“Sure is,” I say. “But I’m surprised you knew that.”
“The first time I met you it was all you talked about,” Candice says.
“The first time we met, you ignored me the entire night. I’m surprised you remember a thing I said.”
“I didn’t ignore you.Youignored me.” Emotions flashes across Candice’s face, as quick as lightning, there and then gone. I can’t quite identify them, but it looks like anger, and then vulnerability.
“You sat at the bar all night, too haughty to even talk to me,” I grind out. “And then you called me an idiotic playboy with sawdust for brains.”
Candice snorts out a laugh. “That was a pretty good insult, you have to admit. But you deserved it.”
Clearly, Candice and I disagree over what happened the night we met. The first time I saw her I cursed the fact that she was Beau’s little sister, and off limits because of it. When she avoided me all evening and then insulted me later in the night, I realized it didn’t matter anyway. Candice and I are like oil and water. We don’t mix.
“I’m going to take Ballantine out for a ride,” I say, changing the subject. “Is it okay if I use the ring?”
“Sure. I’m done working in there for the moment.”
“Who’d you work with today?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious. I have a lot to learn about rescues and I want Candice’s expertise.
“I was working with Buckles. He’s young, and not really ready to be ridden yet, so it’s going to take a while beforehe’s ready to be adopted. I’m getting him used to the halter and starting some groundwork, and in a few days our farrier is coming by and Buckles will be getting some new shoes. He hates it, but Jonah is really good with the anxious ones. He’s the best farrier around,” Candice says, a note of admiration in her voice.
I feel the urge to punch this Jonah in the face. The idea that the Viper finds another man impressive when she thinks I’m a useless fool with sawdust for brains just bothers me I guess—makes me feel like less of a man. I console myself with the fact that Jonah is likely an aging man with a bald spot, just like the farrier who comes to my family’s ranch.
Candice and I talk about training Buckles for a few more minutes, and then I work on grooming and tacking Ballantine up. He’s fully woken up now and munches contentedly on his hay while I brush him. I grab his saddle from the tack room and check it over carefully as I put it on him. I’m planning to practice some reining patterns today. Even if I never compete again, I’ll always love doing it. And with Candice’s help, maybe I could have a career as a trainer. I’m sure my trainer, Salvador, would help me too—if I had the guts to pick up the phone and call him.
“It’s all so fucked up, Bally,” I say. He whickers softly and I give him a good stroke on the neck. At least my horse always listens and understands.
Once we’re in the ring, we warm up, and then we start working through some of the movements. An ease and a lightness that I haven’t felt in weeks settles into me as we go through the well-worn and well-known motions together. Reining patterns are in me and Ballantine’s DNA at this point.
11
CANDICE
Nathan is a phenomenal rider,and he and Ballantine are perfectly in sync with one another.
I came into the ring to grab the bottle of water I left in here earlier, and I planned to sneak back out unseen. But I’ve been in here for at least five minutes now and I can’t look away. They’re practicing sliding stops at the moment. Nathan urges Ballantine into a gallop and then brings him to a sudden halt. Ballantine’s hooves dig into the soft dirt of the ring and it flies upwards, like something out of an old western. And Bally does all this with just the slightest movements from Nathan.
Nathan doesn’t pull on the reins, or contort Ballantine’s head and neck into unnatural, harmful positions the way that some riders do. The reins look like they’re floating in his hands, just there for show—like he must be using telepathy or magic to communicate with Ballantine instead.
I’m a good trainer and I have an innate sense for what a horse needs after spending my whole life around them. But I can’t ride the way Nathan can—not even close.
“I told you he was good,” a voice from beside me says.
I turn and find my brother watching me watch Nathan, a quizzical look on his face.
“I should have believed you,” I admit. “I knew he was good but I didn’t know it was like this.”
“I don’t know why the hell he didn’t win the Million Mile Ride,” Beau says, shaking his head. “Him and Bally are clearly the best there is. Possibly ever.”
As Nathan and Ballantine start a spinning circle with perfect form, I can’t help but agree. Best ever seems about right—though I’m not going to tell Nathan I think that. His head is inflated enough as it is.
“I wonder what happened,” I muse. “Have you seen the rides from that night?”
“No,” Beau says. “He won’t talk to me about it, so it feels weird to watch it behind his back. I just know that he came in second after being favored to win, and that the guy he got into a fight with afterwards was Brad Thomas. The guy who won.”
“So he got pissed about losing and decided to handle it in the most mature way possible,” I say. “Sounds like the Nathan I know.”
Beau shoots me a glare and I wince. “It’s more than that, Candice. Something happened that night, I’m sure of it. Nate might party a lot but he’s not a fighter. You don’t get along with him so you don’t see it, but the man is beloved by everyone who meets him.”
