she hadn’t written him off the way her father had.

“I appreciate you wanting to give me a chance, especially after I startled you.” That was understating the issue, but he didn’t want to embarrass her. If it weren’t for the scream, he’d think she’d had some kind of asthma attack, or maybe a seizure, because it’d been so violent. Except there was no denying he’d triggered it. He wouldn’t blame her daddy for wanting to get rid of him after that, but the “appropriate candidate” comment still itched under his skin. “Still, I don’t think there’s any reason to stick around if the owner of the ranch isn’t of a mind to get to know me past the obvious.”

“Oh, it’s not because you’re, um . . . African American.” She glanced up at him.

He tried to smile, but it felt strained. “You can say black. My people lived on Saint-Domingue before it was Haiti, and we lived in Louisiana before that became America. I’m black Creole from way on back, Ms. Lawler, and proud to claim it.”

She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry this has been such a mess. Can we just start over? I’m Andra Lawler.” She emphasized the ahn sound at the start, and he realized he’d been saying it wrong inside his head. This time she held out her hand to shake his.

He hesitated. This job would mean everything to him. But this ranch might not be big enough for him to avoid her father.

Andra was still holding out her hand, waiting for him, and he couldn’t stand to leave her hanging. The horses he’d seen in that stable were worth putting up with her jerk of a father, and Andra really seemed to want him to stay. He tried out a smile. “LJ Delisle, and so happy to meet you.” He let the syllables of his family name roll off his tongue so she could hear the De-lye-el, the s ignored by everyone except well-meaning cowgirls.