Page 14

Old habits die hard, I guess. If habits is a synonym for a whole fuck ton of responsibilities imposed on someone too young to shoulder them. “She’s, like… okay, though, right?”

“She’s as good as any of us,” Eliza answers with a vague shrug before that pretty, young face softens teasingly. “You’re so cute when you care.”

I shove the little shit away only for her to rebound even closer. She wraps her arms around me again, clinging to my side and reminding me why we used to call her our little limpet.

Sighing, I slip an arm across her shoulders, indulging the affectionate nature we definitely do not have in common for just a minute.

“By the way,” I mutter quietly as I try my very best to sufficiently love on the kid who used to make me sit on the bathroom floor while she showered because she hated being alone. “You are real, meaningful help.”

She makes a noise like she disagrees, and I really don’t like that, I really don’t like someone like Eliza, my bright, confident Eliza, doubting herself.

“Hey.” I yank her ponytail gently. “You do a lot, kid. We’d all starve if it weren’t for you.”

Surprise flashes across her face, so fucking brief, but it kills me anyway. Makes me wonder if I’m really so awful that my baby sister can’t fathom me paying her a compliment.

I wonder, when she smiles and snuggles against me again and tells me she’s glad I’m home, if Lux told her about our arrangement. About the time limit.

I wonder if she simply didn’t have the heart to, like I don’t as I lie and say that I’m glad to be home too.

I’m perched on a stool in the stable, hunched over a giant pile of dirty riding equipment when a holler of my name somehow manages to overwhelm the hyperpop blaring in my headphones.

Using my shoulder to nudge one side off, my aching neck cries out in relief when I look up, only to curse me in the next second when I promptly drop my gaze back down to the muddy bridle in my hands. “Done already? Thought those ladies would’ve kept you occupied for at least the rest of the day.”

Brown, square-toed boots step into my line of sight. “Need your help with something.”

“Well, you’re shit out of luck, I guess.” Glancing up again, I paste on a half-heartedly rueful smile. “I don’t bring Viagra to work.”

Full lips part with something that might be a restrained gasp or a laugh or a sigh, or a combination of all three. “My stamina’s just fine, honey.”

I do not glance at his crotch on purpose. It’s just in my direct line of sight. It’s on the way down as I return my attention to the never-ending pile I’ve been scrubbing for the past hour. “What do you want, Finn? I’m real busy here.”

“Don’t think the tack is going anywhere.” Plucking my headphones off—and completely ignoring my protest—Finn nudges the bucket I’ve been dropping freshly-cleaned equipment into aside with his foot. “I gotta check out Ruin and I need someone to keep him calm.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure that word is in his vocabulary.”

Finn makes a noise like he agrees, but he still insists, “C’mon. Please?”

Sighing, I drop the bridle and brace my forearms against my thighs, almost flinching when I look up to find Finn a lot closer than I expected.

Dropped to his haunches, his face is almost level with mine, leaving me all up close and fucking personal with smooth, clear skin and crinkled, obsidian eyes.

I blame it on instinct, the fact my gaze drops to his lips for one moment too many before common sense kicks in. “Why me?”

“You’ve got the most experience,” he says plainly, all matter-of-fact. “You can handle it.”

God, I hate that I sit up a little straighter. Puff out my chest just a bit. Give in that easily, a single sentence that’s barely even praise, it’s just honesty, enough to hook me.

“Plus,” Finn adds, apparently unaware that I don’t need the extra encouragement. “He doesn’t like men.”

Well, now I’m definitely sold. A misandrist horse— swoon .

When I get to my feet, Finn flashes those perfect, white teeth as he stands too. “Thanks, Lottie.”

“Uh-huh.” I grunt as I roll my tight shoulders back before extending my arms above my head, stretching like a cat and groaning my relief.

As my tank top rides up, Finn’s gaze drops, and I briefly wonder if it’s the bare skin, the belly button piercing, or the tattoo peeking out from below my waistband that catches his attention before I remember that I don’t care.

The perusal only lasts a second anyway. It’s over almost as soon as it starts, ending as Finn clears his throat and turns around to stride out of the stable and towards the main barn where our newest, rowdiest tenant lives.

Unsurprisingly, Ruin is pissed. He snorts and huffs and kicks the stall walls, not quite aggressive, but certainly not docile by any stretch of the means. The indents his teeth made on my hand throb in warning, but over my dead body am I backing out now.

“So what’re we doing?” I ask as I glance over at Finn, my curiosity hiking up a notch at the sight of him looping a leather apron around his waist, a toolbelt too.

Huh .

Men in aprons.

Didn’t know that did it for me.

“I’m gonna check his hooves. You’re gonna make sure I don’t get a concussion.” Snagging one of the many rope halters hanging off the wall, Finn shoots me a look. “Right?”

I hesitate for dramatic effect before reluctantly confirming, “Right.”

“We need to get him into the aisle first.”

Easier said than done. I thought maybe Ruin and I forged a little bit of a bond during our chat, but apparently I was wrong.

He won’t come anywhere near us. We call and click and croon, but the Arabian remains out of reach, stubbornly plastered against the farthest wall. Kissing his teeth, Finn reaches for the door latch, apparently willing to risk letting an erratic stallion loose.

I stop him before he can. “Lemme try something.”

Clearly surprised by the offer, Finn steps back. When I gesture for it, he passes me the harness before holding up his hands in a silent ‘have at it.’

Slipping my free hand into my back pocket, a quiet laugh sounds from beside me when it comes out clutching the sugar cubes I don’t ever leave the A-frame in the mornings without.

Popping one on my tongue—and hoping the sugar hit makes my damn hands stop shaking—I leave the others on my palm and extend it towards Ruin, letting a short whistle loose to catch his attention.

“C’mon,” I coo when those wide, dark eyes flit my way, flat ears twitching. “I know you want ‘em.”

It takes him a minute. More than that. A mane toss and a low nicker, and then a relenting sigh precedes the clop of hooves as Ruin cautiously, reluctantly sidles over. Muzzle bumping my hand, he nips at my fingers once, twice, three times, before closing his teeth around my sweet offerings instead.

As much as I want to, I don’t glance at Finn to gauge his reaction—to search for approval, I reluctantly acknowledge, much to my own disgust. I keep my eyes on Ruin as he chomps, as I slowly move the rope harness into his line of sight.

He snorts a hot breath against my palm and I mutter reassurance, making sure I move even slower as I gently brush it against his neck. “See?” I mutter. “Not gonna hurt you.”

The last sugar cube crunching between his teeth, he nudges my wrist impatiently.

“You want more?” Ever-so-slightly, I tilt my head to the side. “Finn’s gonna give you some. That okay?”

“I don’t have any.”

I glance at Finn, then down at my back pocket.

He coughs. Chokes a little, I swear. I can’t tell if he’s moving slow on account of the semi-feral horse we’re trying to wrangle or if he’s just that reluctant to touch me. The latter, I think, considering he’s in and out of my pocket so quickly, I barely even feel the brush of his fingers.

“What?” I can’t resist drawling playfully. “You think something’s gonna bite you back there?”

Finn grunts. “I think the horse is the least of my worries.”

“Hey, you’re the one who doesn’t like me .”

“I never said that.”

“You never denied it.”

“That really bothers you, huh?” Finn cocks his head, grinning like a little shit. “That I might not like you?”

An impatient whinny and teeth digging into the meaty part of my palm save me from answering.

“Hey, now.” I hiss a reprimand at Ruin. “I’m the one with the sugar, remember?”

“You okay?’

I nod away the concern—far worse things have happened to me on this ranch than a measly nip—and gesture for Finn to cough up his own offering.

He does, mimicking my actions exactly, slow and calm and quietly comforting.

Soon enough, that heavy head is weighing down his palm instead, leaving the one of mine not clutching the halter free to scratch behind a twitching ear.

“I’m gonna put this on now, handsome, okay? ”

An arm brushes mine, breath hot on my temple as Finn stoops to murmur, “You talking to me or the horse?”

I cut him a narrow-eyed look. “In your dreams, cowboy.”

“Would feeding you sugar make you docile?”

“Try it and find out.”

He pretends to consider it for a second. “Nah.”

Somewhat desperately, I want to know what the hell the very specific smile stretching his mouth wide means. A little teasing, a lot honest, even more… jarring, I guess is the word for it.

Because for once, it’s real. It reaches his eyes. Those pretty, obsidian irises light up along with the rest of his face.

Bearing the brunt of it is making me a little woozy—I never claimed to be immune to a handsome face, and the one a single shuffle away from me is that and a lot more—so I look away, clearing my throat as I refocus on the project at hand.

Ruin.

Halter.

Halter on Ruin.

Go .

With bated breath and a continuous chant of pleasepleaseplease running through my head, I slip the precisely knotted rope onto the unpredictable horse, keeping an eye on his fluttering lips as I secure it behind his ears.

When he lets me, I resist the urge to leap into the air and click my goddamn heels together.