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Ten minutes. That's how long I was in the saddle.
“Havin’ trouble?” Dad asks from across the training area.
I scowl at his cheeky grin but keep my tone lighthearted.
“No, sir, this big boy’s just bein’ a little bitch and spooked at the sound of that helicopter flyin’ over. I’ve had barn cats less jumpy during a thunderstorm.”
“Yikes. That’s not good.”
“I know, but we just got started. New environment and all that. Have a feelin’ this one’s gonna give me a run for my money, though.”
Dad stands next to me with his coffee mug in hand.
“After I fed him this morning, he nearly kicked me in the back of my head. Oh, and don’t even dare pick up a rake around him. Huge mistake.”
Dad holds out his free hand and slowly walks toward Widowmaker. Widowmaker sniffs his hand, then playfully nibbles on his fingers. “You’re just a big ole baby, aren’t ya?”
At times like this, I swear he’s a horse whisperer or something.
“Not the B word I’d use but to each their own.”
Dad glances over his shoulder with a knowing grin painted on his face. When he looks at me like this, I brace myself for him to give me all the answers. “Today’s only his first day, and it might take him a tad longer to warm up to the place, but he’ll get there.”
“Did he tell you that?” I muse.
“Maybe he did.”
“Yeah, well, you know his owner, Susan Henderson. She told me he better be ready before July. I told her I couldn’t guarantee such a quick turnaround, and she said if he’s not showroom ready by the beginning of June, she’d stop using us to train.”
Dad huffs because he knows she’s more of a pain in the ass than her horses. “She’s been threatening that for twelve years, and after all this time, she’s still yappin’ like that little Chihuahua she brings everywhere. We don’t rush perfection, Kaitlyn. Per the contract she happily signed, it will take as long as it takes. We guarantee a trained horse based on our metrics, not anyone else’s. If she doesn’t like it, I’ll blacklist her for runnin’ her mouth again. I hope you’re charging her double.”
I snicker, wishing I was brave enough to tell Susan those exact words.
“The only reason she’s even allowed—”
“Because Mom likes her and thinks she’s nice. Even though she’s a ragin’ bitch.”
“Language.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m thirty years old, Dad.”
“And as long as you still live under my roof, I’ll ground your ass. At any age.” He laughs.
“Great. At this rate, you’ll be punishing me for saying fuck when I’m fifty.” I groan. Living at home saves money, especially since the majority of my time is spent working or hanging out with Payton.
“Well, when you move out, you can cuss all you want in your house. Then your mama and I can finally get some alone time back before we had all you kids,” he teases, waggling his brows.
I pretend to gag. “I don’t care how old I am, spare me. It’s too early to hear you talkin’ about doing the nasty with Mom.”
“How do y’all think you were conceived?”
“Grandma told me there was a stork, and that’s what I’m choosing to believe.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Oh, if you only knew. We were hot and heavy back in our early days.”
“Gross. Considering y’all are as handsy as you are now, I don’t want to imagine how y'all were back then.”
He finally turns back to the horse. “When you build the connection with Murderpaws, he won’t spook. You know when he starts losing rhythm…”
