10. Nathan
10
NATHAN
I’m woken up on my day off from the barn by my phone blaring an obnoxious ringtone, over and over again. I rub the sleep from my eyes, roll over, and look at who’s calling.
“Fuck,” I groan. My finger hovers over the answer button, but I don’t press it.
The phone is silent for a moment and then my manager starts calling again. I have a feeling that if I don’t answer, she’ll never stop and I’ll be listening to my phone all day. I look around the bunkhouse and I’m the only one here. Tomás must be working today, or spending time with his family. He told me that on his next day off he was going to start teaching his little cousin how to ride.
“Hello?” I say, answering the phone.
“Fucking finally,” Amber says. “What the hell, Nate?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, because honestly there’s a lot of shit she could be mad at me for right now.
“What do I mean? What do I mean ?!” Amber’s voice reaches a pitch that only dogs can hear, I swear to God. “A month ago, you fumble the Million Mile Ride, then you get into a fight with the guy who won. You both get arrested. You get smacked with two hundred hours of community service, go silent on social media, and refuse to take my calls.”
“I didn’t fumble it, Amber. I came in second, and still won two hundred grand,” I shoot back.
“I don’t care,” she hisses. “Win, lose, fumble—you take my fucking calls. Especially when sponsors are calling me daily trying to renegotiate or cancel contracts.”
“Fuck,” I say.
“Yeah, fuck is right, Nate.”
“Can we salvage it?” I ask. I don’t need the money for myself, but I do want to keep being able to support my family’s ranch. I have four people and an entire business counting on me and I can’t let them down.
“Maybe. I’m trying. But I need you to at least keep up a presence on social media. Which reminds me, why the hell are you at a horse rescue?”
“How’d you know that?” I ask.
“You were tagged in a photo that the account posted,” she says.
I internally groan. The fact that Amber would see did not even cross my mind when I told Candice to tag me in that post.
“I’m here to do my community service,” I explain. “One of my friends owns this place and it seemed like a good place to lay low for a while. Two birds, one stone.”
Amber snorts, but after a beat she says, “Being seen helping a small organization might actually be good for your public image. There’s no getting around the fact that you have to do community service. You might as well milk it for all it’s worth.”
“What do you mean?” I put the phone down on the nightstand and hit speaker mode. It’s time to get dressed and face the day.
“Post pictures and stories of what you’re up to there. Not too often, but just enough to remind people that you exist. And make it wholesome content. Like that foal.”
The idea of using Star Mountain to fix my public image makes me feel slightly uneasy, but I can’t blame Amber for thinking of it. It’s good advice, and it will probably work.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll take some photos of the horses I’m working with and post them with some thoughtful captions or whatever.”
“Good,” Amber says. “And I’m going to call Brad’s people and see if we can arrange for a public apology.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, raising my voice slightly, and pausing midway through buttoning my shirt. “I’m not apologizing to that fucker.”
“Nate, come on, this isn’t like you,” Amber says.
She has a point. I’ve never raised my voice at her before. I’ve hardly ever raised it to anyone, except to my brothers and sister because, well, siblings get on each other’s nerves. And before I got into that fight with Brad, I’d only been in one or two others before, back when I was a kid. I’m a drinker and a womanizer, yes, but I hardly ever go beyond that.
I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. I remind myself that Amber has no idea why I got into that fight with Brad. She probably thinks I was pissed off about losing, just like everyone else.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But that guy just pisses me off and that night was as much his fault as it was mine.”
Amber starts to protest, pointing out that I threw the first punch, but I cut her off.
“I have to go,” I say, and then I hang up without another word. I guess I’ve learned a thing or two about rudeness from Candice already. But I don’t feel that bad. Amber has no idea what I saw Brad doing before the competition—no one does.
I dig around in my suitcase and pull out a pair of chaps. After I buckle them around my waist, I make myself coffee in the kitchenette and then head outside and in the direction of the stables. A good long ride with Ballantine is just what I need.
It’s early, so some of the horses are still in their stalls. When I get to Bally’s stall I find him asleep lying down. I lean over the stall door and snap a photo, and post it to my stories. I’d normally take a selfie with him, and it would garner thousands of likes in seconds. But I think my face is better left off of social media for the moment.
“Posting for your adoring fans?”
I turn and find Candice staring pointedly at the phone in my hands. She’s wearing jeans that look like they could have been painted on, a cut off t-shirt underneath a flannel, and her trademark black Stetson. It suits her, oddly enough, even though it’s a bit large on her. It’s imposing, just like she is. I bet that’s why she’s such a good trainer—she assumes the role of herd leader and horses follow her instinctually.
“Nope,” I say. “Posting photos of Ballantine for his adoring fans.”
Ballantine stirs in the stall and opens his eyes, as if he heard us talking about him. He slowly stands up and comes over to say hi to me and Candice.
“He’s so good natured,” she says. “And extremely calm.”
“The best reining horses are,” I say. “It’s all about being as relaxed as possible.”
“You trained him yourself, right?” she asks, eying him with an impressed look on her face.
“I did at first. I got him when he was a foal, about eight years ago. He was a horse we bought for the ranch, for cutting, but I quickly realized that he was good enough to compete, and to win. I’d been doing well in amateur reining competitions for a few years at that point, but Ballantine is the secret to my success.” I stroke his neck a few times, and he nudges into me, lipping around my chest, looking for a snack in the pocket he knows I keep them in. “I started work with Salvador Martinez after Ballantine turned four.”
“That’s the year you won Goldmine, right?” Candice asks.
“Sure is,” I say. “But I’m surprised you knew that.”
“The first time I met you it was all you talked about,” Candice says.
“The first time we met, you ignored me the entire night. I’m surprised you remember a thing I said.”
“I didn’t ignore you. You ignored me.” Emotions flashes across Candice’s face, as quick as lightning, there and then gone. I can’t quite identify them, but it looks like anger, and then vulnerability.
“You sat at the bar all night, too haughty to even talk to me,” I grind out. “And then you called me an idiotic playboy with sawdust for brains.”
Candice snorts out a laugh. “That was a pretty good insult, you have to admit. But you deserved it.”
Clearly, Candice and I disagree over what happened the night we met. The first time I saw her I cursed the fact that she was Beau’s little sister, and off limits because of it. When she avoided me all evening and then insulted me later in the night, I realized it didn’t matter anyway. Candice and I are like oil and water. We don’t mix.
“I’m going to take Ballantine out for a ride,” I say, changing the subject. “Is it okay if I use the ring?”
“Sure. I’m done working in there for the moment.”
“Who’d you work with today?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious. I have a lot to learn about rescues and I want Candice’s expertise.
“I was working with Buckles. He’s young, and not really ready to be ridden yet, so it’s going to take a while before he’s ready to be adopted. I’m getting him used to the halter and starting some groundwork, and in a few days our farrier is coming by and Buckles will be getting some new shoes. He hates it, but Jonah is really good with the anxious ones. He’s the best farrier around,” Candice says, a note of admiration in her voice.
I feel the urge to punch this Jonah in the face. The idea that the Viper finds another man impressive when she thinks I’m a useless fool with sawdust for brains just bothers me I guess—makes me feel like less of a man. I console myself with the fact that Jonah is likely an aging man with a bald spot, just like the farrier who comes to my family’s ranch.
Candice and I talk about training Buckles for a few more minutes, and then I work on grooming and tacking Ballantine up. He’s fully woken up now and munches contentedly on his hay while I brush him. I grab his saddle from the tack room and check it over carefully as I put it on him. I’m planning to practice some reining patterns today. Even if I never compete again, I’ll always love doing it. And with Candice’s help, maybe I could have a career as a trainer. I’m sure my trainer, Salvador, would help me too—if I had the guts to pick up the phone and call him.
“It’s all so fucked up, Bally,” I say. He whickers softly and I give him a good stroke on the neck. At least my horse always listens and understands.
Once we’re in the ring, we warm up, and then we start working through some of the movements. An ease and a lightness that I haven’t felt in weeks settles into me as we go through the well-worn and well-known motions together. Reining patterns are in me and Ballantine’s DNA at this point.