In less time than it took to exhale in relief, Mamoon erupted inside the stall.  Kicking the walls, he reared and bucked, his whinnies violent protests that ricocheted off the walls.

“He’s going to kill himself in there,” she murmured.

“No, he won’t.  And if he does, it’s probably better off that way.”  Jake couldn’t keep his venom at bay.  Crazy horse.  Gabrielle had no business trying to do anything with that stallion.

But the look she shot him said in no uncertain terms, she didn’t appreciate his remark.  He groaned inwardly.  Damn it.  Bleeding heart horsewomen.  Exactly what he’d expected.  It just took until now to see it.

“You could thank me, you know.”

She let out a snort.  “For jumping in when you could have gotten yourself killed?  Just because you worked with a few horses in your youth doesn’t mean you know everything, Jake Sullivan.  You got lucky.”

He blinked.  Lucky?  Luck didn’t have anything to do with it.  Well, maybe a little, but not like she meant it.

“Listen here, Gabby, that horse is dangerous.  The best thing you can do with him is put him down.  Fetch me a gun, and I’ll save you the trouble of calling out the vet.”

Her eyes glittered like ice as she leveled him with a deadly stare.  “Keep your hands off my horses.  Got it?”

Without another word, she spun on her heel and stomped out of the barn.

Fighting down absolute fury, Jake leaned his shoulder against the stall and stared at the horse.  What the hell was it about women and nutty horses?  Why couldn’t they just listen to reason?  His mother had paid the ultimate price for not heeding his advice.  And Gabrielle lugged home the same sort of psychotic thing.