Despite how luxurious the living room is, the kitchen is my favorite part of the house so far. The long, wooden island matches the cabinets and plays host to a couple of black high-top chairs. The counter tops are a deep, cement gray and there’s a window overhanging the sink area that is just ethereal. It’s as long as the wall and it faces miles and miles of mountains and hills. The lush, green mountains beyond are breathtaking, especially with the way the sun sets behind them. It’s so easy to forget how beautiful Clover-Hills is when you live in the heart of the town.
“And most of my guys won’t be in until tomorrow.” Wyatt’s curt tone yanks me from my daydreaming. I clearly missed most of what he said, but I don’t ask him to repeat himself. He’s currently walking ahead of me, wearing a T-shirt and jeans despite how fucking cold it is this morning.
We parted ways with Ana and Brinley shortly after breakfast, with Ana promising to send a ton of pictures of Brinley. I’m a little anxious at being away from Brinley, not for any reason other than I already miss her. Which I know is silly, considering I spend the entirety of my days with her.
We walk past a few empty stalls, until we stop at one with a wooden stool next to it. Wyatt makes a clicking noise with his tongue, and shortly after, a big head appears above the stall door. The horse’s ears are pinned back at the sight of us.
“This is Maggie. She’s a pain in the ass.”
At that, Maggie makes a show of kicking the stall. I pull out the stool resting beside the door, and stand on top of it to peer over. I let out a low whistle at the sight. Maggie isgorgeous.The type of horse younger me would’ve fought tooth and nail for. She’s golden, but softer. More of a creamy gold, not bright gold. She’s lean and muscular, with long legs and a chiseled head. Her tail and mane are as vivid as the white stripe that runs from her forehead to her nose. A thin scar arcs just above her left eye. One look tells me she’s a racehorse, meant for speed and agility.
That alone explains the temperament.
A hollow feeling explodes in my chest. I used tolovethis life. I lived and breathed this life. Barrel racing, roping, training, vaulting. I’ve seen and done it all. And yet, I can’t even remember the last time I rode.
I notice there’s a good distance between her and the other horses. Is she truly that difficult of a horse? She must bully her neighbors if she’s this isolated. My hand yearns to reach out, to graze her gorgeous mane, but I refrain from doing so. “Why?”I ask, breathless. Maggie’s ears twitch back and forth, and her eyes never leave me.
“Why, what?” Wyatt’s tone is much softer than it’s been all morning, so I crane my head to look at him, using the stall doors to balance myself–only to find he’s already looking at me.
I nod my head towards the horse, keeping my gaze locked with his. “Whyis she a pain in the ass? What’s her backstory?”
Wyatt lets out a low grunt, but something like amusement shines in his blue eyes. “Gold star for knowing to ask, Winnie.”
I wait, giving him an expecting look. I really, really don’t care to play the teasing game with him right now. He must see that, because he continues. “I don’t know the whole story, but I know she came from a shitty racing farm. I’m guessing they pushed her too early—trained her hard before she was ready. At some point along the way, she struck a handler. He took it out on her so badly that she ended up with that scar. Someone did a shit job at stitching her up and then threw her into an auction ring. That’s how I found her. She’s been through a lot, but she’s a handful. Unpredictable. Explosive, even. She really doesn’t like anyone or anything.”
I run a tongue over my teeth, letting all of the information sink in. The speed at which the anger and grief course through me is so blinding that I need to take a long inhale of breath. I turn away from Wyatt and close my eyes. When I open them, I mutter, “Can’t say I blame her.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve done any training, but I already know what Maggie needs. I need her to trust me. To learn and trust that not all humans are like the ones who did this to her.
“Yeah,” Wyatt agrees. “Truth is, I’m not sure if she’ll even let you near her. But your job is to fix that. I’ll be back before dinner to check on you.”
My brows furrow and my head swings back in his direction. “You’re not staying?”
“Nah.” Wyatt smirks. “That horse fuckinghatesme.”
Chapter Eight
WYATT
“What’s all this?”
My brother’s voice cuts through the blaring music, causing my head to whip in his direction. He leans against the doorway to the guest room, both hands filled to the brim with what looks like shopping bags. My eyes immediately jump to his side, where Benji’s sitting with a toy duck hanging from his mouth, butt and tail wagging faster than my eyes can handle. My gaze narrows back on Wesley when I see the tag is still attached, and the shit-head just smirks in return. He’s the sole reason this dog has more toys than I do underwear. He sets the shopping bags on the ground, waving a hand over them. “Blake went on a shopping spree. A couple of toys for Brinley and clothes for both the girls.”
I eye the bags and Benji’s new toy, before pivoting to turn down the radio. “That included a new toy for Benji?”
“Like I’ve told you before,” Wesley grins, leaning down to pat my dog on the head, “there’s a reason he likes us more.”
His smile reminds me so much of our dad that it knocks the breath from my lungs. I force myself to focus on the crib instructions,needingto look away for a second. I pick up some screws and place one between my teeth as I hammer anotherinto the wood paneling. “Where ismy soon to be sister-in-law?” I ask.
“Last I checked, yelling at the caterer.” Wesley’s grimace is quick to mirror my own. Blake Warner is the last person I’d want on my bad side. Their wedding is two weeks from now, and they’ve run into enough problems planning as is. I should probably pick up my suit from the tailor just outside of town before she comes knocking on my door.
Wesley pushes off the door to loom over me, glancing through the bags on the bed and the cardboard boxes scattered throughout the room. “Kinda looks like you’re building a nursery, brother.”
“I’m not.” I snap, reaching up to swat one of his hands away from a bag. I really didn’t get much. Just whatever they might need to be comfortable while they’re here. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. It was this or following Whitney around the ranch like a puppy after a bone.
I purposely gave her the most difficult horse I had in the hopes of buying myself some time away from the woman. I could’ve gotten some work done myself, but my focus would be elsewhere.
The jeans she came out in this morning nearly brought me to my knees. The image is burned so deeply into my retinas that every time I blink, it’s all I see.
