Chapter 9
Colton
I can’t believe I didn’t think to question it before.
Is Noah King bi?
I hadn’t stopped to wonder, too caught up in my own reaction to that… kiss to even consider Noah.
He didn’t say as much. Didn’t even imply that kissing guys might be commonplace for him.
Surely I would’ve heard if that were the case, wouldn’t I? Secrets don’t keep in this town.
Not that any of it explains why he kissed me .
Fuck , I don’t know what to think. I’ve been trying not to, if I’m being honest with myself. I don’t want to think about Noah King or why that mauling behind The Barrel made me feel so…
I throw down my rasp with a little more force than necessary. The metal clangs against the other tools in my bag, and I wince, apologizing to both my tools and the horse I just finished shoeing. I untie her lead and walk her back into her stall before cleaning up my workspace.
I need to head back to Marie Doherty’s this afternoon, and there’s a good chance I’ll see Noah there. The new horses have arrived, and although I’m not in charge of them, one of the horses I am in charge of started walking funny this morning. Marie asked—demanded, more like—for me to come check it over before bothering with a vet visit. Could be an easy fix.
I take my time, returning to the ranch for lunch first. Not because I’m avoiding Noah. Everybody’s gotta eat.
The dining room is bustling when I arrive. I find an empty chair and grab a roll before the platter can be picked clean. As I’m ladling homemade chicken noodle soup into my bowl, I catch part of a conversation a couple of the ranch hands are having.
“Hear the town is holding a treasure hunt this year?”
That was Colleen.
“You serious?” Marty asks.
Colleen nods. “It’s supposed to be some sort of fundraiser for the accessible playground the board approved. I guess you buy a ticket to enter and then follow the clues throughout town. Not sure what the prize is gonna be.”
Marty hums. “Maybe cash?”
“Or a crate of Darling Whiskey?” Colleen proposes.
“Heck, if that’s it, I’m definitely entering. How much are tickets?”
“Flyer said fifty bucks,” Colleen answers.
A nudge against my arm draws my attention away from talk of the treasure hunt. “Pass the butter?” my dad asks.
I hand it over and dig back into my soup, wondering if Noah might buy a ticket or if he’d think such a thing too childish and fun. I’m positive Noah doesn’t know the meaning of the word fun, stick in the mud that he is.
Ugh .
I wipe my thoughts of the man. Again.
As the ranchers head off to finish their day of work, I linger in the dining room. Ash gives me a pointed look as I start collecting silverware alongside him, figuring I might as well lend a hand. He doesn’t say anything. Not until he finds me at the sink, rinsing dishes.
“Okay, spit it out,” he demands, cocking a hip against the counter.
“Spit what out?”
“Whatever it is that has you cleaning after lunch when you know that’s my job.”
“What, a guy can’t help out around here?” I mutter.
Ash raises an eyebrow in a way that reminds me distinctly of my brother Jackson.
I groan and hastily dry my hands. An inquisition is the last thing I need right now. I wouldn’t even know what to say. “It’s nothing. I got work to do.”
I can feel Ash’s gaze following me out the doorway, but I pay it no mind.
When I arrive at Mrs. Doherty’s, a familiar blue pickup is parked out front. I curse a good dozen times, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing my things and heading toward the stables attached to the arena. I gird myself as I walk through the doors, looking around, hoping if I spot the man, I can take a route to avoid him.
No such luck.
Noah is set up in the center aisle, dust-covered chaps over his dark jeans, the white hat on his head blocking my view of his face but not the tattoos visible on his forearms. Or what looks like an inked horseshoe peeking out near his collarbone.
I heave an internal sigh and walk his way.
He must hear me approaching because his head lifts, his movements stilling for all of a second before he goes back to his work.
Good . We’re ignoring each other. That I can do. And happily.
I trudge past toward stall five on the right. Peanut, the horse I need to check, is inside as expected. I greet him, voice low, and open the stall door. Peanut doesn’t seem overly bothered as I urge him to lift his hoof, used to that sort of thing from me. It takes me a good minute to spot the problem, but, finally, I see a small object embedded into his sole right along the edge of his shoe.
“Well, dang,” I say, letting his hoof down. “Let’s get that outta there, huh?”
Peanut doesn’t argue.
I step back into the hall, rummaging through my bag for the thin-tipped pliers I know are there. Noah is still hard at work, his ass aimed my way. I flip him off while he can’t see it.
Back in Peanut’s stall, I hunker low, letting the horse’s front leg rest on my thigh as I take a better look at the underside of his hoof. I use the end of the pliers to scrape away the excess dirt, avoiding the object itself. Looks like metal.
From outside the stall, I can hear Noah talking to his charge. “Nah, nah, none of that,” he says. The horse is probably nibbling on him, as they like to do. “There you go. Yep. That’s a good boy.”
My head whips up so fast I nail it on the metal hay feeder attached to the wall. I grunt, closing my eyes tight against the sting.
“All right over there?” Noah asks.
“Yep,” I manage. “Fine.”
Fuck , that smarts.
I rub gingerly over my head as Noah goes back to soothing his horse with gently spoken words. I forcibly tune it out, setting to work on getting the object free from Peanut’s hoof. It doesn’t take long to realize I need to remove the shoe to avoid hurting him. Whatever it is—a fence nail, maybe?—is embedded at such an angle I can’t get a good grip.
I go through the process of removing his shoe and try again. But the moment I get a good grip on the metal, Peanut tugs his leg away.
I mutter a quiet apology to the horse and try again. And again , Peanut isn’t having it.
“Need help?”
“ Christ ,” I growl, nearly bashing my head for a second time as I look up at Noah in the doorway. “Warn a guy, would ya?”
Noah pointedly clears his throat before saying, once more, “Need help?”
“No,” I spit out, immediately amending it to, “Maybe.”
He steps into the stall, making the space feel much too cramped. Heavy boots pass by as Noah situates himself on the other side of me, one hand on the horse’s halter, the other rubbing over his neck. I pick up Peanut’s hoof again, and when he tries to look back at me, Noah clicks in a soothing manner and talks to the horse.
The distraction is enough to give me a chance to get ahold of the object with the pliers and give an experimental tug. Peanut tries to pull free, but I hold on, anticipating the move, and Noah distracts him again. The embedded nail moves enough that, this time, I don’t hesitate to give it a swift and decisive pull. It comes clean out, and I let Peanut drop his hoof back to the ground.
“Gonna need to clean that out,” Noah says, referring to the horse’s hoof.
“Oh, really?” I ask, looking up at him. “I had no clue I might want to clean a flesh wound to, y’know, prevent infection or an abscess. Thank God you were here to tell me.”
Noah huffs, giving Peanut another pat before stepping over my still-bent leg. “You’re a dick,” he says plainly.
“Takes one to know one,” I shoot back.
“God, do you have to be contrary every damn time we speak?” Noah asks, stopping in the doorway and turning back around, his irritation evident in every line of his body and the set of his jaw.
“Do you have to assume I’m bad at my job? I know how to take care of a hoof, Noah.”
“So glad to hear it, little Colt,” he says dryly. “I can rest easy at night knowing you’re aware of what an abscess is.”
“Jesus fuck, what is your problem?” I spit, standing up.
“You,” he says, sounding at a loss. “The answer to that is always you.”
“Well, don’t I feel special.”
Silence stretches following my words, and my heart pounds. Noah’s jaw is tense, his eyes boring into me, and I hate it. I want him to do something. To go already or…
Noah turns with a shake of his head, and I pull in a breath, the force of the inhale surprising me.
“Fine,” I find myself calling. Noah stops. “I accept your terms.”
“My terms,” he says, looking back at me.
“The…ink.”
His eyebrow pops up, and he turns fully, crossing his arms and regarding me. “Really? But you’re a virgin.”
I huff. “I am not —”
“Your skin,” he says, seeming amused . “Unless you have a tattoo I’m unaware of?”
“No. And I won’t be getting one. Because I’ll win the Shoein’.”
He scoffs, taking a step closer. “I’m really going to enjoy seeing my name tattooed across your ass.”
“Why the fuck would you be seeing it?” I ask, alarmed.
He comes up short, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t thought of that, but a voice from down the hall has both of our heads whipping to the side.
“Well? What’s the verdict?” Marie asks, looking from me to Noah and back again.
Noah leaves us to it, heading to his makeshift station, and I give Marie the news.
“Peanut had a small nail in his sole. It didn’t appear to have caused much of an issue and came out just fine. I’ll soak his hoof, clean the wound, and wrap him up. But you’ll want to check with your vet to make sure his tetanus is up to date.”
“Jesus,” Marie says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “A nail? Who the hell is leaving nails out in my yard?”
It’s a rhetorical question I don’t bother answering, knowing Marie isn’t actually accusing anyone of planting it.
“I’ll pay you for your time and supplies,” she says, sounding tired. “Thanks, Colton.”
“Not a problem,” I assure her.
Marie heads off, going out the front door instead of back the way she came. Probably to check on the other half of her business: her chickens.
I glance at where Noah is leading a new horse out into the aisle. The ink on his left forearm snakes around him like a vine, disappearing up under his shirt. The design is distinctly floral, except it’s not actually vines at the center, I realize. It’s rope.
I’m not sure what the flowers are.
Noah catches me looking, and I quickly turn around, focusing on Peanut instead of my archenemy. The one who, apparently, has colorful flowers tattooed on his skin.
I find a bucket in the tack room to soak Peanut’s hoof, and the next forty minutes is spent tending to his minor wound. Once he’s wrapped up and reshod, I add a fabric boot to help keep the bandages clean. Marie can take it off as she sees fit.
Closing the door to Peanut’s stall, I hesitate.
Maybe noticing the sudden stillness in the air, Noah turns his head, his hat set aside now and his hair falling messily over his forehead. His eyes narrow as I step his way.
“Don’t, Colton,” he says stiffly, refocusing on the hoof held between his knees. “I’m just trying to do my work.”
I clear my throat. “The Shoein’.”
Noah sighs heavily, but he doesn’t look my way. “You issued the challenge. Name a time.”
My heart is racing again, and I’m not quite sure why. I know I’ll win.
“Next weekend,” I tell him.
“Fine.”
“It’s customary to put an advert in the paper. So folks can attend.”
He shakes his head slightly. “Fine.”
“Fine?” I ask, his easy acquiescence seeming too… easy .
“Fine,” he says again, pointedly.
For a moment, the only sound is the soft scrape of his hoof knife.
“You just gonna stand there and stare at my ass?” Noah asks. “Or do you actually have work to get back to?”
I huff, backpedaling to grab my supplies off the ground. “I wasn’t staring at your ass,” I bite out, heading past the man. “I don’t like your ass.”
“Mhm.”
“Fucking dick,” I mutter, heading through the door.
If Noah utters a reply, I don’t hear it.
It’s only once I’m safely within the confines of my truck that a thought strikes…
Did he want me to be staring at his ass?
Fucking Noah King.
I turn the ignition and get the hell away from the man, not once looking back.