6. Nathan
6
NATHAN
“What do you want?” Candice demands as soon as she sees me.
“I want to know why you let that nice man leave here without a horse.”
“Eavesdropping is rude, Nathan,” she says, like I’m ten years old. She puts her back to me and starts stroking Nico’s face again. Unfortunately, this means I get a full view of her ass, wrapped in denim once again. Candice is lean and tall, almost graceful in the way she carries herself, but that fucking ass…I may not like her, but I’m not blind.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts and say, “So is refusing to let anyone adopt the horses you have here for that very purpose.”
“No, it’s not,” she says, sounding completely unfazed by the conversation.
“What’s even ruder than that, though, is refusing to look at someone when they’re talking to you.” I know I’m digging myself in deeper with her but the way she refuses to give me even common courtesy is infuriating.
Candice turns to the side, so that she’s looking at me but still able to pet Nico.
“Better?” she asks, though that single word is laced with venom and sarcasm.
I look down and see that her other hand is flipping me the bird.
“Real nice, Candice, what would your…” I flounder, because I was going to say “what would your mother think,” before I remembered that Candice and Beau’s mother and father died years ago. Candice doesn’t seem to think that’s where I was going though, thankfully, so I recover and say, “The point is, you should have let that man adopt Jazz Apple.”
“Why? So she can be run into the ground as a barrel racer? So she can be poorly cared for by whatever two-bit barn Bill boards her in?”
I rub the bridge of my nose. What is this woman’s problem?
“Why is barrel racing so evil?” I ask, because even though there are some riders out there who do it wrong, just like in any equine sport, I don’t understand why Candice shut down the conversation with Bill as soon as he mentioned it.
“Because it turns horses into nut jobs,” she says, grinding the heel of her boot into the barn floor.
“Not all the time it doesn’t,” I say.
“Well, a bad trainer or rider can wreck a horse, and I’m not sorry for trying to protect Jazz Apple from that.”
“You have absolutely no idea if Bill’s daughter is a good or bad rider! And you have absolutely no idea what kind of barn they’d choose for boarding, either.”
“Look,” she says, crossing her arms so that we’re the mirror image of one another. “I listened to Bill carefully, and what I heard was that he doesn’t know much about horses and his daughter is only fifteen. I made my judgement based on the evidence in front of me.”
“Why didn’t you ask him what barn she rides at, huh? Do a little research.”
Candice just glares up at me, and then sighs, long and deep, like she’s too exhausted to be having this conversation or I’m too stupid to understand it.
“Do you want to see why I won’t adopt to someone like Bill? Because I can show you right now.”
She doesn’t say anything, but just turns on her heel and walks away, for what feels like the millionth time in the last two days.
“It’s also rude to walk away like that,” I mutter.
“I wouldn’t be so rude if you didn’t provoke me,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Okay then,” I say, feeling a bit tired from interacting with her already. Candice’s natural personality might be tough as nails, but mine isn’t. Among my family, I’ve always been the mediator and the one who can be counted on to be in a good mood. I’m all smiles around everyone but her .
I follow Candice outside and to one of the paddocks that is further away, keeping a good distance from her as I do. After last night, I’m not even sure staying in Star Mountain is a good idea. What she said to me hit way too close to fucking home.
I console myself with the fact that at least the women I treat like pieces of ass treat me that way back. I’m not leading them on because none of them are interested in anything serious either. Besides, it’s already been made damn clear to me over the course of my life that women don’t want me for serious, and that I don’t have it in me to convince one to stay. So why bother?
Still, I probably shouldn’t have said she was just a lonely girl with hay in her hair. That was a low blow.
Candice stops by a paddock with just one horse in it. She’s a chestnut with some dappling across her back and hindquarters, and when she starts walking around, I see that nervous energy is rolling off of her.
“This is Brown Sugar,” Candice says.
“Nice name.” Candice shoots me an odd look and I add on, “I mean it. It suits her.”
“Okay, well…anyways,” Candice says, like she isn’t sure what to do with my sincerity. “She’s an ex-barrel racer. Her owners were not complete assholes, so she’s in decent health. But she was ridden into the ground. The barn she was at trains a lot of barrel horses and they don’t do a good enough job. Her owners had a few other horses, and when Brown Sugar stopped wanting to race, they tried to push her and push her. But by the end she wouldn’t even enter the ring.” Candice turns to face me and then continues. “That type of person looks at a horse like Brown Sugar and thinks there’s something wrong with them that needs to be fixed. That if they won’t race anymore, then they’re useless. I’m just trying to stop more Brown Sugars from happening.”
I consider what she’s said and think about what I’ve witnessed at events. Especially in recent memory—though I shut that thought down immediately.
“I understand that,” I say. “I’m just defensive, I guess. Because equine sports are such a big part of my life, and I’ve seen firsthand how well people can treat their horses—how much they care. But I know not everyone is like that.”
“That is the understatement of the century, Nathan.”
“Aren’t people in English riding just as bad?”
“Definitely,” Candice says. “I mean, don’t even get me started on dressage.”
“We can agree on that,” I say, smiling at her and hoping to ease some of the tension between us.
We stand in silence for a moment, soaking up the unusually warm fall day as we watch Brown Sugar run around and kick up dirt. She’s a playful horse, and when she lays down and starts rolling on her back, I can’t help but smile even wider.
“When will she be introduced to the others?” I ask.
“Soon, she just needs to be quarantined for a bit longer. But I’ll start by introducing her to Maggie, and see how they get along.”
“I still think you could have given Bill a shot,” I say. “Not with her, obviously. But with Jazz Apple. You could have asked him what barn he wanted to board and train with. It could have worked out.”
Candice is silent for a moment, and I almost think that she’s ignoring the question, until she says, “I know. I could have. There are a few local barns that I’d be happy with her going to, and trainers who I know and respect. But I trust my gut, and my gut said no.”
I don’t mention that it seems like her gut might always say no—that she’d do anything in her power to make sure a horse was well cared for even if it meant keeping them here forever.
“Even if we could really use the money,” she adds. “Like really, really.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
“Like, why are we so poor?” she asks, her hackles rising.
“No, I meant why don’t you have more, I don’t know, fundraisers? Hell, even social media?”
Candice makes a huffing noise and squares her shoulders, ready to fight me once more.
“I’m not trying to rile you up,” I say. “I’m genuinely curious.”
“How many people did you see around the barn earlier?” she asks.
“Well, just Tomás. Jenny was around too, but mostly in the barn office.”
“Exactly. Tomás is the only full-time stable hand, and he also helps me with training. Jenny helps take care of the goats, and does some accounting and payroll. She also runs a small business out of her trailer, so she’s only a part time employee. Beau is our vet, obviously, and he puts together rehab plans for all of the rescues. And then it’s just me for literally everything else. So the short answer is: time, Nathan. Time is why we don’t do more fundraisers or social media.”
“And what’s the long answer?” I ask.
“The long answer is that I suck at those things, and when my grandparents were still alive…”
She trails off as her voice starts to shake a bit, and I’m reminded that this grief is still raw and fresh for the Wilson siblings. Their grandparents only died two years ago, and from what Beau has said, they were more like parents.
“When they were alive, we had more money because we hadn’t spent it all on medical bills yet.”
My heart clenches and aches in my chest for her, and for Beau.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I really mean it, even if she’d never believe me.
She doesn’t acknowledge it but says, “So that’s it. That’s the long version of the story. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to run a social media account for the barn anyway.” She fishes around in her pockets and pulls out her phone. She tosses it at me without warning, and I manage to catch it.
“Can this thing even run social media apps?” I joke.
“It works fine,” she grinds out. “But just take a look.”
I look at the app she’s pulled up and see that it’s Star Mountain Horse Rescue’s profile on a popular photo sharing app. Her last post was from six months ago and it’s a photo of the Montana skyline, with no caption, and ten likes.
“I’m not really on social media,” she says. “I made an account for the barn but never did much with it.”
“I can see that,” I say.
“I need a social media manager,” she says wistfully. “And a six-month break.”
An idea starts to form in my head, and I think carefully about how to present it to the Viper.
“I know a lot about that stuff, actually,” I say. “I have a manager for the bigger brand deals, but I run all my accounts myself.”
“Mhm,” she says, clearly not listening as she stares out at Brown Sugar in the paddock. The horse is making her way over to us, which is definitely a good sign. She’s clearly curious and not too terrified of her new home.
“I could help you,” I say.
“What?” she asks, snapping to attention. Her whiskey-colored eyes are wary and her head is cocked to the side like a predator assessing the prey in front of her.
I swallow, suddenly wary myself. The scheme I have in mind is just going to dig me into a deeper ditch with the Viper. Just this morning, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to stay here. But I think about what Candice told me about Brown Sugar. I think about how badly I’d like to be involved in helping a horse like that. And I think about what Beau said to me the other night.
Working with rescued horses is the most difficult thing you’ll do, but it’s also the most rewarding.
I want the challenge, and the reward. For too long I’ve been taking the easy way out. I did it the night of the bar fight I got into, but no longer.
“I said, I could help you,” I repeat. “With social media, I mean.”
“And what will you be getting out of this?” she demands.
“You could teach me how to train and work with the rescues. As a thank you.” I level her with my trademark Booth grin, hoping it sweetens the deal for her.
To her credit, she doesn’t budge an inch. Most women fall over when I smile at them like that.
I turn towards Brown Sugar, who is close to the fence, and lean over and put my hand out. In it is a small piece of apple, one I tucked into my pocket earlier. I was saving it for Bally, but he’ll understand. Brown Sugar doesn’t move but I can tell she’s interested.
“Fine,” Candice says. “I’ll teach you how to train our rescues in exchange for your help with social media. But don’t think that makes you exempt from mucking duty completely. Tomás can’t do it all by himself.”
Fuck yeah.
“Fine by me,” I say.
“Great. She’ll be your first assignment,” Candice says, jerking her head towards Brown Sugar. She takes the piece of apple out of my hand and stretches it out in front of her. Brown Sugar immediately ambles over and eats it from Candice’s hand, paying me no mind. “I just hope you’re up to the challenge.”