Chapter 21
Colton
“So you live here in town?”
“I do,” Noah answers, his voice even.
I peek out through the bars of the stall I’m in, watching his interaction with one of Marie’s new students. A handful of them arrived today for the start of their dressage course. All women. All young. College-aged, if I had to guess.
I scowl, going back to my work.
“Whereabouts?” the girl asks.
“Would you know if I told you?” Noah replies.
She titters like that’s the funniest thing. “No, guess not. Been doing this job a long time? You look like you know your way around.”
“Over fifteen years,” he answers.
Would it be rude to tell this girl to kindly fuck off? Probably. But Christ. I don’t know how Noah hasn’t gotten fed up with her questioning by now.
I peek out of the stall again, appraising them both. The girl is dressed in typical riding apparel. Tight pants. High boots. A collared shirt because Marie likes her students to always look ready to show. She’s not wearing her sleek helmet, but it’s tucked at her side.
Noah, like usual, is in jeans, a t-shirt that’s seen better days, and chaps. His boots are dusty and worn in, and although he’s not wearing his white hat, it’s resting nearby. He hasn’t stopped working as he’s withstood the girl’s chattering, so he’s currently bent over a hoof. But even so, he’s far bigger than her. More rugged by leaps and bounds.
Clearly, she likes what she sees. Is it his size? The damn tattoos that make him look almost dangerous? The stupid hair that’s shaved at the sides?
Is Noah…handsome? Like, conventionally handsome?
I’ve never thought much about it. He’s not terrible to look at, I guess, even though his attitude could definitely use some work. He does have unique eyes, the way they almost shine like woodfire, the coppery color far lighter than his hair. And he’s proportional, I suppose. Folks like that, right?
He’s definitely fit. Arms for days. Muscles visible beneath his thin t-shirt. I mean, the man was able to hoist me right over his shoulder, for fuck’s sake. He’s clearly strong.
And his ass, now that I’m thinking about it, is—
Oh fuck .
Nope. No, no.
I dive back within the safety of my stall, focusing on Peanut. He allows me to lift his hoof without issue, and I check it over carefully. I can’t see any evidence of his prior injury, which is good. It means he can be trimmed without issue.
I lead him out of the stall, trying not to pay attention to the conversation happening nearby.
“How often are you here?” the girl asks.
Oh, fuck off already.
Noah hums. “Every four weeks or so. Unless something pops up.”
She makes a sad sound. “So I won’t see you for another month? We’ll have to fix that. I’m only here six weeks, after all.”
“Hey, Noah?” I say loudly.
He looks over at me, a brow raised. The girl looks my way, too.
“You got an extra pair of nippers?” I ask. “Can’t find mine.”
His lips twitch. “In my bag.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, making sure Peanut’s lead is secured before I head that way. I drop down, rummaging through the bag, not in any rush. “How’s, uh…” Shit, I need a name . “Daphne? Your girlfriend?”
Noah is outright smiling now, looking amused. What-fucking-ever. If he’s too polite to tell this girl to get lost, I can handle it. And yes, Daphne may be his motorcycle, but it’s the first name that popped into my head.
“Daphne,” he replies leisurely, “is doing just fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Mhm,” I mumble, finding the spare pair of nippers I don’t actually need and standing. I notice the girl’s frown as I walk away.
Hah. Take that.
“So, uh, have you seen Mrs. Doherty?” she asks.
“Should be in the arena,” Noah answers.
“Right,” the girl says. “I’ll just go check then.”
Noah hums his agreement, and Marie’s new student walks off. I can feel him watching me, but I don’t look.
“Daphne?” he asks.
I shrug, starting to work on Peanut’s hooves. I clip the ends of the horseshoe nails off with a little more force than necessary.
Noah makes a thoughtful sound, and I glance over at him, wondering what the fuck he has to be thoughtful about. He’s focused on his own work, the arm that’s covered with rope and flowers flexing. I peek at the other, not having gotten a good look before. The rope continues on that side, but it ends above his elbow. It’s hard to make out the rest of his tattoo sleeve from here, but I think I see…antlers? We do have elk in Montana, so that could be it. A thorny crown, maybe. And…numbers. Dates?
I wonder again about the horseshoe that peeks out from the collar of his shirt. Does he have more tattoos covering his chest?
I force my gaze away, frustrated with myself for staring. I don’t need to concern myself with Noah King’s tattoos. Or his anything , really.
“Why do you figure Marie keeps such a large flock of chickens?” I ask, looking for something to keep my mind occupied. “Seems like the horse business keeps her plenty busy.”
“The chickens were her husband’s before he passed,” Noah replies. “She never got rid of ’em.”
“Oh,” I say, my chest panging in sympathy. I knew Marie’s husband passed some years back, but it happened before I took her on as a client. I didn’t realize the farm was her husband’s, not her own.
The realization that Noah did know because he, once upon a time, was Marie’s primary farrier adds another layer to the ache in my chest. One I don’t want.
I fucked up losing Noah this job. And this—the fifteen horses he’s taking care of through the summer—isn’t enough. It’s not enough to make up for the fact that he should be the one here in my place.
Noah was right. It’s one thing for a client to switch to another farrier of their own volition. It’s entirely another to slander one’s name so badly the client drops them.
God fucking damn it.
“What?” Noah asks, apparently having sensed my tension from down the hall.
“Nothing, it’s just…” I heave out a sigh. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry for losing you this job.”
Noah is quiet for the longest time. “All right.”
“All right?” I ask, whipping my head his way. “Just… all right ?”
“Yeah,” he says, rasping down his horse’s hoof with efficient movements, the sht, sht, sht rhythmic and familiar. “I appreciate the apology.”
What in the ever-loving fuck?
“That’s it?” I ask.
“I mean, you would’ve looked better saying it down on your knees,” he drawls. “But I’d be happy to accept a redo if you’d like.”
Oh, the fucker .
Noah smirks, enjoying the hell out of himself. I shake my head, not knowing what to make of his easy acceptance. It doesn’t fit what I know of the man.
But do I really know him all that well?
No, I don’t.
I don’t even know what the dates on his arm are. Only how his cock feels in my palm. And the taste of his lips on my tongue.
Ah, hell.
I put up a mental blockade to keep out all things Noah King as I refocus on my work. I get so lost in the repetitive process of shoeing, in fact, that I succeed in tuning out the man. It’s not until sometime after noon that I look over at his station to find him gone.
Probably taking his lunch break.
After returning my finished horse to her stall, I wash up and head to my truck to grab the food I brought from home. Ash made mac and cheese yesterday, along with these delicious little cherry tarts. I pop one in my mouth on my way back to the stables. Noah isn’t in his own vehicle, which means he must be inside.
Not that I’m looking for him or anything.
There’s a break room near the arena that has a kitchenette, so I head that way to heat up my food. Unsurprisingly, I find Noah there, seated at the small table. I head to the microwave, putting my mac and cheese inside and setting the timer.
Noah doesn’t say anything. I eye his lunch, but he looks to be mostly done, on to dessert now.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He angles the container my way. “Strawberry cream pie. Want a bite?”
I shiver, taking an involuntary step back. “Oh, hell no. Can’t stand the stuff.”
Not after eating so much of it on my tenth birthday that I spent the entire following day in the bathroom.
“That so?” Noah says, a soft smirk on his face. He takes another bite.
What’s he so happy about?
The microwave beeps, and I take my food out. I debate whether I should stand or sit before deciding I’m being ridiculous. Not sitting would be like letting him win.
Win what, I’m not sure.
I plunk down in a seat.
“Smells good,” he says.
I eye him as I chew. “Why the fuck are you being so…nice?”
He’s been like this all morning. Affable. Smiling and in what I can only describe as a good mood .
Noah is never in a good mood. He’s a surly bastard.
He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. “I’m always nice.”
I bark a laugh. “Fuck off. No, you’re not.”
He sighs, closing his eyes for a second before setting his container down. “Your experience is not universal, Colton. Usually, I am nice.”
I frown. So he’s just not nice to me. That shouldn’t sting as much as it does.
Why am I even surprised, though? It’s not news that Noah and I have a relationship built on rivalry and downright animosity. Of course Noah isn’t nice to me.
Except—he has been today. What does that mean?
I flush, recalling last night in Noah’s barn. Is he…buttering me up? Being nice so I’ll come to heel when he calls?
Why the fuck doesn’t that piss me off like it should?
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “It doesn’t mean I trust you.”
Something flickers in his gaze before he crosses his arms. “Do you need to?”
Yes , I think to myself.
“No,” I answer. “Why would I?”
He hums.
I don’t think about the fact that I must trust him to some degree, right? Otherwise there’s no way I’d let him do the things he has.
Unless I really am just that fucked up.
I’m not sure I want the answer either way.
Noah crosses his ankle over his knee. Leaned back as he is, arms folded over his chest, he looks utterly at ease. Like the cocky asshole I’ve always known him to be.
“You coming over tonight?” he asks, voice low.
I freeze. Absolutely turn to stone, not a single part of my body moving except for my lungs and heart.
Noah bounces his foot. “You’re coming over,” he says confidently.
“No. I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Where do you get off—” I start, only to lose my voice when I meet Noah’s gaze and find him smiling at me. Smiling . Like he’s genuinely happy to see me—what? Squirming at the end of his metaphorical leash?
Not that there is one. No leash. No reins. Nothing whatsoever tethering me to Noah fucking King.
“I’m not,” I reiterate, putting as much bite into the words as I can manage and trying desperately to believe them. “I’ve got a life, you know. And the last thing I want or need is…”
“My mouth around your cock?”
Fuck . Just fuck .
“You can’t say shit like that,” I hiss, glancing toward the door. No one’s there.
“So you say,” he says nonchalantly. “I think I’ll make you beg for it next time, little Colt. I do so love to hear you beg.”
I’m up and out of my seat before I even realize I’m moving, my heart pounding and my traitorous dick responding to Noah’s words. He chuckles as I rush out the door, the rest of my lunch in hand.
I’m not going to do it. I’m not .
I’ll stay home tonight. In my own bed, where life is safe and normal and rote.
No begging.
No Noah.
And certainly no more hickeys I have to hide from my family.
I don’t want a thing to do with Noah fucking King. Never have. Never will.
If only I trusted my own convictions.