“Can we salvage it?” I ask. I don’t need the money for myself, but I do want to keep being able to support my family’s ranch. I have four people and an entire business counting on me and I can’t let them down.
“Maybe. I’m trying. But I need you to at least keep up a presence on social media. Which reminds me, why the hell are you at a horse rescue?”
“How’d you know that?” I ask.
“You were tagged in a photo that the account posted,” she says.
I internally groan. The fact that Amber would see did not even cross my mind when I told Candice to tag me in that post.
“I’m here to do my community service,” I explain. “One of my friends owns this place and it seemed like a good place to lay low for a while. Two birds, one stone.”
Amber snorts, but after a beat she says, “Being seen helping a small organization might actually be good for your public image. There’s no getting around the fact that you have to do community service. You might as well milk it for all it’s worth.”
“What do you mean?” I put the phone down on the nightstand and hit speaker mode. It’s time to get dressed and face the day.
“Post pictures and stories of what you’re up to there. Not too often, but just enough to remind people that you exist. And make it wholesome content. Like that foal.”
The idea of using Star Mountain to fix my public image makes me feel slightly uneasy, but I can’t blame Amber for thinking of it. It’s good advice, and it will probably work.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll take some photos of the horses I’m working with and post them with some thoughtful captions or whatever.”
“Good,” Amber says. “And I’m going to call Brad’s people and see if we can arrange for a public apology.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, raising my voice slightly, and pausing midway through buttoning my shirt. “I’m not apologizing to that fucker.”
“Nate, come on, this isn’t like you,” Amber says.
She has a point. I’ve never raised my voice at her before. I’ve hardly ever raised it to anyone, except to my brothers and sister because, well, siblings get on each other’s nerves. And before I got into that fight with Brad, I’d only been in one or two others before, back when I was a kid. I’m a drinker and a womanizer, yes, but I hardly ever go beyond that.
I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. I remind myself that Amber has no idea why I got into that fight with Brad. She probably thinks I was pissed off about losing, just like everyone else.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But that guy just pisses me off and that night was as much his fault as it was mine.”
Amber starts to protest, pointing out that I threw the first punch, but I cut her off.
“I have to go,” I say, and then I hang up without another word. I guess I’ve learned a thing or two about rudeness from Candice already. But I don’t feel that bad. Amber has no idea what I saw Brad doing before the competition—no one does.
I dig around in my suitcase and pull out a pair of chaps. After I buckle them around my waist, I make myself coffee in the kitchenette and then head outside and in the direction of the stables. A good long ride with Ballantine is just what I need.
It’s early, so some of the horses are still in their stalls. When I get to Bally’s stall I find him asleep lying down. I lean over the stall door and snap a photo, and post it to my stories. I’d normally take a selfie with him, and it would garner thousands of likes in seconds. But I think my face is better left off of social media for the moment.
“Posting for your adoring fans?”
I turn and find Candice staring pointedly at the phone in my hands. She’s wearing jeans that look like they could have been painted on, a cut off t-shirt underneath a flannel, and her trademark black Stetson. It suits her, oddly enough, even though it’s a bit large on her. It’s imposing, just like she is. I bet that’s why she’s such a good trainer—she assumes the role of herd leader and horses follow her instinctually.
“Nope,” I say. “Posting photos of Ballantine for his adoring fans.”
Ballantine stirs in the stall and opens his eyes, as if he heard us talking about him. He slowly stands up and comes over to say hi to me and Candice.
“He’s so good natured,” she says. “And extremely calm.”
“The best reining horses are,” I say. “It’s all about being as relaxed as possible.”
“You trained him yourself, right?” she asks, eying him with an impressed look on her face.
“I did at first. I got him when he was a foal, about eight years ago. He was a horse we bought for the ranch, for cutting, but I quickly realized that he was good enough to compete, and to win. I’d been doing well in amateur reining competitions for a few years at that point, but Ballantine is the secret to my success.”I stroke his neck a few times, and he nudges into me, lipping around my chest, looking for a snack in the pocket he knows I keep them in. “I started work with Salvador Martinez after Ballantine turned four.”
“That’s the year you won Goldmine, right?” Candice asks.
