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“Okay, okay, I thought you might be into Honeycrisp. You minx.” He pulls a handful of apple slices from his shirt pocket and holds them out in his flat palm.
Mab gobbles them up, giving his fingers a couple of licks for good measure, then allows Case to stroke her soft nose. She looks every inch the royal. He laughs again, and his dimple pops. Damn.
“Apologies, Your Majesty. I came unprepared earlier.”
Mab shifts her weight, and I realize I’ve been standing behind her inside the stall like this is the first time I’ve ever been around a horse in my life and I’m hoping to get kicked in thegut. I shake myself and ease out the door, sliding it shut behind me with a quiet thud. The Michaels ranch has been around for generations, but the newly renovated stables are straight out of a Pinterest fever dream. Dark hardwood, clean matte-black hardware, skylights brightening the center aisle. No expense spared. Room and board is at a premium, which translates into me working my ass off so none of the clientele question the exorbitant fees.
But it’s an incredible opportunity to work and train under Camilla Gutiérrez. Worth putting up with a world of grief, which is why I studiously ignore the ongoing lovefest between Mab and Case and instead reach for a pair of quarter horse siblings, Reba and Dolly, waiting in the next stalls for their scheduled trail ride in less than an hour. I make a mental note to grab Jose Swervo from the corral. I’m not leading this one, but Camilla had a dentist appointment in Amarillo this morning, so I told her I’d get everything arranged ahead of time. And leading trail rides is usually part of my job—a part I love, even—but I need to pick up my sister, Garrett, at her “kid geniuses who build robots” workshop soon.
(Because smart kids don’t just like to learn Monday through Friday; they want to go to school all the days to do all the learning all the time for all the money.)
I’ve picked up an extra ride tomorrow to make up the difference, which’ll suck because it’s Sunday and that’s my only day off, but oh, well. It’s an investment. Garrett can buy me a nice car when she’s working for NASA someday, or when she figures out a cure for climate change.
“You wrappin’ up already?”
I crane my neck over the sway in Dolly’s back where I’ve just tightened the cinch to sturdy her saddle.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been here since before sunrise. So ‘already’ is a bit of a stretch.”
He’s undeterred by my sass. “I was thinking maybe if you’re about to be off the clock, we could take a ride around. I’ll show you some of the ranch.”
Hidden behind Dolly, I mouthWhat the…?to myself, because this guy cannot be serious.
Unbelievably, he’s still going. “I’m sure you’ve seen some of it, but we own pretty much everything your eyes can see, looking in every direction.”
I bite back a snort and arch my eyebrows. “Is that right, Simba? Everything the light touches is your kingdom?”
Case blinks but recovers quickly, his full lips quirking despite the pink creeping up his ears. “Ha. Okay, hakuna matata, very funny.”
Not cute, not cute,not cute.
I wrap myself in sarcasm, tugging it up around my ears and over my heart. “As much as I’d love to see pride lands à la Michaels, I have plans. I’d take a rain check, but we both know that won’t happen.”
His expression falters. “Did I do something to offend you? Is it because I was late this morning? I’m sorry if—”
If only. Basically everything about this guy and his money and his career and his attractive-despite-being-hungover appearance offends me. But even I can concede that’s not his fault. Not all of it, anyway.
I slide a bridle over Dolly’s long nose, coaxing the cold metal bit between her teeth and securing the buckle. “Listen. I have real obligations after work and also, I’m just not interested. So thanks, but no thanks.” I busy myself with the reins, and eventually, I hear his steps walk away. Pressing my lips together soI don’t call after him and apologize for being so blunt, I grab Reba’s saddle and repeat the familiar steps to get her ready for her rider.
The truth is, I’m pretty sure before today, Case didn’t even know I existed. And while I don’t care about that, I’m also not a masochist. There’s no frigging way I’m gonna join him for some dreamy horseback tour of his land. That offer reeks of rich-boy playbook.
Not that I could, anyway. I have shit to do. Real-life shit like making sure there’s food in the fridge and the electric bill is paid on time. Things I doubt Case Michaels has considered even once in his life. I bet his fridge is perpetually stocked with his favorite snacks. And ice cream. The expensive kind. Like those little pints of Ben and Jerry’s.
“All set, Winnie?” I’m startled out of my daydreaming by Camilla. She’s in her customary trail riding gear: black felt cowboy hat, heavy pueblo jacket over jeans, and worn boots. She holds out a steaming cardboard cup.
I accept the drink and inhale the hot cocoa scent into my lungs. “Yum. Thank you. I needed this.”
“Rough day already? I was hoping a nice long ride on Mab might’ve done the trick.”
“Good point. Almost forgot. Mab was glorious this morning. Hold on.” I raise a calloused finger and close my eyes. “Let me just go back to that for a sec.” I nod, a smile spreading across my lips. “There it is. All better.”
Camilla narrows her artfully lined blue eyes but decides not to question further. Wouldn’t be anything new, anyway. Mab is a gift, but some things are just hard to shake loose, and abject poverty is one of those things.
I sip my cocoa gratefully, then duck into the tack room formy backpack and keys. On my way out, I raise my cup in a salute. “Thanks again, Camilla. I need to dash. Last time, Garrett was waiting out front, tapping her foot all dramatically.”
What I don’t say is last time I got a flat tire on my way to pick up my little sister. I was forced to change it out myself before limping along on the spare for an entire nerve-racking week until I could afford the patch. Why is it when you don’t have a lot of money, everything costsmoremoney?
I make a loop around my car like I have every time since then, checking for nails or miscellaneous ranch debris. Once I’m sure it’s clear, I toss my backpack in the passenger seat and am on my way with a roar of my muffler. I check my rearview mirror and think I catch Case’s gaze following me out. But it’s probably just the dust cloud.
