MORGAN
I followed Troy to the barn, almost bumping into him when he stopped short in front of the door. “Did you pick out a horse yet?”
“Uh.” All I could focus on was how close we were—his breath on my face. I glanced at the horses grazing in the field and spied the one who’d caught my eye yesterday. “Oh, uh.” I cleared my throat. “How’s the paint mare?”
Troy smiled, his eyes locked on mine. “She’s a good pick. She’s quick, though, and a little spirited. Think you can handle her?”