He moves back before he offers me his hand to help me up. Knowing it would only hurt more to do it by myself, I grasp his hand. A zing of awareness races through me at the contact of our skin. Something I’ve never felt before. Stunned for a second, I let him pull me to my feet without much help from me.
I still wonder what the hell that feeling was when he walks toward the hay bale to grab my sling. Once he’s back in front of me, I silently watch him as he slides the sling carefully over my arm before he fastens the strap around my neck. A tingling sensation follows his fingers as they skim the skin of my neck.
I clear my throat and try to hold his gaze that’s clearly not pleased with me being here. Or maybe he just doesn’t like being anywhere near me. “Thank you,” I say, trying to remember my manners.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
I’m taken aback by his harsh tone, not sure what he’s referring to. “What?”
“I know you’re not stupid, Montana. I asked what the fuck you were thinking going anywhere near Lucifer? Someone like you could have easily gotten hurt.”
“Someone like me?” My own voice rises in response to his condescending tone. Someone like me? Is he serious? I’m probably more qualified to be near that horse, Lucifer, than everyone else in this place except my father.
“Yeah, someone like you who’s never been around a green horse before.”
At his words, the anger I’ve been holding in for the last half an hour, ever since I heard him talk to Lizzie—hell over the last fourteen years—explodes out of me.
“Listen here, jackass, the only reason why Lucifer freaked out is because you came storming in here making a fucking ruckus so loud you’d think you were trying to wake the dead. He was perfectly fine before you showed up, doing whatever it was you were doing, and scaring him.” When he opens his mouth to respond, I hold up my hand palm out to stop him. “I’m still talking, you already said plenty for one day.”
My hand drops to my side. “You don’t know me, or my life. All you know is a bunch of bullshit other people or social media have told you. And they don’t fucking know me either. You’re clearly the type of person who thinks it’s okay to talk shit about someone you’ve never so much as spoken a word to, and I’m the brat?” My voice rises the longer I speak. I don’t care if he realizes I overheard his conversation this morning. “But I’m going to tell you one thing. Besides my father, I’m probably the only person on this ranch who’s able to handle a horse like Lucifer. He wasn’t planning to hurt me, and he wouldn’t have if not for you. I’ve been on a horse since before I could walk, I’ve been training them since I was thirteen years old. I’m the only one who ever trained or rode Whisky.” I point toward my boy whose head is hanging out the stall window, clearly curious. “He’s the best at what he does because of me, not in spite of me.” It’s not a lie either. Whisky was born to jump, he loves doing it, and he excels when faced with a challenge—despite being shorter than most of his peers—but he’s only at the level he is because we’re unbeatable as a team. We’re in sync and trust each other, which is vital when you do what we do. But many people don’t understand the bond we share and think I’m just a spoiled brat who got lucky with a horse someone bought her.
“So how about you get off your high horse and take your condescending attitude and fuck yourself.” I’m past caring that I’m reinforcing his opinion of me. I long since learned not to surround myself with people who are either using me for something or talk about me behind my back while being nice to my face. It’s gotten me into trouble one too many times not to have learned my lesson.
At my last sentence, his eyes widen in shock while his mouth tightens. I guess he’s not used to anyone—especially a woman—speaking to him this way.
“You—” he starts, his face contorting in anger, but the door opening interrupts whatever he was about to say.
“Montana, here you are,” I hear my father’s voice say, but I refuse to be the one to look away first. It might be childish, but I refuse to give him that much.
“I see you’ve met Kade,” he continues like the air in the room isn’t thick enough you could cut it with a knife. “He’s the vet I told you about. The best in the area,” he boasts. “He’s here to look at Whisky’s leg.”
“Yeah, we met. Though, he wasn’t forthcoming in telling me why he was here, slamming doors and scaring your horses.”
My father halts at my tone and looks between us, finally clueing into the tension. “Is something wrong?” His voice is sharp, letting us both know he doesn’t like what he’s picking up on.
“I’m sorry. We’re fine,” Kade says with a phony smile when it becomes clear I’m not going to. “Right, Montana?” And just like that, he’s being pleasant, all trace of the former antagonism toward me gone.
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure this guy out. I don’t trust his sudden change in demeanor. He is clearly used to getting his way, having everyone around him do exactly what he wants. And I’m sure his looks help with that. But I don’t trust it.
I shift my gaze to my father, seeing his relaxed stance and the
