“Besides,” I say, “I can eat the cornbread and barbecue sauce and those are the parts of the meal that really matter.”
“Whatever. Back to the matter at hand,” Tomás says, taking the plate Beau hands him. “Why do you hate Nate so much?”
“Well, first of all, the feeling is mutual.” I bang my own plate down onto the kitchen table and pull out a chair. “We met four years ago or so? Right when Nathan was getting good at reining.”
“He’s always been good,” Beau cuts in. “But he only started competing full time four years ago. The ranch was in dire financial straits, and Nathan thought he could help bring in some cash.”
“I’m sure the Holder’s boot endorsement helped a ton.” I roll my eyes.
“It did. They gave him a half-million-dollar deal,” Beau says.
Tomás whistles, and I can see the wheels turn in his head as he tries to figure out how a stable hand like him might land something similar.
“So on top of an asshole, he’s also now a rich asshole? Figures.”
“He’s not an asshole?—”
“Yes he is, Beau! He is. Maybe not to you, because he’s your best friend. But he took one look at me when he met me and decided I was scum on the bottom of his boot.”
“That doesn’t sound like Nathan,” Beau says slowly, though I see doubt filling his eyes. “But I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. And Candice…”
“What?” I snap, stuffing a piece of cornbread into my mouth.
“Well, you aren’t the easiest person to get along with sometimes.”
I glare at him, but inside all I can think is that unlike me, Nathan is adored by everyone.
Tomás starts snickering behind his sandwich. Just then, the front door bangs shut and the sound of tiny feet fills the house. Lila runs into the kitchen with Jenny close behind, and the conversation immediately switches from being about my hatred of Nathan to the pictures Lila painted today.
Thank God for that.
3
NATHAN
Star Mountain HorseRescue looks exactly how I remember. It’s at the end of a dirt road, with fields on either side, and the driveway has a wooden sign with the name carved into it, alongside a rough carving of a horse. Two towering evergreens flank the long, slightly ramshackle stables, and beyond is a squat ranch house with pine siding. There are paddocks with horses happily munching away, and an enormous barn with a tin roof where I assumeshedoes groundwork.
She being the devil incarnate. The hissing viper.
I cut the engine and hop out of my truck, and immediately go around the back to the trailer. Inside is my pride and joy: Ballantine, or Bally as I like to call him. My baby. The horse I raised from a foal, the one I trained to be the best damn reining horse in the country, and the one who’s seen me through multiple championship titles. And the only soul on Earth who knows that our last run was more than likely our final run ever.
When I told him, in the quiet of his stall the night after I got into the fight with Brad, he answered with a soft whicker and by pressing his muzzle into my palm, searching for more treats. Bally would keep going as long as I wanted him to—he’s not the problem. I am. I fucked up, like usual, but this time it doesn’tseem like my reputation is going to survive the hit. I’ve been dodging calls from my manager all week.
I unlock the back of the trailer and hop in, immediately hearing Bally’s annoyed vocalization, demanding out immediately. He’s never made his peace with the trailer, and as I gently talk to him and ask him to back up, he makes increasingly anxious noises, snorting and blowing.
“It’s alright, Bal, I swear,” I tell him.
He stomps his hoof, which is clad in a boot to make the journey a bit easier for him to endure.
“I know you don’t believe me, but getting out of the trailer is going to be so much better than getting into it.”
He takes a step backwards, and I send up a prayer of thanks. Normally it takes much longer to get him out.
And then I hear it, a soft but firm feminine voice coming from outside.
“Come on, Ballantine, it’s alright,” the voice says, and my horse actually listens and continues to back out of the trailer, one step at a time.
Waiting for the both of us is the hissing viper herself: Candice Wilson. The woman who inexplicably hates me, and my best friend’s little sister.
