CHAPTER TWO
Haden
I like to consider myself a pretty simple man.
My horse, a hot mug of coffee before the sun comes up, some worn-in jeans and a dry trail. That’s all I need for a damn good start to the day.
Silver Pines used to be a simple operation when I started on this ranch seven years ago. Our focus was boarding and training horses. I worked under Wyatt Ashby, Silver Pines’s late patriarch, before he became sick as hell and withered away in front of all of us.
That shit was terrible.
But over the last year, Wyatt’s son—and my boss—Wade has adopted a more ambitious attitude.
Ever since Ivy, our resident horse trainer, came aboard and then subsequently became his baby’s mama, he’s been ready to grow Silver Pines into something his dad would be proud of.
And he’s even been caught cracking a few smiles while doing it, which used to be unheard of around here.
These days, Wade and Ivy have me handling the day-to-day running of the ranch and helping them ready a horse for the Kentucky Derby next May.
As top hand, I assist with their training when they need it, and this is the first time this ranch has concentrated on its racing side in almost twenty years.
As if that weren’t enough, Wade’s also started building a rustic wedding barn on the property with the aim of adding cabins for guests soon too.
All these changes will make Silver Pines Ranch “a real country destination.” Which is why we’ve had designers, assistants and contractors around lately.
All sorts of city folk that almost always have cell phones in hand—snapping photos, then snapping photos of themselves to document the moment.
They wander the grounds in their stilettos taking videos before they eventually end up stepping in horse shit in a pasture. If nothing else, it’s damn amusing.
But this woman in my sightline now as I ride back to the main barn?
She takes the fucking cake. Her wild and wavy blonde hair hangs almost to her waist, peeking out from under a perfectly clean cowboy hat, and she wears a spotless pair of designer boots as she fixes to mount Outlaw, a young, restless quarter horse.
He’s way too big for her frame and he’s green broke, which means he’s not ready to be ridden by anyone that isn’t experienced.
He’d be alright for one of us, but this woman clearly needs a dead-broke horse that’s been ridden for years. It’s written all over her.
I’ve just finished up a session with our jockey and Wade’s derby horse.
From the back of my own American Quarter, Odin, I can already see a disaster waiting to happen as I close the distance between myself and this mystery woman.
Two thoughts are running through my head.
One: What the hell is she doing on this horse in a dainty linen blouse that probably costs more than a week’s pay?
Two: I’m gonna fucking kill Dusty, my second hand, who’s currently leaning on the fence squinting in the sun as he makes sure her shot is lined up on her shiny pink cell phone.
“Dust! What the hell are you thinkin’?!” I call out as I cover the last fifty feet and dismount.
But I’m too late. I watch with bated breath as this woman squeezes her ankles tight to Outlaw like he’s a goddamn show horse and they take off much faster than she’s prepared for.
I have no clue who she is, but she’s about to be maimed, or worse, right in the middle of our largest pen.
And it’s all going to be caught on her phone in 4K.
I toss my reins to Dusty, motioning for him to tether Odin, then prepare to hop the rail.
Dusty cusses under his breath. He knows he fucked up.
As I vault over the rail into the pen, I’m shocked to find the only thing that’s fallen so far, despite Outlaw looking like he’s about to full-out spook, is the cowboy hat from this woman’s head.
“She said she could ride!” Dusty finally speaks up in excuse as I raise my hand, motioning for him to stay put on the other side of the fence. I pace, slow and steady, moving to get close enough to help her dismount without startling Outlaw out any more than he already is.
“Stay calm!” I call up to her as I point at Outlaw. “He feels everything you do.”
Her icy blue eyes meet mine and I’m shocked as all hell to see the look in them isn’t scared, it’s … defiant?
“You think I’d be up here if I didn’t know that, Cowboy?” she bites out as she grips the reins and does her best to draw Outlaw’s head to the side, trying to control him, but it isn’t enough. Outlaw rebels and bucks hard enough that her expression goes from defiant to petrified in one second flat.
Before I can tell her what to do next, she’s tossed off his back with a little yelp and lands in the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust.
Jesus Christ. Looks like I’m starting this day with a fucking lawsuit.