I squint at his face, partially obscured by the darkness creeping in from outside, but can’t quite read his expression. I’m not sure if he’s genuine or condescending, though if past encounters taught me anything it’s probably the latter. Unsure of how to respond, I decide to go with a polite, “Thanks,” just in case, for some unknown reason, he was being genuine.
“I mean it,” he reassures me while stepping out of the dark shadows. He raises a hand to his neck, rubbing like he’s trying to get rid of unseen tension in his muscles. “I watched you in there”—he nods down the hallway toward the arena—“you were patient and understanding in a way I’ve never seen before. Every time Lucifer got to the point of not being able to cope you recognized it and stopped, rewarding him once he calmed down by backing off.”
I’m not sure I can trust his words, belying everything he’s shown me so far, even though they seem filled with genuine approval.
I’ve been burned one too many times to be easily swayed by his sudden change in behavior. At the same time, I can’t help but think of what happened to his parents and how he must feel having lost his family in such a tragic way.
I stare into Kade’s blue eyes, trying to figure out the motives behind his civilized behavior. I expect to see malice or at least dishonesty in the depth of his irises, but nothing but candid respect seems to be hiding there.
Before I can form an answer to his unexpected praise, he continues, “I know you don’t trust me, but I mean it. Wayne was right to ask you to help with Lucifer—if anyone can help that horse it’s you.”
“I–I–Thank you. I appreciate you saying that,” I respond, warmth spreading across my skin like the sun has suddenly emerged from behind the clouds.
For the first time since the day we met, Kade smiles at me. It’s sincere and filled with some kind of understanding. While we stare at each other, both of us lost in thought, I can feel the strange pull I felt toward him that first day I met him in this very barn tug at the edges of my consciousness. I’ve done so well over the past month to ignore these feelings he evokes inside of me, but just one smile, a few words of praise, and they’re back full force.
I don’t want to feel any of this toward someone like him. Not just because he has a girlfriend, but also because he’s judged me harsher than anyone I’ve met before without even knowing me—a fact that hurts a lot more than it should.
It’s like my wild side, the one I’ve been repressing for the last seven years, doesn’t care about any of this. All she sees are his gorgeous eyes looking at her like there’s no one else, his luscious lips made for kissing all her demons away.
It’s his voice that pulls me out of my reverie of his mouth and all the naughty thoughts that infiltrated my mind. “Where did you learn how to do this? I’ve never seen anything like it before, even here, and this is horse country.”
I avert my gaze at his words still filled with the same admiration, unsure how to deal with the praise. “Well, Bob taught me when we first moved to Seattle.” I shrug my shoulders. “I started riding at his stable, and we became friends. Sort of. More like he took me under his wing.” I smile to myself at the memory of Bob’s face when I told him we were friends and there was nothing he could do about it. “And once Whisky turned three, he agreed to help me with his training.” I cross my arms, and lost in thought I keep going, “The whole process taught me a lot, and it gave me a reason not to go home after school and face my mother…”
Once I realize what I said, what I let slip, my eyes shoot to his, my body tensing. He looks confused at my words, like he’s unsure what to make of them, a slight crease between his eyebrows. Not that I can blame him. It seems I’m getting good at being vague since I got here. Something I despise people doing, and yet, here I am, indulging in the same annoying practice without even noticing.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks before I can start initiating damage control. And for the first time in a long time I don’t feel the overwhelming need to do so, instead I find myself wanting to open up to someone. Even if it’s Kade, someone who’s insulted me to my face.
“I…” I trail off, fighting with myself about what to say. “My mother and I, we never really got along all that great. Still don’t. But it was bad right after we left Wayne. So I would find things to do before going home. It was usually better after dinner when she would forget she had a daughter.” When I see sympathy enter his eyes, I turn away to stare out the window, not in the mood to see the pity I know will enter at some point. It always does whenever I told even just a sliver of what was going on. Not that anyone actually knows how bad it was in the end.
“I’m sorry about your mother, Montana,” he says, his voice soft, like a light caress of the first sun rays on a Sunday morning, causing a slight tremor to run down my spine. It’s a pleasant and not at all unwelcome sensation, even
