“Great. I have a couple horses who would be good for an intermediate rider.” We pause in front of Jazz Apple’s stall.
“What’s his story?” Bill asks.
“She,” I gently correct, “was rescued from someone who just couldn’t afford to look after her anymore. They voluntarily surrendered her to us, which is great, because they did it before she got too sick or starved. I trained her myself for a few months, and she’s a great school horse. Solid, good tempered, and only nine years old.” I reach out and give Jazz Apple a few pats, and she blows air through her nostrils.
Bill takes a step back. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what that means in horse age.”
“It means she’s not a baby anymore, but also isn’t too old.”
I walk over to Nico’s stall next. “And this is Nico.” He pops his head over the door and immediately starts lipping the edge of my sweatshirt sleeve.
I look at Bill, waiting for his reaction, but he doesn’t have one. Some people might sneer at a horse like Nico, and it’s good that Bill hasn’t.
“He’s got a facial deformity called wry nose,” I say. “He may not be suitable depending on how often your daughter wants to ride, as it does affect his breathing. But he’d be great for trail rides and has the best personality.” It’s the same speech I give everyone about Nico, and I’m holding out hope that someone decides to adopt him.
“That’s really nice,” Bill says. “But I was looking for a horse my daughter could start barrel racing on. She started on barrels two years ago and just loves it. Do you have any ex-barrel racers?”
Brown Sugar’s sweet face flashes through my mind.
“No, we don’t,” I say a bit coolly.
“Well, maybe Jazz Apple would work? If she’s a good school horse then maybe she could learn the pattern as my daughter is always calling it.”
I think about Jazzy, with her sweet temperament and her desire to please. She’d learn the pattern if she was asked to do it but I have no idea if Bill’s daughter would ask nicely. Would she just end up like Brown Sugar, an anxious mess?
“We don’t have any horses here for you,” I say, making my decision. “Not if it’s a barrel racer you’re after.”
“But—
“Jazz Apple won’t be suitable for barrels.”
“Alright, well, let me know if any other horses come up who might work.”
Bill looks a bit crestfallen, so I lie through my teeth, and say, “Sure thing, we’ll keep you in mind.”
He makes his way back through the stables and out to his truck, and I turn to Nico and rub his face right in the spot where he likes it most. Behind me, someone clears their throat.
I turn and find Nathan staring right at me, arms crossed, with a steely look in his Wrangler blue eyes.
6
NATHAN
“What do you want?”Candice demands as soon as she sees me.
“I want to know why you let that nice man leave here without a horse.”
“Eavesdropping is rude, Nathan,” she says, like I’m ten years old. She puts her back to me and starts stroking Nico’s face again. Unfortunately, this means I get a full view of her ass, wrapped in denim once again. Candice is lean and tall, almost graceful in the way she carries herself, but that fucking ass…I may not like her, but I’m not blind.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts and say, “So is refusing to let anyone adopt the horses you have here for that very purpose.”
“No, it’s not,” she says, sounding completely unfazed by the conversation.
“What’s even ruder than that, though, is refusing to look at someone when they’re talking to you.” I know I’m digging myself in deeper with her but the way she refuses to give me even common courtesy is infuriating.
Candice turns to the side, so that she’s looking at me but still able to pet Nico.
“Better?” she asks, though that single word is laced with venom and sarcasm.