Chapter 5
Aura
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear the blood roaring in my ears, and Quint’s warm breath on my neck sends a shiver down my spine.
“Could you take a step back, please?” I snap.
I hear a shuffle behind me as he steps back. “Sorry about that.”
I probably should have softened my tone.
It’s just that men tend to do either of two things around me: keep their distance, frightened by my fame, or get overly handsy.
Oddly, Quint doesn’t seem to be doing either.
He’s a puzzle, and other than the irritating nickname “Hollywood,” he seems more than happy to treat me like a regular person.
I’m not sure what to do with that, to be honest. Which kind of makes me think he might understand.
“Look, I don’t really like being touched by strangers.
It’s a hazard of the job. People think they know you because they’ve seen you on a screen or in a magazine and they want to shake hands or hug or grab at me. It’s not you.”
“Got it. Feel free to tell me to back off anytime.” He takes another step back.
“Thanks.” A lump forms in my throat. He’s making it so easy. No protests or annoyance, just a quiet acceptance of my request. It’s throwing me off balance.
I reach up toward the horse’s neck, nice and slow, but yank my hand back when she stomps a hoof on the ground. I take a huge step back, slamming into Quint’s warm body. His hands fly up to wrap around my waist, steadying me. But he lets go before I can even think of protesting.
He clears his throat. “Sorry again. I didn’t mean to touch you. But don’t worry about her fussing. She’s just trying to scare the flies away. Nothing to do with you.”
I nod. “It’s okay.” And oddly it is. His touch grounded me, helped tame the wild disaster scenarios racing through my head.
Maybe it was the way he immediately let go and apologized, maybe it was the way he feels like a safe person already.
I’m not sure what it is, but I didn’t spin around and deck him, so that’s a good start.
I can do this. I can do anything. I have to do this.
I shut my eyes, drag in a deep breath, and try to harness my character.
I’m Willow Sterling, adopted daughter of the Sterling family.
I grew up on this very ranch. Sat on a horse before I could even walk.
The real world fades away as I slip into the character, letting her cheerful, optimistic essence seep under my skin. I got this.
Eyes open, I step forward, trying to see the world through Willow’s eyes. This horse is not a terrifyingly large creature with a mind of its own. It’s a friend, a family member.
I reach up, infusing as much confidence in the movement as I can, though I can’t quite control the slight tremor in my hand.
First contact. The coat is smoother, softer than I thought it would be.
And warm. Like a giant dog. I run a hand down her neck in long strokes, then reach up to scratch under her mane like I saw Quint do before.
The confident mask I slipped into starts to seep under my skin. This isn’t so bad. I can do this.
“Good, good,” Quint says. “Now the first thing you need to do is brush her, get all the dirt out of her coat before we tack up. Although, I think today we’ll stop after the grooming bit and maybe take her out for a graze.”
I pause mid-stroke, twisting around to give him some side eye. “Wait, what? Are we going to save the riding for this afternoon?”
He chuckles. “I think this will be enough for today. You got here. Don’t need to rush anything.”
“Actually, we do. I’ve only got six weeks until the crew descends on the place to get set up. I have to be solid by then. More than solid. I need to look like this is easy.”
Flash shifts on her feet, snorting, and I take a step back.
“Aura, I’m happy to help you, but I’ve still got other responsibilities around the ranch.”
Fuck. I didn’t mean to come across all diva-like.
But the fear of losing this job keeps swelling up and trying to take over.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” Now the anxiety is settling into a pit of dread in my stomach.
What am I going to do the for rest of the day?
Going back to that foul motel room is the last thing I want to do.
How am I going to handle staying there for six weeks?
Hopefully something will open up at one of those B&Bs or the ranch where we’re all staying for the shoot.
He hands me a red plastic brush. I eye the thing suspiciously, holding it between my finger and thumb.
“This is a curry comb, you just slide your hand under that thick loop.” Quint takes the brush back for a moment, demonstrating how to hold it. Then he leans over me, rubbing it in small quick circles along the horse’s dark neck.
The heat coming off his body is distracting but in a pleasant way, so I focus on the steady rhythm of the brush to keep that thought squashed down as deep as it will go. Definitely not happening.
“You’re going to go over her entire body with it, neck to rump, but not down her legs.
And be careful when you get near her hind end.
Like I said, she’s gentle, but you’ve always got to be careful around horses.
They’re easily startled. If you need to move around her, either go around in front or stay close to her body, keeping one hand on her so she knows you’re there. ”
“Gee, sounds like all my fears were unfounded,” I say, doubt riding me again. Do I really need this job? I could always go home and get a job at the movie theater I worked at in high school. Better yet, go back to school and become a doctor or a lawyer like my parents always wanted.
“They’re big sweeties. Just gotta show them some respect and be careful. I’m sure you’ve done more dangerous things on a movie set. Didn’t you jump off a building for that action flick you were in last summer?”
Ugh, don’t remind me about that bomb. The last nail in the coffin of my young career.
As if all the bad publicity over the breakup with Brad and my subsequent rash decision to not give a fuck about watching my words in front of the media weren’t enough, the remains of my career went whoosh down the drain when that piece of toilet water came out.
Trying to forget about it, I start brushing the horse’s coat the way he showed me, making circles on her neck. The repetitive motion is calming.
“It’s called a stunt double. And please tell me you didn’t waste money on that piece of trash?” Shit, there I go again, letting all my thoughts out before carefully sanitizing them. “I mean…”
But he laughs. “It wasn’t so bad.” Then he reaches over, turns to me. “Is it okay if I show you?”
His hand hovers over mine, and I nod, appreciating the ask. And instead of fear, a tingle of something else dances up my arm when he makes contact. “Make sure you give it some oomph. Really get in there and loosen the dirt up.”
I apply more pressure with the brush. “Don’t lie to me. It was a terrible movie, and I never should have given in to the pressure. Everyone was like, ‘Look who’s directing it! Take a break from your Paisley Creek good-girl image.’ Ugh.”
“Well, you were good in it.”
I let that thought hang in the air, trying to quash the instinctual need to deny his statement. It’s so easy to make myself smaller, listen to everything the press and the public says about me. But I manage to shove the urge down. Because would a fucking man do that? Absolutely not.
He seems content with the silence, happy to point out the odd technique or help me shuffle around the horse without getting kicked, but not filling the air with aimless small talk, and I appreciate that.
Everyone in LA always seems to need to spew every single thought that pops into their heads.
This quiet work is different, but nice. Even if the smell is a bit overpowering. I wrinkle my nose.
We methodically work through the different types of brushes until the horse is shiny and clean. Well, to be honest, she looks exactly the same as she did before. But a heck of a lot of dust and hair came flying off, so I assume she’s cleaner.
I tilt my head to the side, assessing my work, and give her another soft pat on the neck. “Looks like we’re done, and it’s still pretty early. We could try that ride now. Before lunch.”
Quint’s low chuckle comes from behind me. “We’re not done, and I told you I’m not putting you on her today. We’ve still got to pick her hooves.”
I glance down at the horse’s dangerous-looking feet. I heard her stomp the ground. It does not sound like it would be a good time to get kicked with one of those. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s part of the job. You’ve got to earn the right to ride a horse, and part of that is looking after them.
If you don’t clean their feet out properly, it can cause an injury.
” He pulls an oddly shaped plastic device out of the tub holding the grooming supplies.
It’s got a blue handle, with a metal hook on one side and a brush on the other. “This is a hoof pick.”
Quint steps up close to the horse. “Stand over there.” He nods his head, and I shuffle over to the right and a little in front of him.
“Feels like you’re channeling one of my directors. Gotta hit my mark.”
“I can be whatever you need me to be.” He winks at me, touching his hand to the brim of his hat.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t deny that the wink is working for him.
Why does he have to be so freaking hot? This would be much easier if he was thirty years older and married.
Choosing a young, hot cowboy with no ring on his finger for an instructor may have been a poor life choice. The things I could do to him…
“Just the riding teacher is fine, thanks.”
“Whatever you need, Hollywood. Now, you’re going to run your hand down her leg like this, and she’s going to lift her leg for you. You’ve got to hold on, right here.”
I have to hold her leg up? Sure, of course, that sounds super safe.