I nod, feeling my neck heat as a flush of embarrassment washes over me. I’m almost to the door when he speaks again.
“I was thinking of taking one of the horses on a ride through the trail. Want to come?”
Biting down on my molars, I turn back to him. “Sure, that would be fun.”
Logically speaking, getting to know him would make living here a little more bearable, and he could probably teach me a lot and introduce me to people who could help me, but that thought alone is enough to give me hives.
We head out to the barn to grab the horses before taking off. This ranch is upwards of six hundred acres, if I’m not mistaken, and it’s absolutely beautiful at all hours of the day. There are several trails in the back that lead to who knows where. I haven’t explored at all yet, so I’m kind of excited to get to today.
Lottie has been with me for years. She’s black and white, her mane thick and shiny. Conrad is on a uniquely colored horse, a light gray with specks of darker gray throughout, her mane all black. I’ve seen him take her out a few times since arriving here the other day. Maybe she’s his personal horse. I know some of them are boarded here, but I’m guessing he owns some of them.
“When are you planning to start training?” he asks when we’ve been riding for a few minutes.
“Monday. I wanted to give myself a few days to get settled before I dove in.”
Low tree branches hang along the trail, and we have to duck to avoid them—Conrad more than me. With the trees blockingmost of the sunlight, the chill in the air is more apparent, making me wish I had grabbed a jacket before we left.
“That’s smart,” he replies. “So, you haven’t met any of the guys then, I take it?”
“Not yet.”
“It’s a nice bunch,” he says plainly. “If you want, on Monday, I can go with you to Powder Ridge and introduce you to everyone.”
Including Shooter.God, this is so dumb. I never should’ve hooked up with him. What was I thinking?
“Sure,” I mutter as soon as I stop mentally berating myself. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
3
Shooter Graham
Leaving my house, I lock the door before making my way to Whit’s car, where he’s waiting for me. The sky is a dreary shade of gray, the air chilly, and it looks like it’s about to rain any minute. It turned into a depressing day that started nice and sunny. I got home from Powder Ridge, the rodeo arena all of us train in, about an hour ago. Whit and I had plans to grab dinner, but he texted me before he got here, letting me know he has to stop at the Grazing Acres before we go—the ranch his ex-husband owns.
I slide into the passenger seat of his truck as he turns down the music. “Hey, man, sorry about this. It shouldn’t take long.”
“No worries,” I murmur, fastening my seatbelt. “What’s going on over there?”
“One of Conrad’s horses injured herself. I’m just making sure it’s nothing more than a sprain.” Whit turns off my block, onto the main street that heads toward the ranch. “Shouldn’t take too long, and then we can go.”
“Is it awkward?”
He glances over at me. “Is what awkward?”
“Having to work with Conrad now that you guys are, you know…”
“Divorced, Shooter.” He laughs. “It’s not a dirty word. You can say it.”
Arching a brow at him, I smirk. “Oh, trust me, I have no problem saying dirt—”
Holding up a hand, Whit grumbles, “Don’t even finish that sentence. But to answer your question, it’s not awkward anymore. Conrad and I have to see each other quite frequently in our line of work, so any uneasiness faded pretty quickly. We’re capable of being professional, and even…” He thinks for a moment, like he’s not sure how to phrase it, before eventually landing on, “Friendly.”
“Friendly, huh?” I waggle my brows at him, and he just rolls his eyes.
“Not like that, you perv. That part of my life is over. We’ve both moved on.”
The conversation comes to a halt as we pull onto the gravel road that leads to the ranch. It’s long and windy, dust clouds kicking all around from the tires. This entire place is massive. And beautiful. As we get closer to the house, I notice someone out front moving bales of hay from the back of Conrad’s pickup to the front of the horse stable.
“Who’s that?” I ask Whit, eyes glued to the backside of what looks to be a hot and sweaty, shirtless guy. He’s wearing a pair of low-slung gray sweats, his discarded t-shirt hanging from where he stuffed it into the waistband, and a baseball cap.
