“Hi,” I called as I reined in, hoping he could hear me over the music in his headphones. “Everything okay?”
The farmhand tugged aside one earbud. “Just came over for the horses. Damien asked me to bring them in for grooming.”
He reached for Windchime’s bridle, steadying her.
“Oh.” That made sense. This way, we wouldn’t have to take care of the animals. I tried not to smile at the apparent planning that had gone into this day. “Thanks.”
I slid down on my own, even though Scotty moved to help me. I was in a hurry, eager to see whatever else Damien had in store for us. Now, he trotted to a halt behind me, keeping Eclipse a good distance from Windchime until the feistier horse settled down.
When I glanced his way, Damien was watching me with thinly veiled hunger in his eyes. Was it only me who could see that, or was it obvious to Scotty, too? My cheeks heated even as awareness flickered through me. I busied myself removing my helmet and giving it to Scotty, while Damien relayed some final instructions about farm business. My own thoughts were a tangle, my emotions clamoring so insistently that I couldn’t think straight.
Right now, I was all hunger and instinct. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Damien.
“Got it, boss. No problem.” Scotty nodded and clamped his headphones back over his ears. He led the horses away from the unfinished barn toward their home stables, closer to the main house.
A young woman jogged toward Damien’s assistant. She wore a green field jacket with the Fraser Farm logo. She took one of the horses, neither she nor Scotty looking back. Leaving us alone.
I couldn’t think of a thing to say when I met Damien’s hazel eyes. Maybe he felt the same, because he stood silently for a long moment, our gazes crawling over each other the way our hands were aching to do. At least, the way mine were.
“Let’s go inside.” He took my hand, folding it in his. I could feel the warmth of his palm right through my thin leather riding gloves.
We walked into the open space of the central barn, cathedral-like in its current state of half completion. Golden rays from the slowly setting sun angled through the rafters. Wide future stalls were evident from the position of the support columns.
“We’ll have some viewing areas for the stallions over here.” He pointed out matching open spaces at either end of the barn. “The plumbing was just finished for the washing racks over here. Holding areas for the mares on the opposite end.”
I nodded, impressed. “I knew Thoroughbred racing was a big industry, but this is incredible.” The facility was mammoth. We walked into the heart of it, the finished section in the center.
Fine stonework covered the walls of what would one day be a receiving area—this one for people, not horses. The floor was dusty from construction, but the bones of the room were obvious. High ceilings, a huge hearth, heavy double doors between rooms all sent a subtle message of old-world elegance.
“I’m working out here now so I can oversee construction on the days when the crew installs important features or needs quick decisions. But one day, within two years, the stallion manager will work in this facility, and I’ll move back to the original barns.” Damien opened one of the polished wood doors by the wrought-iron handle.
“It looks like the stables from some posh British manor house. A step back in time.” The scents of milled wood and some kind of chemical glaze made everything smell brand-new. “I actually looked through a lot of architectural design books when I was thinking up plans for a tearoom.”
“A lot about racing is a nod to old traditions.” He pointed to some ironwork detailing around built-in bookshelves inside his office. On the shelves were horseshoes in mahogany shadowboxes, and black-and-white photographs of former Triple Crown winners.
But the central feature of the office—at least for today—was a small café table placed off to one side of the room. It was covered with a white linen cloth, and silver candlesticks held ivory candles that flickered softly in the breeze when the door shut behind us. Two place settings sat alongside covered platters and more silver dishes.
“Wow.” I shook my head, unable to reconcile the pickup-driving horse breeder—the dusty guy who’d been surly to me that first day—with the man watching me patiently now. “This is beautiful.”
“I thought you deserved a meal prepared for you, instead of cooking for my staff and guests.” He shrugged out of his coat and laid it on a polished wood bench near the door. “There’s a bathroom in the back if you’d like to wash up.”
A tingling started in my chest. I couldn’t think of it as warm fuzzies, since that sounded like something a six-year-old felt for her teddy bear, and what I felt about Damien right now was a whole lot more grown-up. But there was a definite tenderness growing in the region of my heart.