Chapter Twenty-One
I would always rather be happy than dignified.
Sheriff Theo informs us that he doesn’t have enough evidence to arrest anyone for Mason’s assault. And since many of the possible suspects were guests from out of town, there’s no good way to pursue the case. Which means that we can put the ordeal behind us and forget it ever happened.
Meanwhile, Chet and I agree to keep our new relationship status under wraps. But that doesn’t keep me out of his bed. We’ve been a thing for two weeks now. I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground and not turn into some head-over-heels nincompoop.
Easier said than done.
This morning when I wake, Chet’s arm is draped over me.
I stretch my limbs and sit up. Chet stirs. “It’s so early,” he murmurs. His grip around my waist tightens, as if to pull me back down so we can spoon.
Tempting. But Axel Rose loves starting work at seven o’clock sharp. I remind Chet of this fact.
“Maybe I’ll fire her,” he grumbles.
“You wouldn’t dare.” I swat his butt and he releases me.
Good thing, because I need to shower, gulp down some coffee, and resume training Miss Adele and Betty.
Getting the two of them to bond hasn’t been easy, but it’s a labor of love.
After feeding the horses, giving them their morning exercise, and cleaning out all their stalls, I decide it’s time for Miss Adele and Betty to have some private ring time.
River strolls over, leaning against the other side of the fence. “Beautiful horse,” he says.
“Which one?”
“Both.” He grins. “Have you thought any more about backpacking along the Colorado Trail? It’s going to be amazing.”
River’s been trying to sell me on the trip for a while now, and it does sound incredible.
The group is going to fly from Durango to Denver and then work their way east to west along the Colorado Trail.
Tackling around twenty miles a day for a little over a month, the journey is the equivalent of hiking from sea level up Mt. Everest three different times.
No way am I tough enough for that. At least now, I have an excuse that doesn’t involve my personal failings. “Now that Betty’s here, there’s just no way I can be gone that long. She needs me to help her make friends with the other horses.”
“And how’s that going?” River asks.
“Okay, I think. But there’ve been ups and downs.”
River can see this for himself. At the moment, I’m gripping Betty’s lead line.
Miss Adele sizes her up from across the corral.
Betty drops her nose to the ground. Miss Adele paces in crescents just out of biting range, her tail high, ears trained on her competition.
It’s almost like there’s a cartoon thought bubble over her head: New girl.
Hmmm. Are you gonna test me, or am I gonna test you?
Hopefully neither.
River leans against the fence. “I bet Miss Adele and Betty will be best buds in no time.”
“Morning, River,” Chet nearly barks his greeting as he strides quickly up from the house to the horse ring.
River startles, turns toward Chet, and pastes on a sunny grin. “Good morning,” he says. “I was just getting back to work.”
“Excellent,” Chet says. He stands right next to River, maybe a little too close, as if urging River to get a move on.
“Talk to you later, Jane.” He waves to me.
“See ya, River.”
Once he’s out of earshot, Chet laughs a little under his breath. I reach over the fence and swat his shoulder. “Hope you’re proud of yourself. River is a nice guy and a hard worker.”
“Who has a massive crush on you.”
“Whether or not that’s true,” I say, “you’re like a dog, peeing on a tree to mark his territory.”
“Such a sexy metaphor.” Chet gives me a wicked smile. “Are you the tree in this scenario?”
“I’m the goddamn forest,” I tell him. “If you want to claim all of me, you’d better stay hydrated.”
“I’ll start drinking my Gatorade twelve-pack ASAP.” He gives me his trademark Chet scowl-smirk. Then, using his head, he gestures toward Betty and Miss Adele. “Hey, how are the girls doing this morning?”
“Okay,” I answer. “I was just telling River that they’re adjusting. But one of them will establish dominance. Unclear who though. Betty’s older and wiser, yet Miss Adele was born plucky.”
“Care to make it interesting?” Chet’s mouth quirks up. “Wager another five dollars?”
“Are you suggesting I would bet against either of them? Not happening.”
“Fine,” Chet says. “I predict Miss Adele will establish the upper hand. She’s a descendant of the Wild West.”
“Perhaps,” I retort. “But Betty is the reincarnation of every Kentucky Derby winner who ever lived. She’s just polite about it.”
He laughs—a full-bodied sound, warm and rich. Heat gathers between my legs, traveling up into my belly and down my thighs. Would anyone notice if I jumped the fence and lunged into Chet’s arms?
Probably.
Instead, I watch the mares circle each other—one gold, one brown and white, both too good for this world.
For a long moment, Betty just stands there, still as a monument.
Then she lets out a huff, and, in a gesture that’s somehow both delicate and grand, she lowers her head as if to say, Alright, I’ll play.
Miss Adele is not about subtlety; she launches forward in a mock charge, and the two of them are suddenly off in a slow-motion chase, all snorts and drama and gleaming muscle. Chet walks over to the ring’s entrance gate and lets himself inside.
“Well, expert?” he asks, standing beside me. “What’s the read on their body language?”
I shrug. “A lot of posturing, but neither’s making a real power move. I like it. They’ll find their rhythm.”
He nods, then glances at me, then at the horses, then back at me. “You’re happy,” he says softly. It’s the kind of earnest comment that makes me want to crack a joke. My face rebels, smiling instead.
“Thanks to you,” I mumble. “Is it weird to love a horse this much?”
Chet tilts his head, considering. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t want you any other way.
” He leans in, his hand finding the small of my back.
The heat from his touch goes all the way to my toes.
I’m pretty sure we’re about to kiss, right here in the bright daylight, right next to a pile of horse manure.
But the barn door creaks and Axel Rose emerges.
Her presence is a cold bucket of water. Chet and I step apart so fast that we may as well be strangers.
“How’s it going?” Axel calls, squinting our way. “Is our new girl doing okay?”
I nod. “Betty is adjusting just fine.”
Axel Rose gives the horses an appraising once-over and me a sideways glance. “You look like you got hit with a happiness stick.”
I laugh. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“Mmm.” Axel Rose sort of glares at Chet before walking away.
Chet speaks in a voice only I can hear. “Tonight,” he murmurs, “I’ll hit you with my happiness stick.”
I give him a playful shove, my palm lingering a second longer than necessary against his chest. We’re both laughing. But then—an instant shift in Chet’s expression, as if someone flipped a switch. His entire body goes rigid. I follow his gaze over my shoulder, and my stomach drops.
Grace Poole marches toward us. God, she’s been everywhere lately—taking long walks around the property, raiding the kitchen for food that she carries back to the blue barn like some kind of squirrel, making awkward small talk with Axel Rose and me.
But every time I ask her any sort of question—like how she spends her time all day inside that blue barn or if she enjoys horses—Grace acts as if I’ve asked for her Social Security number.
“There’s a situation,” she tells Chet, her voice clipped. “Come with me.”
“Sure.” Just like that, he’s gone—following her without even a backward glance. I watch them disappear into the blue barn, trying to ignore the knot forming in my chest.
“Well, that was weird.” Axel Rose has materialized beside me. She gestures toward the barn, her expression skeptical. “Am I the only one confused by what’s happening over there?”
“You’re seriously asking me that?” I shield my eyes against the sun. “After you snapped at me for suspecting Grace might have had something to do with the fire? And then, Mason gets stabbed and somehow she doesn’t know anything about it? Yes, it’s strange.”
“Well . . .” Axel Rose shifts her weight. “There’s a difference between accusing someone of arson and simply thinking she’s a bit odd. And who knows what she may have seen or heard when Mason was stabbed? However, I owe you an apology.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Grace Poole is kinda strange. But Chet wouldn’t let her stay here if she was dangerous, even if she is his aunt.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Axel Rose pauses. “I’m sorry for what I said to you about Chet. Clearly, I was wrong.”
My heart rate kicks up. “Wrong about what?”
Axel Rose gives me a look that says she sees right through me. “Come on, Jane. I’m not blind. The longing glances, the innuendos, the ‘accidental’ touches. How you and Chet both disappeared and reappeared at the same time on July Fourth. It would be cute if I wasn’t so worried about you.”
“Worried? About me?” My voice jumps an octave. “I’m totally fine! Seriously!”
“Just be honest.” She purses her lips. “You two are together, aren’t you?”
I feel my cheeks burn. “If we are, is that so wrong?”
Axel Rose’s head cocks to the side. I brace myself for judgment—for the “you stupid slut” speech. Instead, she catches me off guard by looping her arm over my shoulders and giving me a sideways hug.
“Look, it’s not wrong.” Her voice is soft. “But there’s such a gap in money and position . . . and he’s what, ten years older than you?”
“Ten years isn’t that big a difference.”
“My husband’s twelve years older,” she admits, letting her arm drop. “When we met, I was flat broke and he’d already made his fortune. We’re good now, but God—figuring out that power dynamic nearly broke us. And I wasn’t ever his employee, like you are for Chet.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?” My tone’s sharper than intended.
She sighs. “I just—you’re so young, Jane. How many billionaires have you dated? Be careful, okay? All that glitters isn’t gold, and I’m afraid you’ll figure that out the hard way.”
“Why?” My questions are like bullets. “Am I so hideous? So flawed and unlovable that it’s impossible he’d actually want me?”
“Oh, honey, no.” Axel Rose’s face softens. “He’s absolutely charmed by you. I hope it works out, I really do. But, please—keep your guard up, with him and with yourself. Men like Chet Edwards get what they want without ever having to compromise.”