My horses are my life, and I make sure my trainers, riders, and other employees treat my animals with respect. We do a lot of training on machines to reduce the stress on the horses. But nothing can truly replace the unpredictability of a strong horse working to throw her rider.
And with competition season so close, the guys need time on horseback. Weston is the only one that doesn’t smell like alcohol, and while he’s the youngest rider I’m training, he seems to have his head on straighter than the rest of these assholes. And the kid is good! He killed it last season.
We’ve been working all day, doing different exercises to get the guys ready, but these guys are supposed to be experienced riders, and by the state of them, you would never know that.
“Get those spurs up,” I tell Weston when we get Docile back in the stall.
He nods, knowing his foot position will kill his score. He can stay up the full eight seconds, but he must ensure his boot heels stayin contact with the mare above the point of the shoulders before her front legs hit the ground on the first jump out.
“Good job today,” I tell him as he walks over. “The rest of you need to get your shit together or don’t show up tomorrow.”
They walk away, their hungover asses dragging as they move past my staff. They have to help them get the mares back in the barn.
“Let Max and the others clean up for the night,” Lance tells me as he wraps up his last class of the day. “You look like you’re ready for the night to be over.”
I nod because he’s right. Fuck, he has no idea how much.
We walk to my house, and the warm scent of thyme and garlic welcomes me as I walk inside the house and music is blaring over a speaker coming from the kitchen.
“Did you get a cook?” Lance asks me, his dark brown brows furrowed.
I smile as I hear a rather beautiful voice singing “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus.
I quickly remove my shoes and make my way to the kitchen and stop short when I see Mikayla singing and shaking her ass at the stove, swaying her hips and lifting her arm, throwing her head back as she uses the spatula as a microphone.
“AH!” she screams when she turns around and sees us standing at the entry. “Jesus,Caine!” she yells at me, her hand over her heart.
I lift a brow when the song “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift comes on. I don’t know what comes over me, but I walk over to Mikayla and wrap my arms around her waist and start dancing with her.
She turns around and smiles up at me, wrapping her arms around my neck before I grab her hands and put one behind my back and spin her out and back to me.
“What is happening?” Lance asks.
Mikayla stops dancing and turns toward Lance, her cheeks red, either from exertion or embarrassment, maybe both. I don’t think she saw him standing there earlier. It makes me smile because, obviously she only has eyes for me.
“Lance, this is Mikayla,” I say. “Mikayla, this is my brother, Lance.”
Mikayla walks to him and extends her hand for him to shake. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”
Lance tilts his head slightly but takes her hand. “Hi,” he says tentatively, his eyes slightly narrowed while he takes her in. “Um…”
“I met Caine and Patrick a little while back,” Mikayla says, obviously seeing my brother’s confusion. “My car broke down last week, and Caine helped me since my only friend in Texas is in Austin.”
“I see,” Lance says, but from the look on his face he doesn’t see at all.
Granted, this isn’t something I have ever done before. I have never actually brought a woman back to this house, let alone allow her to stay here for a week.
“So not a cook.”
“Not for hire, no,” she says, shaking her head. “Speaking of which.” She walks back to the stove.
“Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my brother?” Lance asks me in a hushed, angry whisper. “You invited a stranger into your house?” he asks as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the kitchen. “You can get pussy anywhere.”
My eyes narrow in anger at his last words. Then I push him farther out of earshot. “I’m not fucking her.”
“But you want to,” he whisper-shouts.
“And what’s wrong with that?”
