Chapter Twenty-Two
I fell asleep on the couch wrapped up in Kade’s arms and watching the fire burn in front of us. I remember feeling more content and safer than I have in ages before my eyes closed.
“Good morning, Princess.” The whisper invades my consciousness, rousing me from that place between sleep and awake where everything seems possible.
I slightly stretch and notice the soft mattress beneath me and the heavy comforter covering me. I’m definitely not on the couch anymore. Kade must have carried me to bed after I fell asleep. The thought has my heart skip a beat.
The hair covering parts of my face is gently moved away before fingertips trace my temple and cheekbone. I smile, enjoying the feeling of his touch.
“Time to wake up. I made you coffee,” he continues. As soon as he says the words the rich coffee smell invades my senses. “Also, Dakota called three times already. I picked up the last time since she didn’t seem likely to give up any time soon. She asked me to deliver the following message: ‘Get your ass outta bed, lazy bitch, before I come drag you out of it.’”
When I narrow my eyes at him, he holds up his hands in a motion to ward off whatever is about to come at him. “Not my words. They’re hers.”
“I know.” I smile. “Even when you were a dick to me, you never called me a ‘bitch.’ ‘Spoiled brat’ definitely, but never the b-word,” I tease, enjoying the slight blush creeping over his skin.
“Babe—” he starts, and I know it’s another apology.
“Stop apologizing. It’s done, we’ve moved on. Though, I’ll probably tease you about it for a while yet, mainly because you blushing is kind of cute.”
“Cute?” he asks in outrage. “That’s worse than ‘pretty boy.’ I’m not cute. I’m ravishingly handsome. Devastatingly gorgeous. Suave—”
“Jesus. Did you swallow a thesaurus for breakfast?”
“I’m not cute.” He pouts, ignoring my smart-ass comment, and crosses his arms across his chest.
It’s too early for this.
Shaking my head at the silliness, I sit up and traces his brow with my thumb. I study his features and have to admit, cute isn’t a word anyone would use to describe the man in front of me. “You’re right, you’re not cute. You’re ravishingly handsome. If you were on a stage, women all over the world would be throwing their bras at you. Screaming they want your babies. Tattooing your name—”
“Stop.” His lips twitch as he rolls his eyes at me.
“Too much?” He nods, not saying a word. “What tipped it over the edge? The tattoo thing?”
“Yeah, it went from funny to creepy real fast with that one.”
“Hmm,” I mumble, pondering the thought of tattooing your significant other’s name on your skin, permanently marking yourself. What’s the appeal? What if you break up?
Too many things can go wrong.
“Coffee?” His question pulls me from those thoughts.
“Yes, please,” I say, holding out my hands in a grabbing motion like a toddler.
He hands me the mug with a smile. I take a sip, letting the nurturing warmth of the dark brew do its magic on my tired mind.
“What’s on your agenda today?” I ask after the first couple of sips.
Kade watches me for a beat before he answers, “I’ll be at the clinic all day. We’re pretty swamped. And chances are I’ll be called out as well with everyone in the midst of calving season.”
“You still coming by tonight to check on Whisky? He seems a lot better, but I don’t want to risk it. I can’t compete with someone else.”
I ignore the compassions in his eyes, refusing to believe anything but that Whisky will be healthy soon. “Mon, chances are he won’t be ready for Vegas next month.”
“I know, but I refuse to go to the Olympics without him. We’ve worked too long and too hard to not go together.”
“Princess…” His reaches out to grab one of my hands. I know what’s he’s thinking. That I’m being too stubborn about this. I know I’m being irrational; it’s normal to switch between two or three horses to compete. This isn’t the first time Whisky hasn’t been healthy enough to compete, but I’ve never before had the chance to go to the Olympics—the most prestigious international competition.
For one, the games only happen every four years, and it’s an honor to be selected as one of the three best to compete for your country. You can win every tournament and earn all the money, but in the end, you’ll always be measured by your Olympic wins. You’ll always be the one who won everything but gold at the Olympics.
I’ve wanted this since I was young. It’s my version of the Super Bowl.
And Whisky and I are a perfectly oiled machine, he’s the horse I know with certainty I can win with.
When Kade squeezes my hand, my eyes find his. “How about you bring Whisky to the clinic tomorrow? It’s Sunday, so we’re closed. I’ll have time to see how he’s progressing. But I doubt he’ll be ready for the finals in Vegas next month.”
“I know. Bob talked to Mr. Seymour for me before he came up here. He’s happy for me to compete with the best horse in his stable, Silver Shine. He’s been trying to get me to take her on for a while now, but I couldn’t bring myself to—”
“I understand. From the name, I’m guess she’s the gray mare standing all proud in Wayne’s barn?”
“Yeah.” My smirk matches his. The name really is too obvious. “She’s an amazing horse though. Very well-trained and knows what she’s doing.”
“Well, Mr. Seymour is well-known as a Hanoverian breeder. Wasn’t Riot Gun one of his?”
“Yes,
