“He was rescued a couple weeks ago from an abandoned ranch near Great Falls. He was first placed at the Horse Sanctuary with Karen. She’s very experienced with abused animals, but she’s dealing with her sick mother and didn’t have the time to invest. So, she called me, knowing I’d be interested once I got a good look at him.” It’s his turn to shrug.
“He does look an awful lot like Saint,” I comment.
“You remember Saint?” I don’t appreciate Kade’s incredulous tone at all.
“Of course, I do. I was ten when we left and able to retain information and memories, not a toddler. He was also the one who taught me how to ride.”
“You were a natural,” Wayne interjects, clearly reading the tension between Kade and I. “I think it took you about a week in the round pen and arena before you raced with Saint through the fields behind the house.”
“Well, I did have my fair share of tumbles.” I remember with a smile.
“And yet, you never were afraid of anything.”
I snort, thinking of all the things I’m afraid of. I’m not a child anymore and know I’m not invincible. “I’m afraid of plenty now. So what is it about Lucifer that has you all running scared?”
This time Kade is the one to answer. “We aren’t running scared, but he’s proven to be unpredictable.” It’s not his answer that intrigues me, but his tone—one I can’t quite identify but spikes my curiosity, nonetheless.
“What did he do?”
“Oh, the question is what didn’t he do?” my father says, trying to hold back laughter. “It took us the better part of a day to catch the little bastard and get him into a trailer. He did everything from kicking to biting so he could escape. Ran that one”—he hooks his thumb toward Kade—“over a few times, too. Wouldn’t let Kade near him to check him over, either.”
“So?” I’m confused, this doesn’t sound so bad; it’s nothing other horses haven’t done when they didn’t want to be caught, especially young ones that have experienced some kind of trauma. “That doesn’t sound like serious enough to make you so wary of him.”
The huff of annoyance from Kade sets my teeth on edge. It’s like from the first moment we met he zeroed into the one thing that would annoy me the most—questioning my ability to handle horses—and keeps poking at it just for the hell of it. “He’s unpredictable. One minute he’s standing there relaxed, the next he’ll try to take your head off.”
I stare at him and narrow my eyes, not appreciating his condescending tone. I can feel my father tense next to me, whether it’s because he can feel my anger rising or because of Kade’s tone, I don’t know. I debate whether or not to say something as we stop in front of the house. “I see. Maybe you’re just not as good at reading a horse’s body language as you tell yourself you are.” I can’t help the smirk forming on my lips. “After all, the one thing I learned is they can read dishonesty. Maybe he doesn’t trust you.” With that, I turn around and head for the front door, intent on forgetting about the gorgeous bastard, and mumble underneath my breath, “Can’t say I blame him either.”
When I’m about to open the door, I hear my father ask Kade in a tight voice, “What was that all about?” I’m not sure who the anger in his voice is aimed at, and I’m too tired and hungry too care.
Chapter Four
The moment I step into the house the most delicious smell assaults my senses. I can’t place it, but it smells like what you’d imagine Christmas would smell like. Not that I’d know, I can’t remember the last time I had a Christmas that didn’t involve fighting of some kind or ended with me being by myself.
Toeing off my boots, I cautiously follow the smell toward the kitchen. I’m curious to see what’s happening, and I know I need to finally introduce myself to Lizzie. Kade was right with what he said—it was rude to not say anything last night. I knew it then, but I just didn’t have the energy.
I stop in the doorway to the kitchen and just stare for a moment. Lizzie is buzzing around the room filled with energy, grabbing eggs, milk, and orange juice from the fridge. I wonder what she’s doing in the kitchen at barely 8 a.m. when she turns and stops in her tracks as soon as she sees me standing in the doorway.
I force an awkward smile, unsure how to behave after what I heard this morning. When she doesn’t move and just stares at me, I remember my resolve to be the opposite of my mother. Taking a deep breath, inhaling the delicious smells permeating the air, I take a step toward her and raise my hand.
“I’m Montana. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself last night. These painkillers they’ve given me keep knocking me out.” When she still doesn’t move, I drop my hand but keep going, “Thank you for letting me stay here while this”—I gesture to my shoulder—“heals. I promise to stay out of your way.”
I’m about to turn around when she whispers, “You look just like him.”
“Sorry?” I ask, confused. I have no idea who she’s referring to.
“Your father. I mean I knew from the photos you’re beautiful, but you have his eyes.”
“Uh, I—thanks.” I’m a little disappointed that the only thing she sees when she looks at me is my appearance. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after the conversation I heard. I still wish someone would see past
