He hands me an oval-shaped, soft-bristled brush. I slide my hand under the leather strap and grab onto the brush so it doesn’t slip. Beau opens the stall door, and we both walk in. Pierre stands there, patiently waiting for his rub down.

I lean forward and start to brush the horse in an up-and-down motion that has Beau laughing and grabbing my hand to stop me.

He leans in closer, and my breath hitches at the feel of his hard, shirtless body standing right behind me. Resting his ...