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“Everyone else seems to have fallen under his spell, so why should she be any different?”
“No witchery is afoot,” Finley replied. “We just gave him a chance. Why can’t you do the same?”
Ivan stepped closer but not threateningly. A hand the size of a dinner plate landed softly on Finley’s shoulder. “I’m just concerned about the time you spend with him. He has an agenda, Fin. I don’t know what it is, but Kieran Sullivan isn’t here to find redemption.”
Finley knew just how wrong his friend was. Kieran had come to the ranch for redemption, but it was just a different kind. His secret wasn’t hurting anyone, and Finley would rather lose a limb than betray Kieran like everyone else had. “You’re wrong, Ivan. And if you can’t believe me, then at least trust Cash.”
The remark landed hard. There was no one Ivan liked or respected more than their boss. Finley saw his acquiescence in the big man’s gaze first before the rest of him relaxed. Ivan lowered his arm, and it seemed like they stared at each other for an eternity until Owen yelled that it was Ivan’s turn. The big man returned to the game without another word or a backward glance. He hated that his budding friendship with Kieran was a source of discord, but he wouldn’t turn his back on his new friend to please his old one. Ivan was in the wrong, and Finley refused to back down. He retrieved the supplies and hurried to Kieran’s cabin. He’d set one of the throw blankets on his bed and the cat had already curled up and was fast asleep. Finley set the litter box in a free corner and unpacked the contents.
Kieran pulled down two bowls from the cabinet. He filled one with water, then set them on the floor. “These will do until I can pick up dishes for her.”
Finley pulled the tab on the cat food can, and Little Mama sprang right up. “Not too tired after all,” he teased when she jumped down and pranced while he emptied half the can into the bowl. “Probably need to give her smaller meals more frequently until the vet can give us some guidance.”
On Monday, Rebecca gave her a cursory exam in the barn and cautioned that Little Mama was teetering on the edge of malnourishment. She gave them advice on what to feed her and how often. The vet said the cat might have another month to go before her kittens arrived, but she might deliver them sooner. Finley scheduled a follow-up appointment at the vet’s office when he picked up Little Mama’s special food.
Finley and Kieran started spending more evenings in his cabin with Little Mama than training in the barn with Loretta and Dolly. It didn’t take the kitty long to flourish under their care, and it took even less time for Finley to realize he was in deep trouble. They passed their evenings playing games, watching movies, and talking. On the surface, their conversations were frivolous and shallow, but Finley could learn a lot about a man based on his choice of music, movies, and preferred peanut butter brand. Their chats varied from a debate over which red licorice was superior, Red Vines versus Twizzlers, to a game Finley called Meal or Side Dish. One of them would call out a random food, and they’d debate if you could make a meal of it or if it was strictly a side dish. They’d seen eye to eye on most things but disagreed on cereal being a side dish.
“Hello, rice crispy treats,” Finley said, which led to a discussion on whether dessert was a meal or a course. It was how everything flowed between them—easy and organic.
By the time the next Saturday rolled around, Finley felt like he knew Kieran better than he knew anyone else besides a blood relative, which made no sense. Most everything about Kieran’s life before he’d arrived was still a mystery, but it didn’t seem to matter. If that didn’t raise huge red flags, nothing would, yet his internal warning system stayed quiet. The only waving flags were dream-induced erections inspired by Kieran, but Finley took care of those alone in the dark or in the shower.
On the night of the horse show, their chores and errands had taken longer than Finley had planned, leaving no time to rub one out before they left. He settled for ice-cold water to cool his ardor and hoped the chill lasted through the show and stakeout. He wrapped a towel around his waist, picked up his dirty clothes off the bathroom floor, and opened the door. Finley collided with a wall of muscle when he barreled into the hallway and staggered backward.
Ham-sized fists gently gripped his biceps to steady him. “Whoa there,” Ivan said as he dropped Finley’s arms. “Is there a fire?”
Aware of the towel wrapped precariously around his hips, Finley laughed nervously. “No. Just running late for the show.”
“Oh.” Ivan’s voice was flat and disapproving. “I forgot about your date with Kieran.”
Finley inhaled slowly and fought for patience. Tensions had amped up between him and Ivan ever since their last conversation about Kieran. After counting to eight, Finley slowly inhaled. “It’s not a date, Ivan. I invited you to go to the horse show along with everyone else. There’s still time to change your mind.”
Ivan snorted and shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You invited us because you knew damn well we wouldn’t go.” He leaned closer and whiffed. “You only wear that body wash when you go on dates.”
Finley snorted. “No, I just don’t wear it when I’m working. You’ve teased me enough about wearing it during trips into town for lunch at the diner with you. Did you assume we were on dates?” He’d meant to make a flippant rebuttal, but the blush on Ivan’s cheeks indicated Finley might’ve hit a little closer to home than either of them would like. “Of course you didn’t,” he continued, trying his best to dance his way out of an awkward situation. “Kieran is my friend—nothing more, nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m running late.”
Ivan shrugged, stepped to the side, and made a sweeping gesture with his arms. “By all means.”
Finley made it to his room and shut the door before his towel fell off his hips and landed on the floor. Whew! Any sooner and things would’ve gotten really awkward, especially after suspecting Ivan’s feelings could be more than platonic. He shook his head, unwilling to think about that or the ramifications. Finley and Kieran had an important mission to carry out, so he ran the plan through his head while getting ready. He’d debated his outfit choices before his shower and had landed on the olive-green shirt with mother-of-pearl snaps and his favorite faded jeans. He swapped out his boxer shorts for the pale blue jockstrap and refused to dwell on the reason for his last-minute decision. Finley dressed quickly, then grabbed his brown leather jacket, phone, wallet, and the keys to his personal truck before exiting his room. Finley stuffed his phone and wallet into his pockets and whistled his way toward the front door. He frequently sang, hummed, or whistled, so there shouldn’t have been any raised brows or catcalls from the guys who came over for the weekly poker game, but there were.
Finley stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder. Everyone gathered around the table smiled at him except for Ivan, who wore an I-told-you-so smirk. “Not a date,” Finley called out before turning the knob and wrenching the door open. For the second time in thirty minutes, he ran headlong into a man. Finley snapped his head up and met the dark gaze that heated his blood during the day and scorched his dreams at night. Kieran wore a burgundy button-up with a pair of dark jeans and boots. His shoulders looked broad and sexy beneath a sherpa-lined denim jacket he’d picked up during a return trip to the thrift store. “Hi,” Finley said breathlessly.
Kieran’s lips curved up but didn’t quite form a smile when he raked his gaze over Finley. Obsidian eyes met his once more, approval sparkling in their depths. “In a hurry?” Kieran asked.
“As a matter of fact…” Finley smiled at him, hoping to entice a matching reaction…but not yet. It was just a matter of time, though. He was certain of it. “Are you ready?” The question was loaded, and Finley could tell by Kieran’s determined expression that he understood.
“I’ve been ready.”
Finley led Kieran to the truck he’d inherited from his grandfather. It was a late nineties model with a bench seat and an outdated stereo system, but he’d kept it in pristine condition. Finley had driven it from Tennessee when his family had made the move, and he kept the truck inside one of the equipment barns on the ranch. He and Kieran had discussed their plan backward and forward the past few days, and driving something that wouldn’t lead back to the ranch was ideal. His silver work truck with a large logo would draw too much attention, but the black paint on his personal truck would be perfect to help them blend in during their clandestine adventure.
“Are you hungry? The Morrisons gave me Tiny Dancer’s performance time, so we could swing through a drive-thru. Or would you prefer to grab something from concessions at the show?”
“What will they have at the arena?”
“Anything and everything,” Finley replied. “Rows of food booths, stands, and trucks.”
Kieran released a little groan, and Finley knew he’d hear the sound in his dreams. “I want that.” Those words would make an appearance too, and he was looking forward to bedtime.
They feasted on smoked beef brisket, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, cornbread, and apple hand pies before making their way into the stands.
