Chapter 8
Noah
I’m not doing a very good job of ignoring my Colton problem.
I kissed the man.
On the mouth.
Looking back, I can honestly say I have no clue what I was thinking, except… I wasn’t thinking. Only reacting. I wanted to shut Colton up. To rattle him. To wipe that look of frustrated animosity off his face and replace it with… I don’t know.
He hasn’t said a word about it. Not to me. Hasn’t sought me out. Hasn’t punched me or asked what the hell I was doing.
I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
I finish raking the dead leaves and pine needles out behind the house into a neat pile. Next will be cleaning up the flower beds. It’s warm enough that I don’t need a jacket, yet the breeze keeps me from sweating under the sun.
“Gonna vacuum the woods when you’re done with that?” my uncle calls.
I squint against the sunlight, finding him standing at the back door. “What now?”
“You’ve been fussing. Finding excuses to keep busy for days. Wanna talk about it?”
Jesus .
I almost wish the man didn’t know me so well.
“Nothing to talk about,” I call back.
He lets out a loud harrumph just as my phone starts to ring from inside my pocket. I pull it free as my uncle walks back into the house, my brows shooting up when I see the name onscreen. I quickly answer.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Doherty.”
“Noah,” she replies.
“What can I do for you?”
There’s a brief pause before Marie Doherty says, “I’ve got fifteen new horses coming to stay with me soon. Can you take them on?”
This time, it’s me pausing. “You don’t want Colton to handle them?”
“His schedule is full. He recommended you.”
I nearly bark a laugh entirely devoid of humor. What in the hell is he up to?
“I can take ’em,” I tell her, not about to pass up the chance, even if I don’t trust Colton Darling one fucking bit.
“Good,” Marie says simply. “They’ll be here in twelve days. Can you be here in thirteen?”
“I sure can. I’ll see you then.”
With a quick goodbye, Marie ends the call, and I stand there, wondering what the fuck Colton is playing at. There’s no way the man I know wouldn’t have moved heaven and earth to fit those horses into his schedule if for no other reason than to keep me from getting the business. So what is this? What’s the goddamn catch?
I store my rake and head inside, done with yard work for the day. My uncle is seated in the back room now, his reading glasses on and a book in his hand.
“I’m here if you wanna talk,” he says.
My upper body deflates with my breath. “Love you, Walt.”
“You, too, kiddo.”
I continue on my way, hopping in the shower once upstairs and scrubbing the dirt off my hands and forearms. I use a brush to get underneath my fingernails, the same one I use each and every day after shoeing horses.
No one ever said farriery was tidy work.
By the time I’m done, I’ve made up my mind.
I need to pay Colton Darling a visit.
The Darling Ranch is a sprawling property not that far south of where I live. I wait until the evening is well underway to drive over, knowing I’ll have a better chance of catching Colton after work hours, even on the weekend.
The place isn’t busy when I pull up. I’m guessing most of the ranch hands are gone by five. The lights in the house are on, as well as in the two small cottage-style homes I’m fairly certain belong to Colton’s parents.
I don’t know if the sound of my bike alerted Colton to my presence, but he comes out the front door before I’ve even set both feet on the ground.
“What are you doing here?” he calls, storming over with his jeans crumpled up around the tops of his boots like he shoved the footwear on hastily.
“Needa talk with you,” I answer, setting my helmet on my bike seat.
After a couple seconds of staring as if he’s calculating whether or not I’m serious, Colton waves me toward the side of the house. Away from prying eyes maybe?
I follow him off the gravel and onto grass, my heart thumping viciously now that I’m here.
“Talk,” Colton says, spinning toward me and crossing his arms.
“Fuck,” I mutter, already feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Do you have to be so…”
I wave a hand his way, not even knowing how to finish my sentence.
So infuriating?
So frustrating?
So goddamn annoying I want to level something? Preferably him?
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Colton retorts icily. “Was I supposed to welcome you with open arms?”
“Christ, Colt. I’m trying to be an adult here.”
“By all means, please do try.”
Groaning, I scrub my hands through my hair and exhale a breath. “Why the fuck did you let me have Marie’s new horses?”
“I was being nice ,” he grits out.
I don’t believe that for one goddamn second. “I wanted them fair and square, Colt. Not because you… pity me or something.”
He throws his hands in the air, eyes wide. “I can’t win! You want her horses back. You don’t want them. Which is it?”
“I want them because I earned them. Not because you stole them and then decided to toss a few back my way as a consolation prize.”
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, looking heavenward. “I can’t with you.”
“You never could.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
I shake my head, not wanting to get into history that’s so far behind us it’s not even worth dredging up.
“I accepted the job,” I tell him. “Because I know I’ll do right by those horses. But if this is some ploy to make me look bad or trick me or—”
“Trick you?” he cuts in, incredulous. “How?”
“I don’t know . But I don’t trust you.”
And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Colton Darling has proven he’s someone I can’t trust.
“Well that’s fine ,” he shoots back. “Not like I was planning on inviting you in to make friendship bracelets or anything.”
I huff, realizing, at some point, we moved closer to one another. I take a big step back, debating whether or not I even want to bring up the other thing. The topic that’s been weighing on me for days.
But if I don’t, I’ll keep wondering. Keep waiting for Colton to use it against me somehow.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” I tell him. “Behind the bar.”
He looks confused for all of a split second before his expression blanks, becoming surprisingly unreadable.
“I don’t like you,” I go on, wanting to make that absolutely clear.
Colton crosses his arms again, the lines of his face and body tense. “Are you…”
“Am I what?” I ask when the silence becomes too much.
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “Doesn’t matter. You kiss me again, and I’ll knee you in the balls.”
“I won’t be kissing you again,” I say firmly, my skin prickling in irritation. “Got it?”
“Good. I’d hate to have to file a restraining order.”
I shake my head, beyond done with this conversation, and turn to go.
“I’m not trying to trick you,” Colton says at my back. “I’m trying to make things right. I know you don’t believe me, Noah, but I never meant to lose you that job.”
“And yet I still haven’t heard an apology come out of your mouth,” I point out, not bothering to turn around.
Colton doesn’t offer one now, and I walk away.
Unbelievable .
Of all the people in this town to be at odds with, it has to be the one—the only one—who’s a direct threat to my livelihood. I can’t get away from it. From him .
Why does he have to be so goddamn—
I come up short, registering someone standing beside my bike.
“Pretty,” the man I recognize as Hank Darling says. Colton’s father.
I give him a nod. “Thanks, sir.”
He snorts. “ Sir . Just Hank is fine. You know, my son has never been the best at turning his feelings into words.”
I don’t say a word myself, not sure what he’s getting at. He must have seen us talking, though, to know that’s why I’m here.
Or he simply assumed as much.
“I remember when Colton was, oh, ten or so,” he says, bending down to inspect my motorcycle. “He snuck an entire strawberry cream pie up into his room because he was afraid there wouldn’t be any left for him to eat. It was his birthday party, so his worry wasn’t unfounded considering all the guests. But…” Hank stands upright, rounding my bike to look at it from another angle. “Instead of asking me or his mom to make sure there was a piece set aside just for him, he hid the whole pie away and got so sick the next day from gorging himself, he hasn’t touched one since.”
I wince, something unwelcome, like sympathy, pinging around in my chest.
“My point is,” Hank says almost lazily, hands in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels, “Colton doesn’t handle his emotions in the most obvious of ways. He grew up with three brothers. And they all liked strawberry cream pie.”
“So, what?” I ask, keeping my tone as even as possible. “He learned to simply take what he wants?”
Like my clients.
Hank rolls his eyes. “Good Lord. No . My son,” he stresses, “is so used to putting others first that when there’s something he really wants, he doesn’t know how to ask for it. He’s scared if he does, he’ll end up without a piece at all.” With that, Mr. Darling pats my helmet, like a punctuation mark at the end of his story. “Evening, Noah.”
“Evening,” I mumble, watching the man walk off.
When I glance back at the house, I don’t see Colton. Not inside or out. The lights are still on, but there’s no movement beyond the windows.
I swing my leg over my bike and head down the gravel drive.
I could move a ways out of Darling and find plenty of work. Farriers are in high demand around these parts with so many ranches and farms claiming massive swaths of land. I could relocate elsewhere in Montana or even move back to Wyoming like my uncle suggested.
But there’s more than enough work here in Darling, too. And it’s my home . It has been since the very moment Walter took me in. I’ve carved out a life for myself here. A good one. Yes, losing thirty horses in one sweep was a blow, but I have enough business to ensure Walter and I are comfortable. I’m doing fine . We’re doing fine.
The only hiccup in my otherwise peaceful life is Colton goddamn Darling.
I can’t give him the satisfaction of winning. I won’t leave. Won’t accept defeat.
Our war started long ago.
And fuck if I can’t see the end of it, no matter how hard I try.