Page 2 of Ace of Spades (Hidden Creek Ranch #1)
HAILEY
My boots crunch in the January snow as I step out of my travel trailer, walking through the rodeo grounds with Gypsy hot on my heels as she leaves little pawprints on the ground beside me.
Luckily enough, the Fort Worth arena offered on-site stalling for the horses, so I was able to let them stretch their legs out overnight before the long drive back tomorrow.
The three grain buckets in my arms knock against each other, the sound coupled with that of horses snorting softly and the gentle shifting of hooves on dirt as I make my way through the rows of stalls, using my free hand to tug my beanie down over my ears, my matching pink pajama bottoms tucked into my muck boots .
Dim lights flickered through the space, the smell of hay and horse hair a familiar scent. My cold breath blew out in front of me like a cloud, my nose and cheeks turning a bright pink.
“There’s my girl—good job today, Vegas,” I whisper, reaching my palomino mare as she sticks her head out of the stall door to greet me. Gypsy jumps up, pressing her front paws to the stall gate to help her reach up and offer a few kisses as I hang the feed bucket.
“Casino, you freaking killed it tonight,” I tell the second mare, moving over to my barrel horse’s stall.
“But let’s work on ground manners. No more attempting to run little kids over in the future, you nearly gave them a heart attack.
This is the big leagues now, you can’t be embarrassing me like that. ”
My sorrel mare impatiently bobs her head, digging into her grain as soon as she can reach it.
The third is Blackjack—my newest bay gelding that I use as an alternate in case anything happens to the other two—though I hope that doesn't happen any time soon.
A stall gate clanks a few rows down, Gypsy’s fluffy ears perking up as she seems to hear something before suddenly taking off, flying down the corridor.
“Gypsy!” I yell. “Gypsy, get back here!”
I break into a sprint after her, following her around the corner right as I slam into a wall. Except to my horror, it isn’t a wall, but a hard chest that feels like a bag of bricks.
“Shit,” I mutter as a large hand grabs me by the shoulders, my fingers wrapping around lean biceps as I try to steady myself.
“Might want to watch where you’re going, Sorrels,” a gruff voice says .
My eyes lift of their own volition to find a set of deep green ones assessing me, the same mesmerizing ones from earlier at the bar.
“Weston…” I breathe before catching myself, clearing my throat and pushing away from him. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think you competed in any events that require you to keep horses.”
“Funny story, that actually doesn’t prevent me from bringing horses if I want to. Wild concept, right?”
He appears freshly showered, his dark locks now wet and the cowboy hat replaced by a backwards ball cap, with sweatpants instead of the jeans he was wearing earlier. This close, I catch the faint scent of him—leather and mint, and something like tobacco.
“Besides,” he continues, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter from the pocket of his jacket and lighting one. “I’m also feeding Chance’s horses. He’s a little bit busy with your friend right now, figured I’d let them have the truck for a bit.”
“Right,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself. “Gypsy, let’s go.”
My dog disregards me completely as she continues to run around with who I assumed to be Weston’s dog—a massive brindle dog—instead.
“Gypsy, now ,” I try again, mortification washing over me.
“What’s wrong? Scared she might get fleas?” Weston smirks.
I roll my eyes, scoffing under my breath.
“Tell me,” he asks. “Do you always walk around with your nose in the air? No wonder you trip so easily.”
“No, actually. Only when I’m around you. ”
“Well, lucky me,” he says, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“Listen, I don’t know what your deal is, but can you just drop it already?” I snap, my control fraying.
“Gladly.”
I arch a brow.
“Once your family leaves Cedar Creek,” he finishes, and I throw my arms in the air in defeat.
“Has anybody ever told you that you’re kind of an ass?”
“Oh, all the time,” he grins, a dimple making an appearance on his chiseled face.
I let out a dry, humorless laugh.
“Gypsy, come,” I hiss, taking a step backward.
As if my dog hadn’t already been enough of the troublemaker tonight, she chooses this exact moment to stand directly behind me, sending me flying backwards as I trip over her, landing on my ass. The cold, wet ground soaks my pajama bottoms, mortification washing over me as I feel my cheeks heat.
My blood boils as Weston’s snicker echoes around us.
“Later, Sorrels,” he tells me, a malicious grin spread across his lips as he flicks the butt of his cigarette into a puddle of melted snow before walking past me, his dog running to his side with a simple whistle that cuts through the cool air.
He doesn’t so much as look back or offer me a hand as he leaves me sitting there, wallowing in my embarrassment. I look over at Gypsy who now sits by my side, her fluffy tail wagging as she watches them leave into the night .
I should have knocked on wood earlier when I said that this night couldn’t get any worse. Weston Langford was officially on my shit list.