I look down and see that her other hand is flipping me the bird.
“Real nice, Candice, what would your…” I flounder, because I was going to say “what would your mother think,” before I remembered that Candice and Beau’s mother and father died years ago. Candice doesn’t seem to think that’s where I was going though, thankfully, so I recover and say, “The point is, you should have let that man adopt Jazz Apple.”
“Why? So she can be run into the ground as a barrel racer? So she can be poorly cared for by whatever two-bit barn Bill boards her in?”
I rub the bridge of my nose. What is this woman’s problem?
“Why is barrel racing so evil?” I ask, because even though there are some riders out there who do it wrong, just like in any equine sport, I don’t understand why Candice shut down the conversation with Bill as soon as he mentioned it.
“Because it turns horses into nut jobs,” she says, grinding the heel of her boot into the barn floor.
“Not all the time it doesn’t,” I say.
“Well, a bad trainer or rider can wreck a horse, and I’m not sorry for trying to protect Jazz Apple from that.”
“You have absolutely no idea if Bill’s daughter is a good or bad rider! And you have absolutely no idea what kind of barn they’d choose for boarding, either.”
“Look,” she says, crossing her arms so that we’re the mirror image of one another. “I listened to Bill carefully, and what I heard was that he doesn’t know much about horses and his daughter is only fifteen. I made my judgement based on the evidence in front of me.”
“Why didn’t you ask him what barn she rides at, huh? Do a little research.”
Candice just glares up at me, and then sighs, long and deep, like she’s too exhausted to be having this conversation or I’m too stupid to understand it.
“Do you want to see why I won’t adopt to someone like Bill? Because I can show you right now.”
She doesn’t say anything, but just turns on her heel and walks away, for what feels like the millionth time in the last two days.
“It’s also rude to walk away like that,” I mutter.
“I wouldn’t be so rude if you didn’t provoke me,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Okay then,” I say, feeling a bit tired from interacting with her already. Candice’s natural personality might be tough as nails, but mine isn’t. Among my family, I’ve always been the mediator and the one who can be counted on to be in a good mood. I’m all smiles around everyone buther.
I follow Candice outside and to one of the paddocks that is further away, keeping a good distance from her as I do. After last night, I’m not even sure staying in Star Mountain is a good idea. What she said to me hit way too close to fucking home.
I console myself with the fact that at least the women I treat like pieces of ass treat me that way back. I’m not leading them on because none of them are interested in anything serious either. Besides, it’s already been made damn clear to me over the course of my life that women don’t want me for serious, and that I don’t have it in me to convince one to stay. So why bother?
Still, I probably shouldn’t have said she was just a lonely girl with hay in her hair. That was a low blow.
Candice stops by a paddock with just one horse in it. She’s a chestnut with some dappling across her back and hindquarters, and when she starts walking around, I see that nervous energy is rolling off of her.
“This is Brown Sugar,” Candice says.
“Nice name.” Candice shoots me an odd look and I add on, “I mean it. It suits her.”
“Okay, well…anyways,” Candice says, like she isn’t sure what to do with my sincerity. “She’s an ex-barrel racer. Her owners were not complete assholes, so she’s in decent health. But she was ridden into the ground. The barn she was at trains a lot of barrel horses and they don’t do a good enough job. Her owners had a few other horses, and when Brown Sugar stopped wanting to race, they tried to push her and push her. But by the end she wouldn’t even enter the ring.” Candice turns to face me and then continues. “That type of person looks at a horse like Brown Sugar and thinks there’s something wrong with them that needs to be fixed. That if they won’t race anymore, then they’re useless. I’m just trying to stop more Brown Sugars from happening.”
I consider what she’s said and think about what I’ve witnessed at events. Especially in recent memory—though I shut that thought down immediately.
“I understand that,” I say. “I’m just defensive, I guess. Because equine sports are such a big part of my life, and I’ve seen firsthand how well people can treat their horses—how much they care. But I know not everyone is like that.”
“That is the understatement of the century, Nathan.”
“Aren’t people in English riding just as bad?”
“Definitely,” Candice says. “I mean, don’t even get me started on dressage.”
“We can agree on that,” I say, smiling at her and hoping to ease some of the tension between us.
