“Because he’s charming and handsome, Beau. It’s easy for people to like him.”
I swallow down the hurt that surges when I say this—the hurt that’s there because Nathan has something I’ve never been able to attain. He carries himself with confidence and ease, and everyone he talks to, even just for a minute or two, feels like they’re the center of his universe. By contrast, my world is so small these days that when I talk to anyone outside of the barn I feel like I’m speaking a different language. It’s why his words from the other night carved straight through me. Iamlonely.
I can’t say that to my brother, though. I don’t want to make him feel like he’s not enough family for me, especially after he worked so hard to always be there for me after Mom and Dad died. Beau felt their loss a lot more intensely than I did, because he was older. I was only five so I don’t have many memories of them. Our grandparents became my parents, and so did Beau, too, in a way. He certainly helped raise me.
“Nathan hasn’t always had it easy,” Beau says, giving me a knowing look that makes me think my brother understands everything going on in my head without me saying it. “He’s just naturally kindhearted and he likes to please others.”
“I can tell,” I say sarcastically.
In the ring, Nathan and Ballantine are done with the reining pattern, and are cooling down. He walks Ballantine over to where we are, and then dismounts.
He bows at the waist in front of me and then says, “What? No applause?”
“I was getting my water bottle,” I say, picking it up off the ground by my feet.
“Sure took you a long time to get it,” he says, winking at me.
I will not be charmed by Nathan Booth, I tell myself.
“I also wanted to see how good you were. I need to know if you’re going to wreck any of the horses I let you train and ride,” I say, raising my defenses.
“That’s not the deal we had, Viper. You let me train, I help with social media, simple as that.” He takes his hat off, and shakes out his mane of thick chestnut hair, and then pushes it away from his face. Oh how I wish he had a receding hairline and grey hairs.
“What deal?” Beau asks.
Nathan looks sheepish and I realize that we had the same idea: don’t tell perfect, honorable Beau about our deal because he’ll disapprove.
“We’re just helping each other out,” I say to Beau sweetly. “It’s fine, I swear.”
“Well, I’m glad you two have decided to be friends,” Beau says.
“That’s not what I?—”
“It means a lot to me that you two are getting along,” Beau continues. “So let’s celebrate by going out tonight.”
“But,” I start to say.
“But what? It’s Saturday, the Neon Horseshoe has dancing, and Jenny’s parents are watching Lila. It’s perfect.”
I can’t bring myself to dash Beau’s hopes. Especially not if Jenny can come out tonight. I think my brother has had a crush on Jenny since she arrived two years ago, and he’s just too upstanding to make a move unless he knows that she’s definitely interested. I glance at Nathan, and see that he’s smiling at my brother, unable to disappoint him either.
“Sure, Beau. Going out sounds great,” I say, pasting a smile onto my face.
I try notto think about going out to the Neon Horseshoe for the rest of the day. I work with Nico and snap a few photos of him for the barn’s social media. I finish up the ordering for the next month, meticulously counting out everything we’ll need. I do throw in some extra bags of treats, though, because the boarding fees Nathan pays have given me some cash to play around with for once.
But when I get back to the house just after 5:00 p.m., there’s no denying that it’s time to get ready. We’re eating at the bar, because on Saturdays they do a barbecue pop-up. So I need to find something to wear for dinner, and then the inevitabledrinks and dancing. It’s a tall order for someone whose closet is composed of jeans, t-shirts, and cowboy boots.
Jenny is feeding Lila dinner and getting her ready to spend the night with her grandparents, so I call in the big guns: my best friend Winnie, otherwise known as Miss Alabama 2023. Winnie picks up on the first ring, her face filling my screen.
“Oh thank God,” she says. “Your call just saved me from talking to my mother about next year’s pageants.”
“I thought you wanted to quit,” I say.
“I do. But I haven’t toldthemthat yet,” Winnie says quietly. “I’m waiting for the right moment.”
I don’t say that there will never be a right moment because her parents will never, ever react well to the idea of Winnie quitting pageants and social media. If she does, their cash cow will dry up and they’ll wish they hadn’t blown through Winnie’s grandparents’ money so fast.
“Only a few years until you can access your trust, right?” I ask.
