Page 9 of Ace of Spades (Hidden Creek Ranch #1)

WESTON

I had seen Hailey drink before. I had not, however, seen Hailey drunk. That is, until tonight.

I watch as she takes another swig of the quickly depleting bottle of tequila, swaying on her feet, her best friend nowhere to be found.

Where the fuck was Ava? Wasn’t it some sort of friend code that she should be out here taking care of her?

I lean up against the arena railing, Chance and Rafe talking around me, though I can’t find it in myself to focus on what they’re talking about—not when Hailey is across the arena looking like she’s one drink away from doing something stupid.

Why do I care? I shouldn’t care. But for some reason, a small part of me does .

“Take it off!” I hear one of the guys around her cheer, her hands reaching for the hem of her shirt as she laughs, and something in me snaps.

Nope, not happening.

One second, I was across the arena, and in the next, I had her thrown over my shoulder. She lets out a surprised yelp, and the couple of guys in the group she had been hanging out with actually dare to look disappointed that I had stopped them from getting a show.

“Get out of here,” I tell them, stalking off towards the arena gate.

“Oh my gosh, Weston!” Hailey laughs from where she hangs down my back. I catch a whiff of her scent, picking up on something like vanilla and sunlight, something warm and soft in a way that doesn’t match the pure fire in her amber eyes. It’s intoxicating in a way that I can’t describe.

“Yes, Sorrels?”

“Okay, so like don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but has anyone ever told you that you have a nice butt?”

I fight to hold in a chuckle, readjusting her as she bounces on my shoulder.

“You saying you like my butt, Sorrels?”

“I do, it’s a nice butt. Shame that it’s attached to such an annoying person.”

“So I’m annoying now, huh? How so?” I ask as I follow the gravel drive leading from the arena to the smaller guest house—which I assume is where she stays—and leave the party behind.

She huffs, as if exasperated by my question .

“Never mind, where are we going?”

“You are going to bed,” I tell her, walking through the front doors of the beautiful modern white ranch-style home. “Are you going to tell me where your room is?”

“Noooo, it’s my birthday party! I want to keep partying,” she pouts, and I can practically smell the tequila on her breath from here.

“Yes, and you’ve had plenty of fun—but now it’s time you go to bed,” I tell her, easily finding what I presume is her bedroom on the first floor, with her trophy case full of the buckles she’s won at rodeos over the years and framed photos of her and her horses.

“What are you, my dad?”

Gypsy runs up to greet us from where she was laying at the door of the bed, desperately trying to jump up to kiss her owner who was still upside down over my shoulder.

“Not,” I grumble, tossing her down onto her bed, a squeal coming from her lips as she bounces.

She seems to realize what she said, her eyes softening for a moment as they meet mine.

“I know you hate my dad,” she says, halfway slurring. “Wanna know a secret?”

The arena lights shine through her curtains, just enough to give her eyes a soft amber glow in the dim lighting.

“Sure,” I tell her, pulling my phone out and shooting a text to Rafe and Chance in our group message to keep an eye on things until I get back.

“Sometimes, I don’t like him either,” she admits, her voice barely a whisper .

I look up from my phone, caught off guard by the pain lacing her tone. It sounded so raw and genuine, like this was something she had never admitted out loud.

Had something happened today?

“Hey Weston?” she cuts my train of thought, sounding half asleep.

“Yes, Sorrels?” I ask.

There’s a pause before she answers next.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she says, stumbling off of the bed and onto the floor.

“Shit,” I mutter, throwing my arm around her waist and rushing her to the en-suite bathroom, throwing the toilet seat open just in time for her to spill her guts into it, her small hands grabbing onto the bowl for dear life.

I run my hands through her dark hair, pulling it out of her face and into a makeshift ponytail, making sure to get any stray hairs before transferring all of it to one hand and using the other to rub circles along her back.

“That’s it, get it all out,” I tell her, flushing a few times in between. Once I was confident she was done, I let her sit back against the bathtub, leaving her there for a minute to find my way to the kitchen and grab a few things.

“Throwing up sucks,” she whines.

“Well, I could’ve told you that,” I chuckle. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Once I have her sitting up against her headboard and tuck the comforter over her, I use the hair tie on her wrist to tie her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head before passing her the makeup wipes .

“Do you want to take off your makeup or do you want me to do it for you?” I ask.

She looks at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time, a questioning look in her eyes. That, or she’s seeing double.

“Why are you so good at this?” she asks, the words slightly slurred.

“I have a little sister,” I chuckle. “She’s the same age as you,” I explain, sitting on the edge of the bed. Hailey’s eyes close as she allows me to rub her face with the makeup wipe.

“Aw, I wish I had a sister,” she makes a pouty face that only makes me smile wider. “Tell me about her.”

“Her name is Kota. She’s the most positive person I’ve ever met, with the biggest heart. She loves everyone.”

Hailey smiles at that, but it looks almost bittersweet.

“She sounds great,” she admits. “So you guys are close?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “We are. It’s always just been the three of us. They’re the most important people to me.”

She offers me a soft smile, opening her eyes as I finish up and throw away the wipe.

“What happened with your dad?”

“He was never in the picture,” I confess.

“From what Mom tells us, he stuck around for a few years after he had me. She said he had a bad gambling addiction and tons of debt, and that whatever he didn’t spend on gambling, he used on booze.

She said he left right after Kota was born, leaving mom with two young kids, no money, and a shit ton of bills adding up.

My mom was never able to get her feet back under her until I went pro a few years back and started helping with all of the bills, but between all of the debt that needed to be paid back, the constantly raising bills, and paying for Kota to go to college on top of it, we’re still not out of the water. ”

I watch as she processes all of this, letting it all sink in.

I had no idea why I was being so open with her.

Maybe it was the fact that she was drunk, and I wasn’t even certain she would remember any of this in the morning.

That, or maybe it was the fact that her guards seemed lowered, and I wanted to take advantage of this brief glimpse I was getting of the real her.

“And my dad… he’s making it harder for you guys? He’s the one raising the rent?” she asks, almost cautiously.

“Yes,” I tell her, careful not to lace any accusation in my tone.

A beat passes as she stares off into space, lost in her thoughts.

“I brought you a water and some ibuprofen for tomorrow morning,” I tell her, pointing to where I placed them on the nightstand. “I got you some crackers, too—you might want to eat a few before falling asleep.”

“What’s that?” she asks, reaching for my black felt hat that I had set on her nightstand while helping her get ready for bed.

“That would be a hat. How drunk are you exactly, Sorrels?”

“Not the hat,” she rolls her eyes, bringing the hat to her lap and pulling out the playing card peeking out of my hat band. “This.”

A smile tugs at my lips.

“It’s an Ace of Spades. My grandpa—my mom’s dad—gave it to her to give to me before he died.

He was a bronc rider back in his day, long before I was born.

He said he always kept it as a good luck charm when he rode, and I’ve been doing the same ever since.

It’s what won me finals the last two years, and it’s what’s gonna win me finals this year,” I wink.

“He stays with me in spirit, in a way. It’s like he’s there with me when I’m riding. ”

“That’s sweet,” she says in a sleepy voice, handing me back the playing card and laying down, tucking herself into the covers and making herself into a little cocoon. Gypsy makes her way to the bed, making a few circles before curling herself up into a fluffy little ball at Hailey’s feet.

“Goodnight, Sorrels,” I tell her, pushing off of the bed.

“Wes?”

I stop in my tracks, the nickname on her lips doing things to me that I don’t care to admit. I don’t respond, waiting to see what she has to say.

“I still hate you,” she mumbles, her voice groggy.

I hold in a laugh, my lips curving into a smile.

“Ditto.”