Page 129 of Danger

Danger makes me stand on the rail while he does a slow parade in front of each pen, giving me a crash course about what their movements mean. Which ones are showboats, which are stalkers, which look calm but are really just winding the spring.

After a minute he squints up at me. “Okay. Which one do you think is the problem child?”

I play along, shading my eyes for effect. “Gonna go with the pretty one in the back. The one with the spots and the cute coat. Calm, not trying to get attention.”

“You’re getting the hang of this. You got it. That’s Snoopy. He could end you just for breathing wrong.”

“Wow. You two have so much in common,” I say. “Especially in the mornings.”

Now he actually laughs. Then he opens the gate to a side pen and gestures me down. “Wanna meet him?”

“Define meet,” I say, reluctantly.

He grabs a battered sorting stick from beside the fence and raps it once against the boards. The gate swings open. Thebull steps into the arena with slow, deliberate confidence, his massive head low as he takes in every inch of the pen.

Then he explodes. He slams into the far fence with a crack that rattles through my ribs.

I yelp. Loudly.

Danger doesn't even flinch. "Still breathing?" he asks, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I nod because I'm not convinced my voice still works. The bull turns. Dark eyes lock on us. He starts our way. Before I can think about moving, Danger shifts in front of me. I don't think he even realizes he's shielding me. His body just... moved.

Without looking at me, he says, "If I move, you move."

There's no panic in his voice. No hesitation.

Just certainty.

My heart decides now would be a great time to forget how to function. The bull keeps coming toward us, each hoof sinking into the dirt.

Danger lifts the sorting stick, not threatening, not aggressive. Just enough to catch the bull's attention.

"See his ears?" he says quietly, eyes never leaving the animal. "They're listening. He's deciding."

The bull stops.

His head tips ever so slightly.

"He doesn't always make the same decision twice." Danger clicks his tongue once, calm and steady. "That's what makes him different."

For a long second, neither of them moves. Then the bull huffs, swings his head away, and ambles toward the opposite side of the pen.

Only after he's several yards away does Danger let out a slow breath.

I realize I'm still standing so close behind him I can smell sandalwood and clean laundry, and for the first time in my life, safety and desire feel exactly the same.

When the bull finally chills out, Danger turns to me, arms folded, the trace of a smile playing at his mouth. “You wanna try?”

I glance at the animal, then at Danger. “You’re joking.”

He leans in, whispering, “They sense fear. Don’t let ‘em see it.” Then he hands me the stick.

My knees are actual jelly, but I square up anyway, trying to mimic his posture. The bull and I lock eyes. I wave the stick. The bull doesn’t move, just blinks at me with that quiet stare.

“Now what?” I hiss.

“Hold your ground,” Danger says simply.