Shoving the last (a bit too large) bite of bran muffin into my mouth, I push out the doors that led to the clinic’s driveway.

There was a dusty red pickup truck with a horse trailer hitched to the back blocking my view of the barn. Sidestepping around it, I opened the file in my hand to refresh my memory. We’d had Lady here for a little over four months, but I liked to cover all the bases with an owner before we discharged an animal from our care.

“Oh, here she is!” I heard Nora boom over the flat land.

Next was a deep and gravelly voice. “She?”

Lifting up my head, I choked on my muffin.

His butt.

That was literally all I could see. A ten-gallon, tan cowboy hat and a Wrangler-clad ass. Somewhere in between, I was pretty sure I’d skimmed over some pretty impressive muscles, but that butt…

My coughing (from my choking) must have encouraged him to turn.

I declared the front wasn’t so bad either.

He stood at what I had to guess was at least six foot four and stretched across the broad expanse of his chest was a faded black T-shirt. The man looked rough, not in a bad way, but in the kind of way that made you wish you could spend a lifetime curled up in his lap. A five o’clock shadow darkened his hard jaw, and eyes as green as the summer grass watched me as I stopped a few feet from him.

“I’ll be on my way,” Nora muttered and disappeared across the parking lot.

The silence left in her wake made me uncomfortable so, after swallowing, I decided to fill it.

“Ray Brookes.” I held out my hand to him, and he studied it.

Eventually, he slid a much larger, calloused hand into mine and squeezed. “Darlin’, I’ve met Ray Brookes, and you sure as hell ain’t him.”

“Oh.” I tugged at my hand a little as a result of the odd backhanded compliment, but it didn’t budge. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ you need to be apologizin’ for.”

He was rough around the edges but charming in a way that cowboys so often were. They were a legend after all, weren’t they?