Page 42 of A False Start
Horse snorts, bobbing his head happily.
“I know, right? The guy is a fucking nightmare. He finally talks to me, but he doesn’ttellme shit.”
I hear another snort. But it’s not an equine one. I freeze, but don’t turn around. Tripod comes whipping around the corner and throws himself down at my feet, begging for belly rubs. I can’t deny the dog, but I don’t want to turn around to face Griffin right now.
“Not in the mood, Cowboy,” I mutter over my shoulder as I bend down to pet Tripod.
“Is that what you named him?” Griffin snorts.
I peer up at my horse’s big shiny eye, the one reflecting golden evening sun back at me.Cowboy.A smile touches my lips. Cowboys are tough. They get bucked off and then keep going. Just like this horse and me.
“No. But it is now.”
Another snort. I finally turn around to face Griffin, my stomach dropping the way it always does when my eyes land on him. “What do you want? I’m not really in the mood to chat.”
One of his thick brows arches at me before he casually strolls toward the back steps where he seems to always end up sitting out here. Tripod takes off to sniff around the yard, like he’s experiencing second-hand embarrassment and doesn’t want to put some space between us. “Can hear you chatting out here from my front porch.”
Well, shit.
He lifts a mug of something to his lips, and I can hardly look away from the way his throat bobs when he swallows. The way his eyes narrow at me from over the rim. The way his lips wrap around the edge.
Never wanted to be a piece of pottery before right now.
I shimmy my shoulders back and swap the rubber comb for a bristled brush. “Eavesdropping, Sinclaire? Cute.”
“Still mad about something I said two years ago, Wildflower?” He smirks, and I swear I could slap that cocky expression right off his beautiful face. I imagine that’s the kind of hell he gave women before he retreated up into the mountains.
My teeth grind as I focus on brushing Cowboy.And I don’t even know what to say to him. Obviously, I’m still mad about it. Obviously, I still think about it. Obviously, I’m still moderately obsessed with him, despite my best efforts.
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing at all. It’s kind of hard to talk around the foot lodged at the back of my throat. Griffin gave me the silent treatment the entire drive back to the ranch after whatever the hell that was in the elevator, so I figure I can give him the same right now.
I continue to work my way around my horse’s lanky body, trying to lose myself in the beauty of my surroundings. The green fields that butt up against the Cascade Mountains, the melodic sound of birds chirping in the trees. I stare so hard at Cowboy that I observe the subtle way he’s filling out. He’s losing that ultra-slim racehorse physique with all the extra feed he’s been getting. Retirement is looking good on him. He suits his new name.
It’s not until I get to the other side of his long body that Griffin’s raspy voice starts up again. “I brought you with me so you would see people who are happy. You’ll have it one day. I know you will.” He stares down into his mug, elbows propped on his knees, looking altogether too big to be sitting on the small steps. “You’ll do anything you set your mind to. I just know it.”
I suck in a big breath, eyes glued to the man in front of me. The man who acts like a real prick sometimes, and then says things likethat.Or rescues me a horse. Or shields me from creepy creeps who are staring at me like I’m their next meal.
“You’re a piece of work, Sinclaire.”
A dimple pops in one of his slightly pink cheeks as he stares down. He comes off almost bashful after being nice. “So I’ve been told.”
Satisfied with the way Cowboy’s coat gleams under the setting sun, I ditch the brush in my hand and lead him into his paddock. His hind leg swelling has come way down, although Mira is pretty sure he’ll need a surgery to remove some bones chips at some point if I plan to do anything more than treat him like a dog. Which I do. Cowboy and I are going to make something of ourselves.
“Goodnight, Cowboy,” I say, before pressing a kiss to the wide heart-shaped snip on his nose.
“You’re serious?”
I latch the gate where Cowboy is still lingering. He lives for the excessive attention I’ve been giving him. He waits for me every night. I know he does.
I turn back to the beefy, grumpy man sitting on the steps behind me. “About what?”
“Naming him Cowboy?”
Now it’s my turn to smirk. “Yeah. It suits him.”
A grunt is what I get in return.
I hang the leather halter on the hook beside the gate and am about to leave when Griffin stops me in my tracks.
