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“Sorry for your wait, Marcus,” an older gentleman behind the counter says, completely unfazed by his celebrity status. He sets it on the counter with a wink. “Freshly brewed House Black.”
I gawk as he shoves my defiled drink in my hand.
A Cheshire grin parts his mouth. Then he leans in close enough that I get a whiff of dirt and hay entwined with warm winter spices.
“Guess you were right,” he rumbles before circling back to grab his cup.
Swaggering back by for the exit, he gives me an arrogant wink.
“What—Where do you…Oh!” I squeeze the cup hard enough that the lid plops onto the ground and hot liquid spills over my fingers.
He doesn’t spare me a second glance as his impeccable, Levi-clad ass makes its way out the door.
I spin for the napkin bar with a frustrated growl.
Oh, it issoon.
If I wasn’t fully committed to seeing this article through, that little display just fortified my mission.
Breaking news: Marcus Matthews is going down.
CHAPTERFOUR
Marcus
You’re not going to be difficult now, are you, sweetheart?” I smooth my palm over a warm curve before smacking it across her backside.
Her skin ripples as she swings her head to the side, snorting through her nostrils.
Sure, pal.
Sparrow, my uncle’s newest mare, whinnies with a shake of her black mane. She stomps her left foot, ears flipping back and forth as I gently secure the saddle belt under her speckled belly.
“Who am I kidding? You’re the epitome of difficult.”
She reaches back to nip me, and I jump out of the way in time to avoid a bite.
“Easy,” I scold.
Uncle Patrick’s voice travels from my phone’s speaker, which sits on the ledge of her stall. “What have I always told you?”
“Never let a horse scent your fear,” I recall his decades-old sentiment.
“That’s right. You’ll doom your bond with her.”
If only this one didn’t have that wily look in her eye.
“She knows who the boss is around here, and it’s not me.”
He chuckles at that.
The blue roan’s willful nature reminds me of the American woman I met in Ernesto’s shop yesterday. Even their vicious glares are similar.
I’m curious to know what brought her this far south of the city. The fairness of her skin and her honey-blonde hair, with its deep shade of gold, clued me in that she’s not a local. And though the occasional foreigner visiting or even staying in Augustine for some time isn’t rare, it’s not exactly common, either.
I can’t resist a smirk, remembering how she stood up to me.
Was drinking her coffee a dick move? Probably.
