Chapter 6
Noah
Colton Darling is doing his absolute best to pretend I’m invisible.
And failing spectacularly.
Honestly, it’s so amusing I’m having a hard time not laughing. But he might actually punch me if I do that, so I pretend I can’t see the glares he throws my way every so often, followed by his head whipping quickly away.
If I liked the guy, I’d worry for the safety of his neck.
Colton and Remington are having a conversation I can’t understand, not that I’m making a point of intruding on what is clearly private and meant for just the two of them. But even if I did try, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the speed of their ASL. I only know a few words and phrases, enough to communicate with Remington in a pinch, not that I’ve ever needed to.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m sitting here, nursing my stout. My plan was to stop in, pick up a growler to take home, and enjoy an evening in front of the TV.
Instead, I’m planted next to the person who likes me least in all of Darling, getting some sort of sick thrill out of making him uncomfortable.
Christ . I really am an asshole.
“Another?” Virginia asks, stopping in front of me on the other side of the bar.
“Why not?” I answer.
She looks somewhat amused as she slides a second pint my way. Colton, noticing the new beer, sends me another glare.
I flash him a smile and take a sip.
His “ argh ” is audible, even over the din of the bar. He’s wearing his hat inside, but that isn’t all that uncommon. Even so, I want to pluck it off his head just to see what he’d do. I don’t give in to the impulse. Instead, I watch as Colton spins back toward Remington, signing something that looks angry and terse, based on his body language.
Remington, for his part, looks far less concerned. His response appears placating or perhaps soothing.
Deciding I’m far too invested in the two, I look away. Only to spot someone approaching in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar.
Crap .
“Hey, Noah,” Jenna says, stopping beside me on the opposite side of where Colton is sitting.
I give her a polite nod. “Jenna.”
“I don’t usually run into you outside the grocery store,” she says, leaning her weight against the bar top, her elbow on the surface.
I inch the tiniest bit away to give her more room. “Guess I don’t get out much,” I tell her, which is the truth.
She hums. “Wanna come sit over with me and my friends? There’s an extra chair.”
I glance at where she’s indicating, seeing a table with four other women around Jenna’s age. That is to say young . “I’m good.”
She does that thing where she sticks her lips out, like a pout. “Fine. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
“Yep.”
As Jenna walks off, Coltonutters a dry, “Wow.”
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Nothing. I’m just surprised you have an admirer, is all. What with that sunny attitude of yours.”
Remington groans, Colton having signed his words as he spoke. It’s a habit I’m fairly sure is ingrained in the man.
I wish I could say I don’t admire that, but it’d be a lie.
“I have no problem finding interested parties,” I tell him, enjoying the twitch at the corner of his eye.
“Mhm. Sure. Well, there’s an open seat now. So why don’t you just…” He shoos me with his hand.
“I’m good,” I assure him.
He nearly growls.
“Noah,” Remington says, startling me somewhat. I meet his eye, and he holds mine, signing something I have no hope of catching.
Colton groans, likely pained by our extended conversation. “He says, ‘How’s your uncle?’”
“Oh. Good, all things considered. Thanks for asking.”
Colton is the one to reply to that, even as he sounds surly about it. “What does that mean? ‘All things considered.’”
I debate answering him, positive he doesn’t care. But Remington is watching for my response, too, and I don’t want to be rude to the guy just because his brother is a superb pain in my ass.
“He has scoliosis that’s progressed enough to cause some pain, and his arthritis makes it difficult to walk. But he’s otherwise fine.”
Colton frowns, but then he interprets for his brother. “Remi says, ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’”
‘Thanks,’ I tell Remington directly, my hand moving from my chin.
He gives me a small smile, but Colton simply grunts, turning away enough that I know our little moment of semi-peace is shattered. That’s fine. Not like I want to get friendly with the guy anyways. The chance for that has long passed.
I sip my stout, no longer enjoying it. Deciding to call it a night, I drop a tip on the bar and push my half-full glass away. Colton catches the movement, another frown marring his face.
I can’t quite help myself. “Sweet dreams, little Colt.”
The man grits his teeth, and I smile, heading for the door.
Sound cuts off almost immediately when I step outside, the air crisp with an underlying hint of dirt I associate with this time of year, like the earth is waking up from its hibernation.
I like this region any time of year, but spring might be my favorite. Temperatures are warming but aren’t as sweltering as we get in the height of summer. Flowers come out to play, reminding me of new life and my mother’s gardens from so many years ago. Plus, springtime is when we get the most new foals born on the farms and ranches around town.
I dare anybody to be upset when there are baby horses running around.
Since the streetside parking was full when I arrived at The Barrel, I head to where I parked my bike in the lot behind the building. My boots crunch over the occasional small rock on the pavement, my thoughts a scattered mess of seasonal changes, my uncle back at home, and the man inside the bar who boils my blood without even trying. Especially when he’s trying.
And try he does.
Fuck . Why won’t he just…go away? Why does he have to be so—
“Noah.”
“Oh my God ,” I groan aloud, turning in place. “What now?”
Colton emerges from the narrow alley beside the bar. He strides my way, his hat obscuring his face with the shadows cast by the streetlights.
“What?” I repeat, my ire up.
“You know ASL,” he says, almost like an accusation. Actually, definitely an accusation. He comes to a stop in front of me, crossing his arms and waiting for my answer.
“Very little,” I tell him.
“Why?” he spits.
I throw my hands in the air. “Why? Maybe because there’s a Deaf individual in my community who I’d like to be able to talk to?”
Colton looks gobsmacked. “But you hate me,” he says vehemently, no question in his tone.
“Not everything is about you.”
There goes his scowl again.
“Is that why you came out here?” I ask. “To see if I—what? Was spying on your conversation?”
“Well, were you?”
“Why? What were you saying about me that you don’t want me to know?”
“Not everything is about you,” he parrots, lips twisting wryly.
“Jesus Christ, Colt. Leave me be.”
I turn toward my bike, but he follows after me. I spin again, not about to be caught unawares with this man at my back.
“I challenge you,” he says unprompted, his voice low.
“I’m sorry, what?” I say around a hoarse laugh. “What are we, Hamilton and Burr?”
“Not to a duel, jackass. I challenge you to a Shoein’.”
“Oh, Jesus. No.”
“No?”
“Do people even do that anymore?” I ask. “Gather in the town square to watch the local farriers go head to head in a friendly horseshoeing competition?”
“I don’t see why not,” he says easily.
“The last Shoein’ had to have been decades ago. No,” I repeat. “Not doing it.”
He works his jaw for a moment, shadows cutting a sharp line across his face. “You don’t think you’ll win.”
I laugh. Hard . Hard enough I have to clutch my knees as Colton stares at me with lethal venom in his gaze. “Oh, fuck you. I’d win.”
“Prove it.”
“Oh my God. What are we, twelve?”
“If you’re so sure you can beat me,” Colton says slowly, taking a step forward, “then prove it. But if I beat you…”
Suddenly, my pulse is hammering so heavily I can barely hear my own breath. “What? I give you my clients?”
“No,” he says at once. I ease out a breath, even though I’m not doing it. I’m not accepting Colton’s… challenge . Finally, he proposes, “Bragging rights.”
I shake my head, but Colton takes another step forward.
“C’mon, King. Where’s the cocky assurance now? What happened to ‘King Farrier Service, best in town,’ huh? Why don’t you back up that claim already?”
I grit my teeth at Colton’s mention of one of my many newspaper ads. “I’m not fighting you, Colt.”
He scoffs. “It’s a friendly competition. No fighting involved.”
Right. Friendly.
“When I win,” I say, hardly able to believe the words coming out of my mouth, “I want something else. Something more than bragging rights.”
Colton waves his hand in the air as if to say go on .
My grin is a slow thing. “I want my name tattooed on your ass.”
His eyes widen, and he sputters, “No way.”
“Afraid you’ll lose?”
“No. Way,” he says again, the meaning entirely different.
I shrug. “Your choice. Those are my terms. Winner gets proof they’re the best farrier. Loser gets some fresh ink.”
Colton makes a sound of superb frustration, and I nearly laugh.
“Hey, you started this,” I point out. “I just upped the ante.”
“You’re insufferable,” he grits out, pacing in a tight circle, his steps taking him away from me and then closer again. “God, I just—”
He cuts off, signing something I’m almost positive is an inventive insult, based on the tight, jerky movements of his hands and arms.
I grunt. “Say it to my face, Colt.”
He stops his circle abruptly, shifting to come my way. The next second, he’s in my space, shoving me backwards. “God, I can’t stand you.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” I assure him, bracing myself for him to come at me again. If he does, I might just sock him in that perfect nose of his.
“You’re an ass. Pompous. Infuriating,” he says, apparently having decided to list my faults after all. “You think you’re so much better than me, and why? Because I’m…smaller than you? Because you like feeling like the bigger man?”
“That has nothing to do with it,” I shoot back, my frustration returning tenfold. “I never claimed to be better than you as a person. If anything, it’s the other way around.”
Colton swats my hand away, making me realize I’d been pressing a finger into his chest. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’ve never done anything to you without good reason.”
I laugh harshly.
“Stop treating this like a joke,” he practically shouts. “Jesus, you arrogant, self-centered prick of a human being.”
“Get out of my face,” I tell him, the man toe to toe with me now.
“Does anyone else get to see this side of you, huh?” he asks, not moving a muscle except to get closer. “Or am I just so special that—”
Colton makes to shove my shoulder again, so I spin him into the truck at our sides. One second, there’s Colton’s shocked expression mixed with a small wince of pain, and then my mouth is shutting the man up.
I feel triumphant. Giddy even, to have found a way to render Colton absolutely speechless. There’s no talking with my lips pressed so firmly against his, the force of my attack bruising. His hand on my chest flexes, his entire body jolting almost, as I bite his lip. I do it again, as hard as I dare without drawing blood, my soul singing in smug satisfaction and—
The return of my senses has me stepping swiftly back and releasing Colton. He blinks his eyes open, bright blue staring at me in that wide-eyed surprise I was so desperate to get a glimpse of only a handful of days ago. But my smugness at having elicited such a reaction quickly turns to something else entirely.
Because fuck .
I have never, not once, been interested in a man. Never kissed one or even wanted to.
And of all the men in the world I could have chosen to kiss, hate-fueled or otherwise, it just had to be Colton goddamn Darling.