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I swing my leg over and hop off of Pepper at the same time that Jax dismounts from Teddy. Pepper blows dust from her nose. “I know girl, you get your break now. And dinner.” I pat her warm, sweat-dampened neck. “You did great.”
A flash suddenly goes off, then another and another. My heart skips. I know what this means: cameras. I’ve been discovered. I turn and another goes off. Pepper neighs and swings his head in protest at the bright pulses of lights coming from just outside the barn.
“What the?” Jaxon spins in the direction of the flashes.
I spot a paparazzo snapping pictures of me with Pepper. The man is wearing black jeans, a black shirt, and a baseball cap. He has a huge camera in his hands and an equipment-bag over one shoulder. How long has he been lurking around?
“Hey,” Jax shouts at him.
The man looks at Jax and whirls to leave. “That’s right. Get out of here! This is private property.”
“Wait,” I yell, but the man briskly walks off. “Stop!” I can’t let him get away with film that will expose my lies. I chase after him.
“Let him go,” Jax calls from just behind me.
“I have to stop him! If he leaks the pictures, it could ruin my career.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jaxon runs past me after the man, who takes one look at the tall, muscled cowboy and hightails it toward his car. Jaxon curses and sprints after him at a full run. I follow them both.
Just as the man reaches his car, Jaxon grabs him and flips him around roughly.
“You just had to run,” Jaxon says, the two of them breathing heavily.
The man holds up both his hands in surrender. “Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me.”
Jax sighs. “Stop snivelin’. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The paparazzo lifts his chin. “I’m just doing my job, man.”
When I get to them, I yank the camera from his hands.
“Hey,” the man shouts. He tries to grab it back, but Jax slams him back against the car.
“Don’t,” Jax warns.
The man puts his hands up again, frowning.
I turn on the camera, find the pictures of me, and work to delete them all.
“Oh, come on,” the man says.
The farther I go back, the more pictures I see—pictures of Jaxon and me training earlier in the barn. Jax glances down on them. “I look good in that one.”
I hit delete.
“Ouch,” he says and puts his hand to his heart.
Once I’m sure I’ve deleted them all, I give the man back his camera. I take the man’s bag next. He’s about to protest but then looks up again at Jax and sighs.
“Good boy,” Jax says.
I rummage through the bag until I find his business card. I hand him back his bag.
“You can go now, Mr. Fisher,” I say reading the card. “Don’t come back again, or I’ll be forced to get a restraining order and report you to the authorities for trespassing on private property. Have a nice day.”
He grunts. “Yeah, you too.” He flings open his car door, sulkily climbs inside, and slams it shut. Without waiting for us to step away, he revs the car, spitting dirt and gravel as speeds his way back to the freeway.
