Page 4 of Just One Look

Maverick

I wonder if Jackson Hunter is capable of any other type of facial expression when he walks other than looking like he’s about to murder the shit out of someone. Ridge Duporth is probably still sporting a shiner today, and with the way Jackson stomped over to join us and is currently glaring at me with a massive frown wrinkling his forehead and his forearms locked over his torso, it’s more than likely he’s conjuring up a similar fate for me.

There’s no way he’s aware of the news I’m about to deliver. The previous owners indicated they were more than happy to leave the announcement to me, and aside from Ollie and telling my brother Wagner the day I got the news, not a soul knows. So if Jackson is this pissed off now, before he learns I’m going to be his new boss, it’s going to be interesting watching his reaction to the news. I’m bracing for full-on nuclear mode.

“Great, everyone is here. Let’s get started,”

I say, clapping my hands together now that Jackson and the pint-sized guy he waltzed up here with have joined the group. I introduce myself, then get straight to the point.

“I recently reached out to the Wellington family, the owners of Silverstone Sanctuary, with an offer to buy the place.”

My eyes meet Jackson’s. He’s standing at the back of the crowd, breathing hard enough to make his whole frame move, his chest expanding beneath his red-and-black Western snap-button shirt. Those dark, stormy eyes are pinned to me, and yep, this is going just about as well as I expected.

“They accepted my offer,”

I announce.

“The deal settles in thirty days, however, the owners have agreed to a pre-settlement possession.”

When I’m met with a bunch of blank faces, I explain.

“That means I’ll be taking over the rescue…”

My eyes drift over to Jackson.

“Immediately.”

He stares right at me, unflinching.

I offer him a smile, a small gesture that this isn’t the terrible nightmare he might be making it out to be in his mind. That if he’s worried about what happened between us a few days ago, I’m willing to put it behind us and start afresh. Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll even be able to look back on it and laugh?

He says something to his friend, then turns and leaves. I watch as he walks away, expecting him to march away in his customary murderous fashion, but there’s a dejected slump to his gait, as if all the seething rage that was burning inside him moments ago has been extinguished.

It’s a lightning-speed turnaround in emotions, but I don’t have time to process what it could mean. I have a group of trainers, stable hands, admin staff, and volunteers staring at me, so I assure them that there will be no operational changes until I get a proper handle on things before opening it up to questions. Once we’re done, the group disbands, and everyone goes their separate ways.

“Hey. Wait up,”

I call out to the guy Jackson turned up with.

He turns around and has to crane his neck to look up at me. A knowing smile plays on his lips.

“Hi. I’m Pip,”

he says, extending his hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Maverick.”

He may be on the short side, but dude’s got one hell of an impressive grip.

“And what do you do around here?”

“I come in once a week to volunteer.”

“Right. And…”

My teeth graze my lower lip as I steal a quick glance in the direction Jackson went.

A single brow arches as amusement gleams in Pip’s eyes. “Yes?”

I huff out a long breath, not liking how off-kilter someone I only met twice, briefly, and who was rude to me on both occasions is capable of making me feel.

“Do you know where Jackson went?”

Pip points to the barn.

“We were in the middle of checking in on Riven when you showed up.”

I stare at the sorry excuse for a building with its chipped and faded, weathered brown siding. Most of the windows on the second floor are boarded up, and the whole structure is so rickety it looks like it could topple over with the slightest gust of wind.

“Would you like me to pass on a message to Jackson? Maybe hand him a note? Ask him to meet you behind the bleachers after class?”

Pip peers up at me, rocking on his heels, smiling like he knows something I don’t.

My eyes narrow into slits as I take him in. I know I shouldn’t, but…I like the guy. I believe in giving credit where credit is due, and this short fucker has got balls, talking to me like that.

Seems to be a common theme around Silverstone.

“That won’t be necessary,”

I answer coolly.

“But just so you know, I’ll be reviewing the volunteer program as my top priority.”

That wipes the smile off his face.

“Shit. Sorry, I was just—”

He stops when he sees me rocking on my feet, hands in my pockets, grinning. Shaking his head, he snickers.

“Well played, sir. Well played.”

“Can you give me a minute with Jackson?”

I ask, glancing at the barn.

“Sure thing, boss.”

With a two-finger salute, he takes off one way, and I head to speak with Jackson.

The air changes as soon as I step through the barn doors. It’s cooler, musty. Just like the exterior, the inside is just as run-down. Walls are peeling and moss-streaked, with one wall showing signs of major water damage. Cracked tack hangs limply from rusty hooks. The hinges of the stall doors are stained with rust, and a few latches are held shut with baling twine.

My jaw tightens in anger as I walk down the mud-dried hallway in search of Jackson. I knew the Wellingtons were taking advantage of my name and finances when we were negotiating the deal, but this is beyond a joke. I remember this place from when I was a kid, and all childhood-tinged nostalgia aside, it’s a shell of what it used to be. Forget improvements—it’s clear not a penny has been spent to simply maintain it all these years.

I spot Riven in a stall, but there’s no sign of Jackson. I edge closer to the horse, keeping my face neutral and my movements steady. Riven eyeballs me.

“Hey, fella,”

I say gently, wishing I had a stick of carrot or some peppermints to offer him as a bribe.

A mop of black hair suddenly springs up from behind Riven’s croup. Intense, dark-green eyes stay focused on me as Jackson trails his hands over the creature, moving smoothly until he’s at the stall door. He slips out silently, locking it behind him.

“What do you want?”

he asks as he brushes past me, then walks away briskly.

I jog to catch up to him.

“Is that any way to speak to your new boss?”

He doesn’t slow down or turn around.

“Not in the mood, Benson.”

There’s a bite in his tone that wasn’t there even while we were barbing the other day.

“Hey.”

I reach for his elbow.

He twirls around lightning fast, snatching his arm away from me.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Okay. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

I lift my hands away from him.

“Can we just talk? Please.”

He glares at me for a few long seconds.

“Fine.”

He spits the word out with a mixture of reluctance and annoyance before leading me outside, the gravel crunching beneath our feet.

He darts forward, remaining a few paces ahead of me, but I don’t need to see his face to know this news has upset him. I follow him to a wooden bench nestled beneath the sprawling branches of a massive valley oak tree. The exact same tree and the exact same wooden bench Grandpa Rick and I would sit at while waiting for our horses to get prepped.

Jackson slumps onto literally the very edge of one side of the bench, folds his arms, and looks away. I suppress my smile and ease myself onto the very edge of the bench on the opposite side, leaving a comical amount of space between us. Well, I happen to find it funny. The scowl on Jackson’s face suggests I might be alone in that.

I open with the obvious.

“You’re angry.”

“No shit.”

“Because I bought the place or because the Wellingtons sold it?”

He lets out a dismissive laugh.

“Oh, I’m glad the Wellingtons are gone. Believe me. I won’t miss having to email them for permission to call out the vet or upping the feed order.”

He can’t be serious.

“You joking?”

My eyes drop to his chest, rising and falling with every deep but forced breath, like he’s trying to hold back a surge of anger.

He swivels to face me.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

He most certainly does not.

But he has inadvertently given me a valuable insight into where he’s coming from. It’s clear he cares about this place and these animals. I’m guessing he lives in one of the cabins on-site if he was able to rush out and help with Riven the other night.

This place means something to him, something more than just a job or a paycheck. And from what I’ve seen of his fiery temper so far, I’d bet good money he’s probably clashed over how it’s being run with previous owners. Jackson doesn’t strike me as the type who’d stay silent as he watches a place he cares about slide into disrepair the way this sanctuary has.

“I used to come here as a kid,”

I say.

“With my grandfather.”

“You did?”

“Yep. We’d sit right here on this very bench. A bit closer to the middle…”

No reaction from him. Okay. Still not in the mood for jokes. Got it.

“I’d be buzzing with excitement as the horses got saddled for our ride.”

“The public could take the horses out?”

“No. But Grandpa Rick knew the owners, so they let him.”

“How old were you?”

“I came out here every summer from when I was a little kid until I was sixteen.”

I smile wistfully, the memories filling me with a mix of longing and warmth.

“Is your grandfather still…?”

I shake my head.

“He passed last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

I glance over to find Jackson looking at me, his expression a little softer.

“Thank you. Anyway, where I’m going with this is that I’m not delusional. I remember what this place used to be like, and I’d like to restore it to its former glory. Maybe even make it better. I can see it’s been mismanaged and has been going downhill for years. I’m going to fix that.”

He exhales loudly through his nose.

“I’m actually not trying to be rude, but I’ve heard this all before. Not from the Wellingtons because they really were rich assholes.”

“They’re actually my half cousins, you know?”

“Really?”

I grin.

“I’m fucking with you. Not all rich assholes know each other or are related. Don’t be richist.”

“Richist?”

“Yeah. Like racist, but about rich people.”

He groans, dragging his fingers across the top of his head, letting his hair fall loosely over his forehead. The sound shoots straight to my cock, my mind immediately conjuring other ways I could draw sounds like that out of him.

“You’re so messed up.”

I chuckle darkly.

“You have no idea.”

“Seriously, though. This isn’t the first time a new owner has come in promising the world about how they’ll buy state-of-the-art therapeutic equipment. Run public workshops. Expand the foster program. Collaborate with vets. Partner with local businesses. You name it, I’ve heard it. And do you know how many of these wonderful ideas have come to fruition?”

He lifts his hand, fingers curling into a perfect circle, and smiles defeatedly. “Zero.”

I open my mouth to respond but manage to stop myself from blurting out something trite like.

“But this time, it’ll be different.”

I suspect that won’t go down well.

Besides, what if it won’t be different? What if, despite my best efforts, I’m unable to turn this place around? So many others have failed before me; why should I be any different? Sure, I’ve got some money and a business degree behind me, but I don’t know the first thing about running a horse sanctuary. My intentions for buying this place were more about honoring my grandfather and having something productive to do with my time. What if I’ve just made a colossal mistake?

“I don’t know if I can do it again,”

Jackson says, folding his hands in his lap and dropping his gaze to them.

“Why not?”

His shoulders sag.

“Because I’m sick of being disappointed, of watching helplessly as this place falls apart and these horses suffer even more than they already have. I have other things I should be doing.”

“Like what?”

The question rushes out of me so quickly my brain doesn’t have time to run interference and warn me that it’s none of my damn business.

His shoulders stay drooped, but his head tilts in my direction. There’s something so defeated about the way he says.

“Just stuff,”

that makes my chest ache.

I don’t know why I care. Why I’m desperate to find out what the cause of his sadness is. Why I want him to stay and help me run the center.

Actually, that last one isn’t entirely true.

I did some googling last night. He’s set all his socials to private, which is annoying, but I still managed to find two articles about him.

The first one was about the future of horse training in an equestrian publication so fancy it was hidden behind a paywall. He was quoted about the advanced behavioral science and positive reinforcement techniques he uses that allow horses to respond more naturally to human commands. That’s a fancy way of explaining how he was able to settle Riven so quickly when he got out the other night.

The other article was from the local paper about Silverstone’s Stars Under 30, featuring promising young local talent. A painter who had scored their first national showing. An NHL draft pick, which is big news since there are no ice rinks within a hundred-mile radius of Silverstone. A high school student who scored an internship at NASA. And one black-haired, horse-mad local, described a.

“an example of quiet excellence”

whos.

“innovative approaches were catching the attention of the equestrian community.”

Turns out the hothead who messed up Ridge Duporth’s pretty face is a sensitive horse whisperer. And a damn good one at that.

Sure, his personality is the human equivalent of a cactus. At least when it comes to dealing with people. The way he was able to calm Riven, though, that was something else. He showed no fear, taming that terrified creature in a few short minutes. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.

The sanctuary needs him, and if I want a good shot of turning this place around, I need him, too.

And okay, he’s cute. Rough around the edges with that always messy hair and those pretty, thick lips twisted in a permanent sneer. I may have fisted my cock in the shower several times, imagining what his body looks like under those well-worn, dusty clothes.

I bet he’s muscular, too. Not from lifting weights at the gym but sculpted from long days of hard work.

Calloused hands.

Golden skin.

Is he hairy, or is he smooth?

What’s he into?

What would he look like on his knees before me, my fingers charging through that silky black mane as he gorged on my cock?

Jackson’s right. I am messed up. But not so messed up I can’t swallow my pride.

“Three things,” I mutter.

“Excuse me?”

“List three things that you need in order to stay for at least a month.”

His eyes meet mine.

“Give me a chance, Jackson. You may have heard this all before, but I really want this to work. And I know that you’re good.”

His brows dip into a V.

“How do you know that?”

“I may have looked you up online.”

He scoffs.

“Of course you did.”

I stretch an arm out across the back of the bench and grin.

“You saying you haven’t looked me up?”

He shakes his head, but the rosy hue rising on his cheeks is all the answer I need. Unlike him, all my socials are public.

“Just as I thought.”

“In fairness, I wasn’t searching for you specifically. I just typed in entitled rich asshole, and you were the first result that came up.”

“You’re being richist again,”

I point out with a wink.

He tips his head to the sky.

“Ugh. That’s not a thing. And please never wink again. It’s icky.”

“Is that one of your three conditions?”

“Hell no.”

He jolts into an upright position and launches straight into.

“One, I want full authority to cover any required animal-related expenses. No emails. No seeking permission. No making me feel like crap for simply doing the bare minimum to look after these animals the way they deserve to be. I’m done with all that bullshit. If I determine a horse needs vet treatment, it happens. No questions asked.”

“Done.”

“Two, you stay the hell out of my way, and I’ll stay the hell out of yours. You run the place how you see fit, but anything to do with the horses like feeding, grooming, rehab, exercising, all that is my purview.”

I’m trying not to smile, but he’s making it so damn hard. If I thought Jackson Hunter was sexy when he was angry, seeing him get all passionate and nerdy about horses is downright adorable.

“Done.”

I wait for a.

“And three…”

but it doesn’t come. He rubs his fingers in small circles against his chin, deep in thought.

“That’s it,”

he finally says, shrugging.

“That’s all I want.”

“What? No bump in pay for everyone? Staff perks? Extra vacation?”

“I think you’ll quickly see most of the staff here are inept and need to be fired. And I trust that when you conduct a thorough review of the few of us who do work our asses off and are great at what we do, you’ll see fit to remunerate us accordingly.”

“You’re putting an awful lot of trust in a rich asshole.”

One side of his mouth hitches as he stands.

“Yeah, well, I already expect you to disappoint me, Benson. The only question is—how long will it take?”

He stands before me, hand outstretched.

“One month,”

I say, pushing to my feet, holding his gaze as I slide my palm into his. Yep, I was right. Calloused.

“Give me one month, Jackson.”

“Fine. One month.”

We shake on it.

He can underestimate all he wants, but I’m determined to prove him wrong on both counts.

One, I am going to turn this place around.

And two, I am not going to disappoint him.