Page 9 of Saving the Rain (Crimson Ridge #4)

Storm works fast. Impressive. Smooth. His tattooed hands take excellent care of the horse, making sure that each nail protruding out the topside of the hoof is snipped off and filed down in a blink.

“No complaints. Got myself a comfy bed. And there’s plenty to keep me busy.

” Leaning my ass on the back of his truck to watch him work, I’m quickly nudged in the thigh by a white muzzle and whiskers.

The perfect height and vantage point to seek out any potential treats that might be lurking in my pockets.

The Duchess of this ranch is actually named Willow, and struts around like she damn well owns the place.

A miniature pony with a planetary-sized attitude.

Oh, and she’s absolutely head-over-hooves in love with Storm.

There’s no need to tie her up; she’ll trot around on his bootheels all day long like an obedient shadow while ignoring anyone else and generally being a menace whenever he’s not here.

Nothing in the world brings this horse more joy than to try and put her stable-mates in their place, even though they might be three times her size.

She snuffles and then snorts at me, shaking her head from side to side upon discovering that I’m not, in fact, the treat dispenser she was hoping for.

“Tessa asked if you could drop by when you’re all done here.”

Storm finishes checking over the base of the horse's hoof, sets it back down, and then straightens up. “No problem. I think she wants to chat about plans for winter.”

“Yeah, I was going to suggest we aim to have all the horses fitted with their new shoes before then. That’d be best.”

He dips his chin in agreement and sets to work on removing the old shoe from the other hind leg. “You just let me know when you need a break from everything you’ve taken on here. Me and Briar are happy to come down whenever, man.”

“I think I’ll be good. Work is work, ya know.”

Storm laughs softly to himself as he starts to trim the hoof and clean up the underside. “Yeah, and the offer still stands.” He double-checks the spot where that particular horse has been wearing the heel down quicker. “My girl fucking loves it here.”

Using the tool in his hand, he gestures over toward one of the enclosures just off the barn. “As you can see, it’s no chore if we end up staying for a few days at a time.”

Inside I can see Briar along with a couple of kids who turn up once a week to help out with grooming the therapy horses they’ve got based here. She’s got her boy Teddy out in the pen with them, and he’s walking on a rope and halter with the two kids leading him, all under her close supervision.

I can’t help but exhale a laugh beneath my breath.

“That fucking turncoat. I swear he looks at me like I’m a punching bag, yet he’s out there batting his eyelashes at your woman like he’s a prizewinning show pony.

I’ll bet Briar could suggest putting ribbons in his mane, and the prick would flop over to show his belly. ”

“That’s the way he rolls. Gets a kick outta knowing the likes of us aren’t turning our backs on him for one second.” Storm shakes his head.

“He’s got a hell of a set of teeth on him; I’ll give him that.

” My shoulder can still feel the sting where he got me real good on about my second day here.

Beau had warned me, told me exactly how Teddy likes to greet newcomers—well, anyone who isn’t Briar, more specifically—and yet he still managed to get a good nip in.

A row of purple marks later, I’d officially had my branding and formal welcome to Sunset Skies Ranch.

Can I blame him? He’s had a shitty life prior to being rescued and coming here. I know all about what it’s like to trust no one.

“Gotta get my ass out there and check on the cattle.” I laugh to myself, watching the Duchess try to angle her head in order to lean up against Storm, not giving a fuck whether he’s working or if she’s getting in his way.

He absently reaches out to scratch behind her ears, and I swear the little thing goes knock-kneed, melting on the spot.

“I’ve already done Mist if you want to give him a run. Let him stretch his legs while Beau’s not here.”

“Will do.” After we chat for a few more minutes, I leave him to it. Making my way inside the barn, I follow the line of stalls to where Beau’s quarter horse is located. Mist is a gorgeous Blue Roan, and I can see exactly why he’d apparently had his eye on this particular guy for a long time .

“Wanna get outta here, huh?” I click my tongue his way, and his ears flick around at the sound of my voice. His long neck immediately bobs over the door to his stall, keenly watching my steps as I head for the tack room.

This ranch is fucking well-equipped. It’s a pleasant change from some of the places I’ve worked, where everything is held together with duct tape and a prayer.

There are too many landowners who refuse to invest in the stuff that matters most or haven’t adapted to changing times in order to keep the cash flowing in.

Beau Heartford might’ve had a glittering pro career, been a god on the back of a bull, and walked away with world champion status, but that didn’t guarantee shit where turning his hand to ranching was concerned.

He bought this property and immediately put a plan in place to make sure business was going to flourish all year round.

To walk into a gleaming tack room with the smell of new leather and careful attention to detail is a refreshing notion indeed.

A relief to find everything in its place.

There’s no worrying your equipment is gonna break on you mid-ride, and there sure as hell aren’t any nagging concerns about saddling up.

No matter whether the horse is one you’ve ridden day in, day out, or—like today, with Mist—one you’re taking out for the first ride together.

It’s the way I’ve always dreamt a property of my own might be.

The respect, passion, and thoughtfulness... caring for your animals is how I’d run things. If I ever had the luck to own a piece of land myself, that is.

Hardly likely. Guys who grew up out of the dirt like I did aren’t ever gonna be the ones with their names hanging on a sign at the front gate.

As I’m carrying the saddle and blanket over to Mist’s stall, I hear laughter pealing through the open window overlooking the western hills of the ranch.

The trail horses are making their way back from today’s ride.

Front and center are Kayce and Chaos Hayes, their horses side-by-side at the head of the group.

My eyes flick their way quickly, then toward the main doors where Storm’s heavy metal drifts in from.

It’s an odd sensation, almost feeling like I’ve been caught watching them when that’s definitely not the goddamn case.

I’m not fucking creeping on what they’re doing; I’m just checking how the horses are looking after their long ride for the day.

I shift the weight of the saddle in my arms and can’t seem to move from this spot right here, where it’s easy to watch as they approach the barn.

The two of them are busy cackling, honking like a pair of goddamn geese, and Chaos leans over to shove at Kayce’s shoulder.

Their knees bump as their horses walk in step, so close it would be nothing to reach out and take hold of the other’s reins.

Something about seeing the two of them acting like idiots fucks me off.

I can’t explain it. They’re technically doing their job.

It’s adequate enough, although if I was being a dickhead about it, I should really chew Kayce out for not making sure one of them was stationed at the rear, pulling up the last rider position.

But I know from seeing them head out earlier this morning that they did, in fact, set out that way.

Nope. It’s nothing I could give a crap about. The two of them are obviously obsessed with each other. They travel to pro events together, they ride together, and they’re training partners. Being up each other’s asses is how they live and compete.

I inhale deeply and make my way over to saddle Mist. They’re going to be in here, filling up this barn any minute, and I’m not interested in hanging around listening to them crack jokes, thinking they’re funny.

It’s none of my business. They can suck each other’s dicks while they’re at it, too. I’ve got work I need to get on with.

As I heave the saddle into place and thread the straps through their buckles, making sure nothing is too tight around Mist’s belly, the pressure inside me refuses to dissipate. The frustration I’ve got rolling around my shoulders and chest is probably a sign I need to work this out of my system.

When I let Kayce think I’d hooked up with that girl from the bonfire, it was just to mess with him. I never did go there, and I certainly don’t have any plans to. But hell, it was satisfying to see the look in his eyes when he thought his sweet little barrel racer had ditched him.

No prizes for guessing that I need to work out this tension somewhere and somehow. Between moving across the border and getting my head around managing this place, it’s been a dry spell. Too much work isn’t an issue, but I clearly need to break the drought—pussy or cock, doesn’t worry me.

I’ve got phone numbers for both, and invitations I haven’t taken up yet.

All I gotta do is get through this week, then when the weekend rolls round I can let Crimson Ridge find me a bit of hot-blooded, no-strings attached fun.