Page 56 of Bound to Burn


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“She’s already at the Beckette’s ranch,” he explains, and takes a look over Sasha’s shoulder to see me standing awkwardly behind her with my hands in my pockets.

I can hear the agitated noises from the horses that are already inside the trailer.

“Who’s this young man?” Grandpa John asks, and I smirk at the thought of being called a young man, when all I can feel is the huge age difference between Sasha and I.

“I’m Cash.” I stick my hand out for him to shake. “We didn’t get a chance to meet at the party,” I remind him.

“Don’t have time for pleasantries. If you’re here to help, better get to it.” He tips his head and starts to climb into the truck.

“I’ll be back with the trailer. Get the rest of the horses ready,” he tells Sasha in a hurry.

“Don’t worry, your granddaughter is safe with me,” I try to reassure him, knowing he’s probably worried about her as the fire looms closer.

A mysterious smile spreads across his face and he starts to laugh, shaking his head. “Son, I’m more worried about you.” He gives me a wink. Then he calls over my shoulder to Sasha, “You better stop giving this boy peppermints or he’ll end up with diabetes.” He slaps the side of his door to signify his retreat and puts the truck into gear, the horses inside shift, their noses sniffing curiously out of the openings as they pass by.

“What does that mean?” I ask Sasha as he drives away.

She laughs and walks away from me towards the barn as I trail after her. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s senile.” She waves me off and I can’t help but watch as her ass sways in front of me.

“He doesn’t look senile,” I grumble.

We get to the barn and I’m immediately assaulted by the smell of hay and horses, just as I remember it from the night of the party. I don’t know how anyone could get used to it.

“Here.” Sasha throws some leather straps at me. I catch them awkwardly and hold them up for inspection. It looks like a holster, but I have no idea how to put this on a horse. I hope she doesn’t expect me to actually touch one of them.

As if the horses can sense the urgency, they paw at the hay-strewn ground, and I can feel their hot breaths as I pass by.

“Just hang them on the hook by each stall so when we’re ready, I can throw it on if I need to.” She runs to the back of the barn, and I busy myself by hanging the halters and staring into the eyes of Ivan, who looks like he could smash through his stall door if he wanted to with hardly any effort. Large brown eyes follow me as I move. His head stretches over the stall door, and he pulls his upper lip back, sniffing my shirt and trying to move lower as if he’s looking for something.

“He thinks you have a peppermint.”

My gaze shifts to Sasha, who’s standing a few stalls away with a bag of feed in her arms. She changed out of her glittery converse and she’s wearing tall black boots that have no business being as sexy as they are on her, especially with that short fucking skirt she has on.

Never in my wildest dreams would I think I’d be in the presence of a real cowgirl and think it’s the sexiest fucking thing I have ever seen in my life.

The horse brushes his teeth a little too close to my nipple and it sends me tail-spinning out of my trance.

“Fuck!” I yelp and move away.

Sasha laughs. “He’s not a biter.” She digs into her pocket and produces a red and white peppermint encased in cellophane. The moment it comes out of her pocket, I notice the horse tracks her movements even though he jerks his head up and down.

I’m not convinced that he’s not a biter, but I watch how gently he takes the mint from the palm of Sasha’s hand. I am struck with the knowledge of what Grandpa John meant about the peppermints. I feel like Ivan, sniffing around her pockets just get a taste.

Motherfucker.

Before I can say anything to her, she interrupts me. “Can you grab the bottles of vitamins in the tack room? They’re on the shelf.”

The urgency in her voice causes me to abandon my thoughts and stride to the back room which contains a desk that has seen better days. The floor looks like one of the horse stalls, pieces of hay and dirt covering the wood beneath. Against the wall is a row of ancient shelves, bowed from moisture and weight. The containers of vitamins sit on the top, along with other items I have no idea as to what they are.

I find an empty cardboard box and start throwing the bottles inside. When I come back out, I see Sasha drape a blanket over each stall. I hold up one of the bottles and the contents crash against each other, making a noise that causes the horses to whinny. “What are these for?”

“Some of the horses need medical care because of what happened to them before they came to us,” she explains while straightening the blanket.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Ivan here,” she pats Ivan’s nose, “came to us malnourished and with a severe case of colic. We didn’t think he’d make it. He has to take these pills to help him digest his food so he doesn’t get impacted again.” She rubs his head lovingly.

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