Chapter 4
Wyatt
Wind whistles through the trees, violently barreling against me. I fight harder to trench through the thick carpet of snow, heading toward the barn.
The darkness hasn't lifted. The Christmas bulbs light my path, screaming cheer, but it's the opposite of my mood.
She hates me. And I don't blame her.
It's worse than I thought it could be. As the night progressed into the next day, every sin I committed against Willow played out in slow motion, mixing with the fresh scent of her shampoo still lingering on my stubble.
Her touch still burns me this morning, punishing me so much, I wonder if it'll ever go away.
I shouldn't have come here.
I clench my jaw, fight another merciless gust, and finally reach the barn. I open the door, enter, and slide it shut. I deeply breathe in the muted, sweet hay scent, trying to push my demons away.
"Was wondering when your pretty-boy, bull-riding ass would get out here," Mason jeers.
"It's four thirty in the morning," I point out.
"The horses like us here at four," he claims.
I groan. Jagger's older brother always liked to be the first in the barn. It's like his way of showing everyone he's a harder worker or something.
I glance around. "Where's Jagger? What about Alexander and Sebastian?"
Mason's lips curl. "I'm assuming Jagger's got his newest long-legged coed wrapped around him. Sebastian and Alexander have become pussies during the holidays now that they have their women."
"How so?" I question.
"They don't come out until at least five," he states.
Amused, I grunt. "Yeah. They're real pussies."
A black stallion in the stall next to me neighs so fiercely, I jump.
Mason smirks. "You ride bulls but are scared of horses now?"
"No. I'm hung like a horse, so he's my kindred spirit. What's your excuse?" I banter back, grabbing a nearby apple and then holding it out for the horse.
He chomps on it in one bite.
I stroke his mane.
Mason replies, "I'm not the one jumping from a hungry horse. By the way, that's Spitfire."
"That's a good name for you, buddy," I say as Spitfire nuzzles my chest.
Mason states, "Isabella wanted to call him Monique."
I arch my eyebrows.
Mason chuckles. "Thank goodness Jacob Jr. pulled the longer straw."
Nostalgia hits me like a brick. I smile at the memories, commenting, "Your dad still has the kids pull straws to name the horses?"
"Sure does."
Mason tosses me a brush, and I catch it. I groom Spitfire, and he does the same for a brown Thoroughbred. Then he asks, "So what's your plan?"
I groan. "You're just like your dad."
He chuckles. "So I've heard. Does that mean you have no clue what to do?"
A ferocious chill sweeps the barn. Jagger's booming voice interjects, proclaiming, "Damn, it's cold!" He slides the heavy wooden door shut.
Several horses snort in protest.
I taunt, "Did your new sugar turn you into a candy-ass?"
"She's a warm slice of pecan pie. You'd have to trade your saddle in to handle her, though," he says cockily.
"Why? Did you take up pegging?" I mock.
He grunts. "Only if it's a cold day in Hell."
Mason tosses a roll of white bandages to him. "It's too icy to run them this morning. Morning Glory needs her leg rewrapped."
Jagger's face falls. "I don't know if she's going to recover."
Mason's grim tone matches his. "Only time will tell."
"What happened?" I question.
"She cut her leg on barbed wire. The infection went deep and doesn't want to let up. Every time it starts to heal, the next day, it's aggravated again," Jagger answers, grabbing an apple and stepping in front of another stall.
A beautiful white-and-brown spotted Appaloosa limps toward the gate.
"Here you go, sweetheart," he coos, holding out the fruit.
Morning Glory chews it, gentler than Spitfire, almost graciously.
"Aw. You can tell she's not feeling well," I comment, reaching out and rubbing her mane.
"Yeah. Emma's going to be heartbroken if she doesn't kick this infection. The vet said there's a high possibility it'll attack her bone. If that happens, we all know what's next." Jagger adds, his tone sad.
"Emma named her?" I question.
"Yeah." He grabs another apple and offers it to Morning Glory. Then he says, "I know how to solve your problem."
My chest tightens, bringing me back to my harsh reality. "Yeah? Fill me in."
He looks at me like I'm a moron.
"What?" I push.
"Willow can represent you." His grin is laced with arrogance and mockery, undoubtedly about how simple the solution sounds to him.
"Surprised she didn't snatch you up last night when she found out you're a free agent," Mason chimes in.
I scoff. "Sure. Right after she found out I started a fight with her other riders."
"Not a big deal. You'd be a great addition to her client list," Jagger claims.
I shake my head. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Jagger's eyes turn to slits. "Why not?"
My pulse creeps up. I quickly claim, "She's pretty pissed at me. Or did you forget how she glared at me all night?"
He shrugs. "So what? You know it's not the first time her clients got into a little tiff."
I remind him, "I created a sixty-thousand-dollar problem for her. It wasn't just a 'little tiff,' and you know it."
"So what? You'll pay her back. And Jericho and Colt aren't innocent either," he replies.
I point out, "They didn't take the first swing. I did."
"When did you start falling on your sword?" Mason questions.
I pick up another apple, step into another stall, and hold it out for the horse so I can brush its mane. I sigh. "It's a bad idea, so drop it."
"Why? Because you have so many other options?" Mason retorts.
He speaks the truth, but Willow isn't going to represent me.
Jagger asserts, "Willow will do it. She's probably already cooled off. I bet she's already putting her pitch together for you."
My gut twists.
Doubt it.
He continues, "Anyway, she has to say yes. You're as good as a brother to her."
The twisting gets tighter.
I blurt out, "No, I'm not."
"Of course you are. Why would you say otherwise?" Jagger asks. And even though I'm focusing on the horse, I can feel the weight of his stare.
Panic hits me. I stroke through the horse's mane a couple more times, then turn, trying to look nonchalant, and shrug. "I haven't seen her in years. We're not kids anymore."
"So what? Family is family," he insists.
A tidal wave of guilt floods me. It's worse than seven years ago. Maybe time and age put my betrayal in a different light. But I broke bro code, and if Jagger or Mason ever find out, it'll ruin our friendship. They'll never call me family again.
The barn door grinds along the metal rails. Another rush of bitter cold floods the barn. Sebastian and Alexander enter with mugs of coffee.
Sebastian calls out, "What's the big debate?"
Alexander slams the door shut, cutting off the chill.
Jagger states, "Wyatt's going to ask Willow to be his agent."
"No. I'm not," I adamantly insist.
Sebastian glances at Alexander, who shakes his head and says, "I'm staying out of this one."
Panic shoots through me.
Does he know something?
I can't help myself and burst out, "Why?"
He pins me with a mocking gaze. "You want me to spell it out?"
The blood pounds harder between my ears.
Do I?
"Go for it," Mason answers for me.
I shoot him a dirty look.
"Super touchy this morning," he ridicules.
"Shut up," I spit back, irritated by this conversation.
Alexander takes a sip of coffee and then sets it down. He crosses his arms and leans against a pole. "Fine. Willow doesn't represent PR nightmares unless she's adamant the rider isn't a long-term liability. Right now, that's what you are."
I clench my jaw and close my hand into a fist.
"He's just telling the truth. Don't hit him," Sebastian taunts, glancing at my hand.
I don't speak, keeping my fist tight, unable to open it.
"It's going to take a lot of groveling to undo what you did last night," Alexander adds.
"She'll get over it," Jagger claims.
"Should she?" Alexander asks.
I stay frozen, the truth searing into my bones.
"Of course she should, and she will. Wyatt's family. And don't stand there and act like you two haven't been in plenty of bar fights," Jagger points out.
"I've never caused sixty grand in damages. Have you?" Sebastian asks Alexander.
"Nope," he answers with a smug expression.
"When did you two become angels?" I accuse, my panic turning to defense.
Sebastian taps his temple. "Use your head, Wyatt. This isn't about us. We may not see you often, but we all follow you and the headlines. You've been going downhill, and Willow doesn't take uncalculated risks when it involves her career."
Heat rises to my cheeks. I squeeze my fist harder, hating the taste of the truth.
Alexander asks, "Why should Willow step into your mess?"
"Don't listen to them. Alexander's brain isn't working since Phoebe agreed to marry him and decided against leaving his sorry ass. And Georgia must have accidentally put real sugar into Sebastian's food instead of the fake crap she uses for him," Jagger jabs.
Sebastian shakes his head. His eyes narrow. "At some point, Wyatt, you have to pivot. It looks like you still have a lot growing up to do if you think it's okay to put Willow's career on the line."
Guilt suffocates me. I reiterate, "I'm not asking Willow to sign me. So drop the subject." I toss Jagger a don't push me look.
He clenches his jaw, unhappy, but respects my wishes.
The rest of the morning moves along, with Cartwright banter and me trying to forget my problems.
It's pointless. All I can think about is my encounter with Willow last night, and my career turning to ash. I have to fix both problems, yet I'm as clueless as ever.
The meal bell rings, and Alexander's boys, Jacob and Wilder, shout, "Breakfast!"
I tug my collar up and hurry through the snow to the main house, close to the others. We stomp our snowy boots in the foyer, then head to the large dining room.