I dismounted, scratching him behind his ears, taking in the view of the lake. Small bits of ice still floated on the surface, and the snowflakes disappeared the moment they touched the water. Hook exhaled, his breath appearing at my side. He nudged my cheek, giving me all of two seconds of his time before he bentto pull at the grass that poked through the snow. I chuckled and patted his neck, stretching my own body and knowing the next day I was going to be sore, worse than I already was.
Thankfully, I didn’t have training tomorrow.
Tomorrow was prep day.
I was leaving for my first leg—four rodeos over the weekend—first thing Thursday morning. I had to prep Hook and Charming, pack, confirm the hotel rooms, and make stable arrangements…tomorrow was going to be just as busy as today, minus the training.
I heaved a sigh, making a checklist in my mind of all the things I had to do before leaving. Hook raised his head, giving me another nudge.
“Ready to head back?”
I grabbed his reins and slid my boot in the stirrup, swinging myself up and into the saddle. I shifted my weight while Hook stood perfectly still—just like I trained him.
“Compton?”
I heard my last name as I nudged Hook back to the trail, and none other than Wyatt came into my view. Hook bobbed his head and let out a whine. Rusty, Wyatt’s chestnut gelding, came to a full stop and let out a huff, his breath just as thick in the air as Hook’s was. It was getting colder…if I was aware of it, so were the horses.
I heaved a sigh.
“What are you doing out here this far? It’s getting dark.”
“I could ask you the same.” I raised a brow at him.
“I was working with Lach. He’s not far behind.” He gestured his head back. “It’s supposed to start snowing harder. You heading back?”
He was so…mechanical as he spoke to me. No smile in his voice, no sparkle in his eye. And I…didn’t like it.
“Obviously,” I cleared my throat, “seeing as I’m on my horse.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Alright, then, I’ll ride back with you.”
With that, he kicked Rusty into a trot, clicking his tongue. Hook whinnied, his muscles below me moving as we watched Wyatt get a little further ahead. I kicked Hook into a canter, catching up to him in no time. We slowed our pace, ending up walking the way back to the stables, letting the snow fall on us, and damn, he was right. The snow began to fall thicker, covering the rim of Wyatt’s baseball cap and Hook’s mane. It was a heavy, wet snow, soaking both of us. Wyatt was getting just as drenched, which meant Rusty and Hook would both need extra care before we headed our separate ways.
Once we got into the stable, we worked in silence. Rusty’s stall wasn’t far from Hook’s, but far enough that we could work at our own pace. I focused on my gelding, removing each layer of snow-flaked fabric on top of him before reaching down to clean his shoes, finally ending with a good, deep brushing. Once his blanket was on and he was settled, I gave him a treat and made my way out of the stall.
“Are you headed home?” Wyatt asked, his voice coming out of complete silence. Deep and low, but solid. There was no light tease or flirt with his voice that I was used to. It was simply…him.
I would never tell him this, but I did love his voice. I could understand why he decided being a rodeo announcer was the route for him. He had a certain tone to him, one that could carry even if he didn’t have a microphone. I should know—I’ve heard it. It was deep, and raw, raspy at times—probably after he talked for hours on end—but that didn’t stop him. The man was born to talk. If he wasn’t doing rodeos, I could envision him as an audiobook narrator—he hadthatvoice.
So, the fact that he was keeping his conversation with me short and sweet, most likely just sticking to the bet he lost, rubbed me the wrong way. The man needed to talk.
I gave him a nod. “Yep. I have a lot to do tomorrow, so I need to get going to start that adventure.”
He huffed a laugh, shoving his hands in his coat pocket and pulling out a peppermint. He took a step towards Hook and held out his palm. Hook snatched it up, nuzzling his nose against Wyatt’s palm.
“Abi will kill me if she sees you get in that truck and drive off, knowing how bad the roads are.”
“I can drive in winter weather.” I protested. “I’m from Montana.”
“True, but I also know you haven’t eaten.” He lowered his hand, shoving it back into his coat pocket. “The plows will be out before you know it. Come eat dinner, and then the roads will be safer.”
I folded my arms, suddenly feeling the grumble in the pit of my stomach. I heaved a sigh, giving in. “I could eat.”
He gave me a curt nod. “Perfect, I didn’t really want to die today at the hands of my sister.”
“Abi, commit murder?” I gave Hook one final pat, then made my way past Wyatt and out of the barn. “She’s too sweet for that.”
“You don’t know my sister, then.”
