Page 24 of Take a Chance (Blue Creek Ranch #1)

Malachi

I marched out of the building and headed toward the end of the parking lot where we’d found space on arrival. There was probably steam coming out of my ears at this point, and the people nearby gave me a wide berth.

What the fuck was it with Crew and buying horses and then implying they were mine? Sure, Jaina was, I’d paid for that fucking gas for his fucking truck, but this one? Bob? What a stupid fucking name for such a good horse.

It must’ve been nice to have money to throw around like that. Sure, something like Bob wouldn’t cost more than a few grand at max if the man selling him was greedy and much less if he wasn’t. I just happened to know the sleazebag, and I knew how he operated.

Crew, however, had no idea. He’d just seen something and decided on a whim to buy another fucking horse. And then he’d implied he was mine to rename?

What the fuck was up with these people?

I got to the truck and then waited in line when someone else loaded a pretty appaloosa into a fancy trailer by the doors I needed to be at.

I parked, then went to open the back door, and tried to calm myself down a bit. I couldn’t bring this energy to Not-Bob. He was already going through hell. Not that he hadn’t before getting to the auction site.

The only positive thing here was that Masterson didn’t recognize me.

To be fair, I’d changed a lot in the seven years since I’d bought Jaina.

But his MO was still the same, it seemed.

He produced barely fed, hesitant horses who’d had no positive reinforcement and were just looking for someone kind to be their person.

I didn’t look at Crew when I got back to the stall. He was chatting with Masterson who looked happy like a pig in shit. I could understand why. He’d have trouble selling horses here with the quality he produced and having someone dump cash on him was a big win for him.

“We good to go?” I asked, looking roughly at Crew’s shoulder instead of his face.

“We’re good,” he confirmed.

“Hey, leave the lead—”

“I remember,” I spat at Masterson, and clipped the one I’d brought from the trailer to Not-Bob’s shitty halter. “Come on, boy; let’s get you home, okay?” I gave him a few gentle but firm touches, and he leaned into them like he was starved for kindness.

Now who did that remind me of? Shut the fuck up, subconscious.

I led the colt through the aisle and realized he was really surrounded by many others like him. The ones that hadn’t sold and people weren’t interested in when there were so many much nicer horses to bid on.

Well, he wouldn’t be unwanted anymore. He wasn’t mine—because I fucking refused—but he’d be in the best place.

Somehow, he followed me like a puppy, not at all interested in other horses. The only time he twitched was when we both spotted a mare someone was leading to another trailer stop and do the “I’m so damn in season” squat and pee.

“Come on. She’s too fancy of a lady for you,” I murmured. Not that Not-Bob was going to be using his equipment at all, but he didn’t need to know that yet.

He marched into the trailer and began to munch on the hay from the hay net immediately. Poor, hungry fella. I needed to water him before we left, so I patted his rump and jumped down the ramp, just to nearly bump into Crew who was carrying water.

“I borrowed a bucket. Here.”

“Thanks.” I still couldn’t look at him. I took the bucket to Crew’s new purchase, and he drank deeply, finishing the whole thing in no time. “Okay, I think that’s enough for now.”

I handed the bucket over to Crew and then made sure everything was ready for us to leave. By the time I was closing the ramp, he got back and latched the other side for me.

Without a word, I walked to the passenger’s side and got in.

Crew got in the driver’s seat and grabbed the keys I was holding out to him. He started the truck, and smoothly steered it through the throngs of trailers and people.

This morning, when Pay had wanted to go to Crew, something in my heart had cracked. Not in a bad way, though.

My immediate thought had been that for Pay to trust someone like this, it meant a lot. My son was picky about his people, despite being polite and friendly. When he was at his sleepiest or if he was ill, there weren’t many he trusted like that.

So for him to actively want Crew? That meant Crew was one of his people now.

Seeing my boss holding my son like that had… yeah. It hadn’t felt bad.

Then, once we got into the car, there’d been that whole revelation of most of the Harrington kids being queer. Like… who got to grow up like that? Accepted in a way that let you just be who you were authentically?

Because let’s face it, my dad had been old school. A great guys’ guy, and a good dad until he wasn’t. But I’d never come out to him. I just hadn’t felt secure enough in his love that I could’ve risked it. Not before Vera and not after.

I’d told mom that I was pretty sure I wasn’t straight one night when I’d been delirious with exhaustion after taking care of tiny Pay and his big ear infection.

Mom had patted me on the arm and told me that she was happy if I ever found a person who I wanted to have a life with, but to maybe not tell dad until that person materialized.

That was all I’d needed to know about that.

The thing about my whole view on relationships was that I was a dad first. Most people didn’t want single parents. But then back where I’d lived, there weren’t many queer men to begin with and Dad had been around. Until he wasn’t, and by then there was nothing but survival mode for months.

And now there was this man. My boss. Because of course I’d noticed him. How could I not?

Objectively, all of the Harrington siblings were good looking people in their own way. But only Crew made me look . As much as I’d denied that I was doing that, even to myself.

Crew had turned on a playlist that seemed pretty eclectic, probably to combat the silence.

We drove straight through, and it wasn’t until the last ten minutes that I suddenly remembered Hawk’s words about his brother.

“He doesn’t connect easily, but when he does, he holds a torch something fierce.”

I whipped my head to stare at him.

Was he…? No. That couldn’t be it. Right?

He glanced at me as he turned onto the driveway. “What?”

I clenched my jaw and shook my head, then turned to look at where we were heading.

We drove the rest of the way in silence apart from the music. The trip back felt endless, yet suddenly there we were at the yearling barn where the quarantine stalls were located. Nobody else was around, which was good. I needed a few more moments to gather myself to be able to be civil.

As soon as Crew backed the trailer close to the barn doors at the end that was carefully separated for quarantine, I got out and went to get Not-Bob. Crew helped me lower the ramp, and the colt didn’t fuss in the least.

He seemed to be waiting, and only when I let him back out of the trailer and he inhaled the evening air did he try out his voice for the first time.The loud as fuck neigh made my ears ring. His nostrils were flaring, but he still stood in one spot like a ragged horse-shaped statue.

Juanpablo screamed back at him, which made Not-Bob jerk his head in surprise, then calm down when he heard horses, too.

“Yeah, he’s a bit dramatic. But it’ll be fine,” I told him, petting his neck.

The only positive about him being intact was that he had a thick neck, and a decent amount of other muscle on him as well.

Sometimes you saw geldings that, regardless of breed, had been gelded a bit too soon which left them with an underdeveloped body one way or another. A skinny neck was the most obvious one, especially on the heavier breeds.

Crew went to turn on the lights for us, so I walked Not-Bob inside the barn and into the stall someone had prepared earlier on the off chance we’d found the rich dude’s needle in the haystack.

We had found something else, instead.

As I took off the ill-fitting halter and let the colt shake himself—after yelling once more just to see if there was anyone else nearby—I felt relieved. He was here. He was safe.

There was a hay net in front of him, and tomorrow we’d get the vet to come over and then we’d figure out what to feed him to get him up to a more ideal weight.

He drank deeply from the bucket, and before I could go get more water, Crew was there with an extra one. Because of course he was. That pissed me off, too, somehow.

As we left the stall and turned back to look at the colt, I wanted to tell Crew off. I wanted to ask questions and see if my revelation was correct.

Instead, what came out of my mouth was, “Masterson is who I bought Jaina from.”

“What?” Crew looked at me, confused.

“She was in a worse condition than him. Younger too, of course, but she was… a mess.” I downplayed the memory on a regular basis, because I didn’t want to think about Jaina as the filly she’d been when I got her.

“When I noticed the name on the stall door….” I gnawed on my lower lip, trying to find the words.

“When I looked at the colt, I wanted to fucking punch Masterson. He does it still. It’s been seven years, and he still gets away with leaving them looking like this.

” I gestured at the horse that looked like nobody had just cared for him in a while, if ever.

“Masterson said he’s a mixed breed, with some Irish Cob and other heavier breeds in him.”

I nodded. “I think he has some sort of a wild operation. Bunch of horses and he just lets them breed whenever. Puts a new stallion into the herd every season, maybe. It’s irresponsible as fuck.”

Crew made a disgusted sound. “Now I’m even more glad we got him out of there.”

“You.”

“What?”

“ You got him out of there.” I turned to look at Crew for the first time since the truck. “Why did you do it?”

He shrugged. “You made a connection. Besides, look at him. He didn’t belong there.”

“You need to figure out a name for him. He’s not a Bob,” I said quietly, defiantly.