Chapter Ten
“Asshole,” Shane quipped without heat.
Pretending to be serious while smiling wasn’t easy, but he couldn’t help it when faced with such a long-eared cutie. He should be annoyed at Wes, Colt, and Mason for teasing him, but the fuzzy little burro was just way too precious for him to be mad at anyone for anything.
Joker nudged him again, looking for more treats, and Shane was more than happy to oblige. He laughed when Joker licked his palm clean of any crumbs. “You know how lovable you are, don’t you?”
Wes pointed to a tall chestnut warmblood with the kindest eyes Shane had ever seen. She had a crooked, lightning-bolt-shaped blaze and one hind sock. A horse where his feet wouldn’t drag on the ground when he rode was more his size.
“That’s Spice Girl,” Wes said as he approached Merlin and slid the halter on. “She came here as a Humane Society seizure, same time as my brothers and I arrived. Levi ended up adopting her.”
“I didn’t peg him for a Spice Girls fan,” Shane said, his mouth tipped up in a grin.
Wes frowned a moment before his brows lifted. “Oh, the band? Yeah, no.” He chuckled. “Her name was Spice, but Mason always called her Spice, girl. Like how he calls the dogs Marley-girl and Diesel-boy. Spice Girl stuck.”
“So, she’s Spice, girl, not named after the Spice Girls,” Shane repeated. “Got it.”
Wes lifted his chin. “Think you can halter her?”
“Pfft. Please.” Shane scowled at him as he walked over to the big mare. He paused a few feet away to make sure his energy was calm. “Hello, Spice Girl. ”
She flicked her ears forward as he held out a treat for her. She approached and took it gingerly from his hand, her velvety muzzle brushing his palm. He slipped the halter over her nose and behind ears, fastening the buckle under her cheek. Wes was watching when he turned around, his expression somewhere between surprised and skeptical.
“What? Did you think I’ve never been around a horse before?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Shane snorted. “There’s more to me than meets the eye.”
“So I’m learning,” Wes’s voice was lower than usual, and Shane felt the rumble of it in his bones.
Desire fluttered in his belly, both annoying and exciting, and his skin flushed with heat from head to toe. He wanted to stay mad at Wes, but his body had other ideas. This was not going to work, him staying at Haverstall, around Wes in his natural environment twenty-four-seven. Seeing sides of Wes that made him long for more, for something he couldn’t have.
Wes opened the gate and motioned for Shane to exit ahead of him, but his feet were rooted to the ground. More like he needed to center all his focus on cooling his libido before he tried walking. Wes tilted his head.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Shane squeaked. Jesus, how embarrassing . He cleared his throat. “Yeah. All good.”
He forced his feet to move, looking straight ahead as he passed Wes, otherwise he’d jump him right there in the open, and headed for the barn.
“There are crossties along the aisle, between each stall,” Wes said behind him. “Take her to the middle one.”
Shane led Spice Girl inside and stopped at a set of crossties midway, as instructed. He clipped her in and took a few seconds to regulate his breathing so he could be chill around Wes. He turned to find Wes watching him with a thoughtful expression on his face. Ugh . Why does he have to be so damn sexy ?
Wes tipped his chin over his shoulder, indicating a doorway at the end of the laneway.
“Tack room is over here. ”
Shane followed him into a large room and focused on the once familiar smells of leather and linseed oil, rather than the allure of spice and sandalwood that he would forever associate with Wes. A wall of shelves held a collection of tote boxes on them, as well as various equine paraphernalia—some neatly arranged and others splayed about haphazardly.
“Each horse has their own grooming brushes and hoof picks,” Wes said as he grabbed a purple tote from the shelf, with SG written in thick black marker on the front and handed it to him. “These are Spice Girl’s.” He pulled a worn oval-shaped purple rubber brush with rounded teeth from the box. “This is a currycomb. We use it first to remove dirt and dander.” He replaced it and pulled out a wood-backed brush with blue bristles and a leather strap over the back. “This is a body brush”—Wes glanced up and frowned—“what?”
Shane snatched the brush from Wes’s hand and dropped it in the tote. “I’ve got this.”
Maybe a little more aggressively than he should have, going by Wes’s raised eyebrows and searching eyes, but Wes didn’t say anything. He turned to the perpendicular wall and reached for a bridle that hung on the lower of two rows of bridles and hackamores.
“I assume you know what this is?”
Shane managed not to roll his eyes. Just. He collected the bridle in his free hand as Wes turned to the far wall, where saddle racks jutted out in two low rows. He pointed to a western saddle with SG written on the front of the rack.
“That’s her saddle,” he said, and as Shane opened his mouth to say that his hands were full, which was kind of obvious, Wes added, “We’ll drop the tack boxes off first and come back for the saddles.”
This time, Shane rolled his eyes. He exited the tack room ahead of Wes and dropped off the brush kit and bridle by Spice Girl before going back for the saddle.
“Oof,” he gasped when he lifted it off the rack. He’d forgotten how heavy a western saddle could be, especially a ranch saddle. The thing weighed over forty pounds. He glanced over his shoulder, grateful Wes wasn’t in sight to see him struggle, and adjusted the saddle on his forearms so he could carry it easier .
Levi strolled into the barn as Shane set the saddle on a collapsible wall rack where Spice Girl was tethered, the thick thud of Levi’s boots echoing on the concrete laneway. He carried a pair of boots in one hand and a cowboy hat in the other. Spice Girl nickered as he approached.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted the mare and to Shane, he said, “These ought to fit you, since we’re about the same size.”
Nothing fancy, with the white stitching on the tan-colored cowboy boots fraying in the creases of the toe box, but then, they didn’t need to be. Not for riding ranch horses. “Thank you.”
He sat down on a trunk that rested in front of the stall to swap shoes. The boots fit better than he’d have guessed and were surprisingly comfortable.
“Right?” Levi grinned and sparkling light glinted in his eyes. “Fit like butter, don’t they?”
“I don’t remember cowboy boots ever fitting so well.”
Levi held out the hat. He winked. “I hear you prefer black.”
Shane chuckled. The hat was black felt with a black, stamped leather band and silver buckle set. He placed it on his head and adjusted it over his brow, striking a pose for Levi.
“What do you think?” he teased, infusing his voice with an extra touch of affectation. “Am I working it, or am I working it?”
“Working it.” Levi laughed, easy and unguarded, and Shane found himself laughing along with him. “Pretty sure you know it, too.”
Shane glanced over Levi’s shoulder to catch Wes watching them, his mouth set in a flat line and his face tight.
“What do you think, Wes?” Shane slid into a quick cowboy two-step, surprised that he remembered dance moves he hadn’t made in over a decade.
“Lo-looks good,” Wes stammered and then resumed brushing Merlin with laser focus.
Shane looked back at Levi, who was grinning. Shane had a feeling the man hadn’t missed a thing.
Levi ran a hand along Spice Girl’s neck as Shane picked up the currycomb. “Wes told you she came here as a rescue, yeah?”
“Yes. ”
“She’s a sweetheart and will do just about anything you ask of her, so respect that. I don’t know how much riding experience you have . . .?”
“It’s been a while, but I grew up around horses,” was all Shane said. The details of his sordid past weren’t for public knowledge.
“Good. Keep a light but steady hand on the reins and don’t kick with your heels. Use your legs and squeeze. She must have been an upper-level show horse at one time because she’s super responsive to the slightest cues.”
“Got it.” Shane moved to her other side. “I’ll treat her like the queen she is.”
Levi paused, as though he was having second thoughts about letting Shane ride his horse.
“Okay.” He nodded. “I have to get back to work. Have a good ride.”
“Thanks.”
“See ya later, bro,” Levi called out to Wes, who grunted in response, and strolled from the barn.
“What’s up with you?” Shane asked after a moment of silence that hung heavy in the air.
“Nothing, why?”
Shane shrugged, even though Wes wasn’t looking his way to see it. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous of your brother.”
Wes paused his grooming and scowled at him. “I am not jealous.”
“Uh-huh.” Shane couldn’t help smiling as he finished grooming his horse. Wes was one hundred percent jealous and knowing that put a skip in his step. Maybe being stuck on a ranch in the middle of nowhere with Wes wouldn’t be so bad, because staying mad at him was clearly not working.
With the saddle blanket in place, Shane prepared himself to hoist the saddle up onto Spice Girl’s back. A part of him wanted to impress Wes with his horsemanship, rusty as it was, more than not wanting to look like a fool for not having any at all.
Saddle on, he reached under Spice’s belly to grab the cinch, ran the leather latigo strap through the buckle ring, back up through the front rigging ring, repeating the motion twice, and paused .
“Do you need help?” Wes asked.
Heat marched over Shane’s cheeks. One second, he was saddling up his horse like he’d never stepped off his home ranch, and the next, his mind had gone blank.
“Nope. Just . . . Trying to remember which way this goes.”
“Over, behind, and through the middle,” Wes said. “Like a tie.”
Shane snorted and shook his head. How had he forgotten that? It was the easiest knot to do—same as a suit tie, not that he ever wore suits. He ran the latigo strap through the buckle and rigger rings once more before tying the knot and adjusting the slack. His memory of bridling a horse was as strong as in his youth.
“Ready to go?”
Wes approached, Merlin following, and pulled the fender back to check Shane’s cinching job while Shane glared at him. He got that very few people knew where and how Shane had grown up, and it shouldn’t be a surprise that Wes would check his work, but it still rankled. He bit back a knee-jerk comment and instead smiled.
“Did I do good, hoss?” Shane teased, dredging the southern accent he’d worked hard at burying.
Wes had the decency to look abashed when his gaze met Shane’s. Questions danced in his summer-storm blues, but he cleared his throat and said, “This way.”
He led Merlin past Shane and Spice Girl and toward the barn exit without looking back.
Wes didn’t say anything when they mounted up, but he kept a watchful eye on Shane just the same, and for the first minutes of their ride, neither said a word. Wes guided them across the courtyard and over the wooden bridge they’d crossed earlier in Levi’s truck. Hooves thudded rhythmically on the thick, worn planks while the river flowed lazily below them. On the other side, Wes steered them north, where they picked up a trail just past the outdoor arena that followed the winding river, wide enough for them to ride two-abreast.
“This is the Laramie River,” Wes said, waving an arm toward the crystal-clear water. “About eleven miles of it runs through the property.”
“Do you fish?”
“Nah, I find it boring,” Wes said with a grin .
Shane hadn’t fished since his dad had taken him on a father-son bonding camping trip when he was ten years old. He didn’t remember much more than being horrified when his dad caught a trout and smashed its head with a rock. He shoved the memory aside and looked over at Wes, whose gaze bounced away. A light flush crested his cheeks.
“Go on,” Shane said after a few more minutes of silence. “Ask me.”
Wes slanted a sideways glance at him. “How is it you know so much about horses?”
Shane stared ahead while he gathered his thoughts. Orange and yellow leaves drifted from the aspen and birch trees that formed a protective canopy over the meandering trail, littering the ground like breadcrumbs. The fall sun filtered through like a million little spotlights, dappling the white bark of the trees, while the river burbled a soothing soundtrack.
He’d never told anyone about his history. Not even Jonas or Sonia knew anything about his life before his first band. Even that was glossed over. He’d told them he was “discovered” by them when they’d overheard him singing. Where exactly they’d overheard, or why he’d been singing in the first place, he’d never divulged.
He took a deep breath and loosed a long exhale, the fresh mountain air giving him a shot of courage. “I grew up on a ranch in Texas.”
Wes’s head swiveled around, eyebrows raised and jaw dropping. “You were a cowboy ! How does anyone not know that?”
Reading between the lines, Shane got the impression Wes was more surprised that he didn’t know, given his super sleuth digital skills.
“Because I did a good job of burying it.” Shane shrugged. “You didn’t think Castle was my real last name, did you?”
“Sounds real enough.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Shane took another deep breath. Here we go . “My folks had a huge spread. Nowhere near as big as this ranch, but it was up there. We raised cattle and chickens, and my mom showed pleasure horses.”
“That’s why you know your breeds so well.”
Shane nodded. He loved horses. Always had, but not a single person outside his family knew that. Even they didn’t know the extent of his love for the majestic animals. He’d wanted to learn dressage, but his dad would have never allowed it. “ Men ride cattle horses ” was his dad’s mindset. But Shane had left his passion and Olympic dreams behind when he’d sloughed that era of his life.
“So, what happened?” There was a note of apprehension in Wes’s voice, as though he knew the story Shane was about to tell, and really, he wasn’t far off the mark. His tale was, unfortunately, far too common.
“I knew I was different from other boys, but I kept that to myself.” Shane shifted in the saddle. His butt was going to feel this afterward. “Texas and macho men, and all that.”
Wes nodded. “Been there.”
“So . . . I was around sixteen and had a raging crush on one of the hands. Hugh. He was a few years older and always paid attention to me. In hindsight, I realized I was like a little brother to him, but in my teenage hormone-driven brain I thought he felt the same as I did. So, of course, I made a pass at him.” Shane shook his head and chuckled, but the sound was derisive. He remembered how his palms had sweat as he looked up at Hugh with all the naivety of youth, his heart pounding with anticipation—and the way Hugh’s mouth had screwed up into a scowl after Shane confessed his feelings. “He didn’t take it well. Actually, he didn’t say anything at all. Just looked at me with disgust and walked away. I thought that was the end of it, but he’d gone and told the rest of the hands because after that every single one of them steered clear of me, sneered, slung derogatory comments at me under their breath, and”—he air quoted—“ accidentally tripped me or pushed me into walls and fences. One even spit on me.”
Wes cursed, hard and forceful, surprising Shane. Wes had been nothing but easy going the whole time Shane had known him. Even when Shane pissed off, he kept any outward signs of his anger locked down.
“Now I understand your aversion to cowboys,” Wes said, his voice strained and the words tight. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
Shane tipped his hat. Infusing a healthy dose of sarcasm into his voice, he said, “I’m not even at the best part yet. ”
“I’m not sure I can hear more without wanting to go down there and ring a few bells,” Wes said, and a lightness bloomed in Shane’s chest that Wes was upset on his behalf.
The corners of his mouth lifted. “Keep saying things like that . . .”
Their legs rubbed together, having not realized how close the horses had moved to each other, and Wes swallowed visibly. A pang of loss fluttered through Shane’s chest when Wes guided Merlin over to open a gap between them again.
“Anyway,” Shane continued, surprised that he was not only sharing his past with Wes but that he wanted to. Whether it was Wes himself, riding again, or the simple catharsis of letting go, the weight of his past lifted off him with each word, drifting away like the colorful fall leaves fluttering on the breeze. “Didn’t take long at all for my dad to catch wind of what was going on. He kicked me out. Disowned me. I ended up living on the streets in Houston, singing for food money on street corners. And before you ask, no, I did not turn tricks, because no way in hell was I going to let dirty old men use me to get their rocks off.”
Wes held a hand up in surrender. “Even if you did whatever you had to do to survive, I wouldn’t judge.”
Shane narrowed his eyes but relaxed under Wes’s guileless gaze.
“One night when I was packing up, a group of long-haired, leather-clad guys approached. I thought for sure I was in for a serious beat down, but they’d heard me singing and asked me to join their band. That was the day Shane Castle was born.”