Page 26 of Wild Then Wed
Boone lets out a low whistle and leans back in his chair, arms folded. “Good luck with that one, brother.”
Ridge mutters something under his breath—something that sounds a lot likewasn’t asking for your commentary—but his gaze shifts to the doorway Miller just walked through. He doesn’t laugh, not like he usually does. No smirk, no sharp-edged reply ready to fire back. Just silence. He sits there, watching the space she left behind like maybe she took something with her when she walked out.
The usual bravado slips, just a little. And for a second—barely that—I think he might actually follow her. But then he shifts in his seat, leans back like it’s nothing, and stays where he is.
Ridge has a reputation, and the truth is—he’s earned most of it. He’s been turning on the charm since grade school, all easy smiles and well-timed compliments. The rodeo circuit only gave him a stage. Somewhere along the way, people started calling him theRodeo Romeo—first as a joke, then not so much. His face is on posters in every arena from here to California. He’s been interviewed for news segments, featured in magazine spreads and—unfortunately—he really was Mr. July in a cowboy calendar. That one sold out twice.
Still. Watching him now, quiet for once, eyes still lingering on that door, I wonder if Miller’s the one girl he might actually give a damn about.
I almost feel bad for him, so I throw him a lifeline—a way out of this conversation—because that’s what big sisters do.
I clear my throat and lean a little toward Boone, keeping my voice casual, like I’m not about to drop something heavy into the middle of dinner. “So they were right about that horse at the Hart’s place today. He’s…a lot.”
Boone glances up from his plate. “What kind of a lot?”
I glance toward Ridge for half a second. He gives me a small nod, subtle. Athank-youhe doesn’t quite want anyone else to see.
“The kind of a lot that makes you think he’s been through some serious shit,” I say. “Skittish. Paranoid. He doesn’t trust a soul.”
Lark’s eyes go soft, concerned. “Oh no. Is he okay?”
I hesitate, pressing my lips together. “He will be, I think. But the trainers they had working with him were…” I shake my head. “One of them brought out a whip.”
Boone’s chair scrapes against the floor as he sits up straighter. “What the actual—?”
“Vaughn didn’t know,” I add quickly, holding up a hand. “As soon as he saw it, he fired them. On the spot.”
Boone exhales and leans back in his chair again, like that made him feel a little better but not much. “Still. What asshole thinks that’s the move with a horse like that?”
“Assholes who shouldn’t be allowed within fifty feet of an animal,” I say, stabbing a piece of cucumber with more force than necessary.
Lark’s still watching me, eyebrows drawn together. “Andyou’reokay? That sounds awful.”
I nod. “I’ve seen worse.”
And it’s the truth. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t stick with me.
“So that’s how you spent your day?” Boone asks, one brow raised.
I take a bite of salad. “Just your typical afternoon of emotional triage and horse whispering.”
Across from me, Ridge smirks. “Sounds like a party.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, you missed the part where I almost got trampled. Real shame.”
He picks up his fork, points it at my plate. “What is this? Your sad little mac and cheese?”
“It’s—” I start, but he’s already scooping a bite. “Okay, maybe don’t—”
Too late.
He pops it into his mouth like he’s expecting butter and sharp cheddar and childhood memories. The chew is slow. His jaw muscles visibly pause. A full-body halt. Then a blink. Another blink.
And then a grimace like he just licked the underside of a cow.
“Fucking dammit,” he says, reaching for his napkin and spitting into it with the dramatic flair of someone who’s been personally wronged. “What the hell was that?”
Across the table, Boone loses it. Lark is hiding her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. Even Hudson makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh, might be a wheeze.
