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Calla turned around and barely stopped her hands from clenching into fists. Bitch said what?
Bethany stopped right in front of Calla. It was eight in the morning but Bethany was in full make-up and hair, skintight jeans and a halter top that exposed her midriff. She cocked her head at Calla. “Then again, your mom was the town whore, so I guess it’s not that surprising. But not even she had two at once. Tell me, did they fuck you at the same time or did you make them take turns?”
It wasn’t premeditated—Calla genuinely had no idea what she was doing until her fist connected with Bethany’s face. Her nose, more specifically.
Bethany howled and stumbled back, grabbing her nose. Calla could already see it was bloody. Wow, it was a sight that really shouldn’t feel so goddamned satisfying.
“Usually I’d say violence is never the answer,” Calla said, for once in her life giving the devil on her shoulder full reign, “but in this case, I gotta say—red looks good on you.”
In the distance, Calla saw Liam waving his hands at her. His mustang must be up next for trailering.
And with that, Calla climbed back in the cab of the truck, ignoring the slew of expletives pouring from Bethany’s mouth. And for once, she had the rare joy of doing and saying what she felt, exactly when she meant to. Seize the fucking day. She’d never felt more liberated in her life.
“You’ll pay for this, you whore! You broke my nose! I’m going to file assault charges. You’re going to be sorry you ever—”
Calla turned the engine over then held a hand over her ear when it roared to life. “What’s that? I can’t make out what you’re saying.”
Bethany screamed and gesticulated wildly. Calla genuinely couldn’t hear her over the engine though she thought she made out a couple words. “… sue… arrested!”
Calla glanced around the lot. She didn’t see any cameras. “Good luck with that,” she called out her window, then revved the engine and left Bethany in her dust.
16
MACK
Mack clutched his head. “Jesus, can you turn down the music?”
Xavier just swung his head to look at Mack, then his eyes were back on the road. He didn’t say a thing, just reached a hand over and turned up the volume on the blaring country station.
“What the fu—”
“Watch your tone in my truck,” Xavier said low, eyes cutting briefly back to Mack. “I had half a mind to leave your ass back in Denver. The one thing I asked was that none of you embarrass me or the horse rescue. You think I named the rescue after my wife so my employees could start a fucking bar brawl at last call? Or that I came all the way down here just so I could get up at two in the goddamned morning to smooth things over so you didn’t end up with another strike on your record? You trying to make me sorry for taking a chance on your ass?”
Throughout Xavier’s tirade, Mack’s head sunk lower and lower. This must be what it felt like to get chewed out by a father. The way the pain in his head spiked with every angry syllable, he was actually glad he’d never had a dad. He hated feeling like an errant fucking schoolboy. Then again, he’d fucked up last night. He knew he deserved this and far worse. Plenty of folks woulda cut his ass loose after the shit he’d pulled last night.
“No,” Mack said quickly. “No sir. You know I appreciate everything you and Mel have done for me—”
“Do you?” Xavier cut in, hard eyes glaring at him again. “‘Cause you sure got a funny way of showing it.”
Mack swallowed and looked out the passenger seat window. “It won’t happen again.”
“It better fuckin’ not,” Xavier muttered. Then his hand moved to the dial for the music again. He turned the volume up even louder.
Mack groaned and slumped further down in his seat.
That day and the next were not fun ones for Mack. Xavier had let up on the radio, turning it off an hour outside of Denver when the signal started failing. Too bad the raging headache Mack was sporting had grown to epic proportions during the hour-long high-volume blast.
And he’d swear, every time his hand went to his aching forehead, Xavier smirked.
Suffice it to say, it was a long six and a half hours.
Then when they’d gotten back to the ranch, he was supposed to start training his mustang. Right away. From the second the horse stepped out of their trailer into one of the round pens.
After a year and a half on the ranch, Mack wasn’t clueless about what needed to be done. He’d watched Xavier break two mustangs the previous year.
But after almost seven hours in the cramped cab of the truck, paired with the worst hangover he’d swear he’d ever had in his life, all that training flew out the window.
