“Shut up,” Cam says.
“Or don’t and tell us what is going on with you and Beau’s little sister,” Riley says with a wicked grin.
“Nothing is going on there.” I focus on keeping my expression neutral and pleasant so they don’t suspect anything.
“Maybe it’s not, but you wish it was,” Riley taunts.
“Even if I did,” I say, pausing to take a sip of my bourbon. “It wouldn’t matter. I’m not a relationship guy.”
“Neither am I,” Cam says, a tad mournfully.
“Same,” Riley mutters. “It’s not even worth trying. I’d just fuck it up.”
Slow clapping sounds from the doorway and I turn to find Cassandra, who is thankfully alone.
“Wow,” she says. “That was some pity party. Congratulations on being such wet blankets.”
“Shut up Cass,” Cam says. “You’re no better than us.”
“Hey,” she protests, “I’m a relationship woman, there are just no good people around. But the three of you are pathetic. Acting like you’ll never find love when you’re all under the age of forty. It’s stupid.”
“You know why we’re like this better than anyone,” Riley says. “It’s in our genes.”
My younger brother does not mince words or pull punches, and in a sentence manages to articulate the feeling that has been hounding me for weeks—ever since I started spending time with Candice Wilson.
“Riley Booth, take that back this instant,” Cassandra says. “You three are nothing like him. And I’m not either. Being a dickhead isn’t genetic.”
“He couldn’t stay faithful to Ma for more than a month,” Cam grumbles. “What if we’re the same?”
“Well, you’ll never know unless you try,” Cassandra says, throwing the gauntlet down in front of us. “I guess you’ll each just have to test the theory the only way possible: by getting into a relationship.”
She turns around and leaves us there to mull over her words, the challenge hanging there between us, tempting us with the promise of the thing we never got from our father: love.
25
CANDICE
Nathan’s bedis extremely comfortable. It’s like sleeping on a supportive cloud, and it molds perfectly to my body. He must really hate sleeping on the shitty beds in the bunkhouse if this is what he’s used to. I feel a twinge of guilt. Tomás complained enough that I bought him a new mattress and bed last year, but Nathan hasn’t said one word about the accommodation in the bunkhouse since our initial discussion. I expected him to bitch and moan about it, to make it clear that our worn-down barn wasn’t good enough for him.
My expectations of Nathan rarely match up with reality, though. I expected him to be the type of rider who cares more about winning than he does about his horses, but that is clearly not true. I expected him to give up on working with Brown Sugar after seeing how difficult it can be, but he’s stuck with it and has actually gotten somewhere with her. I expected him to tell me no and brush me off when I asked him to help me with, uh, practicing, but he took me seriously.
He always takes me seriously. Even when we’re butting heads, he respects me. He listens, even if he ends up poking fun at me. And I admit, sometimes Ilikewhen he makes fun of me.I’m still mulling over what all of this means when Nathan comes into the room a few minutes later.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” he says, surveying the cocoon of blankets and pillows I’ve made for myself on the bed.
“It’s a very comfortable bed. It’s making me feel slightly guilty for making you sleep in the bunkhouse,” I say, grinning.
“Oh yeah?” He prowls over to the bed, eyes gleaming, looking not unlike a lion stalking its prey. “Are you saying you want to invite me to stay with you and Beau in the main house?” He’s so close to me now that I can smell his comforting scent of leather and vanilla. He leans over me, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of my body.
“No,” I say, tipping my head back to look him dead in the eye. “Beau can’t know about us.”
His gaze shutters, like the reminder of the reality of our situation has put out the fire that was kindled inside of him. But that makes no sense. Nathan has more to lose than I do from Beau finding out. My brother won’t be able to stay mad at me, but he could remain angry with Nathan for lying. For agreeing to this silly deal in the first place.
“Nathan,” I ask softly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He leans in and trails his mouth along the skin of my neck. And as much as it feels good, I don’t want to hook up with him when he’s upset about something.
I place my hand against his chest and gently push him away.
