Chapter 4
JONAH
Winnie doesn’t look like a pageant queen.
Her hair isn’t blonde, for one. And it’s short, coming up just past her chin.
At the moment, she has most of it pulled back into a small bun.
And she’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, despite the freezing weather.
Her back is to me, and she’s staring out into the snowy fields behind the Wilson’s house.
“Should we talk to her?” Beau asks Candice.
“No,” Candice says sharply. “She’s not ready.”
“Well, she needs to do something,” Beau grumbles. “She’s standing outside in the freezing weather wearing a t-shirt.”
“I’ll get her to come inside in a few minutes,” Candice says.
“She might be frozen before then,” I mutter.
“As if you care,” Candice hisses, clearly still pissed at me for how I treated Winnie when we first met a few days ago.
“I don’t. But the sooner the ditz comes inside, the sooner we can have our meeting.
” Candice and Beau asked me over because they have a complicated case coming in soon—a horse who will need its hooves looked after and attended to for a while before they’re better.
They wanted to discuss how much I can help.
I already know the answer: as much as the animal needs.
I might be busier than ever, working myself to the bone to try and earn money to pay off medical bills, but I’ll find the time.
“I’m not a ditz,” Winnie calls out, apparently having heard me.
She turns around and starts walking towards us, and it’s then that I understand it.
The whole pageant queen thing. Because the smile she levels at me is pure sweetness and light, breaking across her face like the sun breaking through the clouds.
Her eyes are shining, hell, they’re fucking twinkling, and if I didn’t know she disliked me, I’d be convinced it was real.
“Only a ditz would smile like that after being insulted,” I say, before I can think better of it.
“Ditz or not, I don’t pay much mind to snide remarks from assholes,” she responds, that same bright smile never dimming.
“Jonah, I asked you to be nice to Winnie.” Candice’s tone is flat and I know her well enough to understand that this means she’s now livid.
“Oh don’t worry about it, sugar. I find it best to just ignore men like him.” Winnie shoots me an exaggerated wink.
Before I can ask what men like me means, Beau asks, “Why the hell are you wearing a t-shirt, Win?”
“Oh,” she says, her smile falling just a bit. “I got really excited to wear a t-shirt and jeans. I guess I didn’t think about putting a coat on. It never gets this cold back home.”
Her words are strange—because who really gets excited to wear jeans—but neither Wilson sibling looks confused. Candice gives her a soft smile, and Beau is trying to mask something that looks like fury.
“I can lend you some things,” Candice says, tugging Winnie towards the house.
“I’m sure I have some winter things from whatever brands have sent me in the past, and I know I brought my vintage fur coats. I never had the chance to wear them in Birmingham,” Winnie says brightly, clearly cheerful once more.
Candice just laughs, but Beau and I share a look. Where the fuck does this woman think she’s going to wear a fur coat in rural Montana on a horse rescue? I guess it will keep her warm. But she probably won’t be happy when it gets covered in mud and shit.
“I’ll still lend you some work boots,” Candice says.
“Oh, don’t worry, I have that covered.” Winnie lets out what can only be described as a squeal as we make our way inside the house.
“Buttero sent me a pair of their boots last month!” She pulls up her jean leg to show off a pair of dark pink leather boots, knee high, with embroidery going up the sides.
I let out a whistle, unable to contain my reaction. “Those are some pretty expensive boots. I didn’t know pageant queens got such good freebies.”
“They don’t always,” Winnie says, turning to look at me and winking. “But I do.”
I scowl. She’s being flippant about a pair of boots that cost more than some people earn in a month. I glance down at my old, beaten up boots. They’re solid, and have lasted years, but I’m in need of a new pair.
Next year, I think. I’ll get a new pair next year. It’s a lie, and I know it, but it’s one I tell myself all the time. Next year won’t be any better than this year.
“What makes you so special?” I’m unable to contain my annoyance or my curiosity.
Candice and Beau are already in the kitchen, which leaves Winnie and I alone.
“You really don’t know who I am?” Winnie asks, her voice inquisitive and almost, for some reason, hopeful.
“Do I look like I follow pageants?”
“Right,” she says, recovering. “I just thought you might have talked to Candice. But no worries! No reason to know who I am.”
“Obviously.”
She blushes, a deep pink spreading across her face.
It draws my attention to her features, and I can’t help but notice that Winnie is stunning.
Her eyes are a dark, unrelenting blue that reminds me of deep ocean waters.
Freckles dust her cheeks, and her mouth is plump and red, even though I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing any make up.
Beautiful she may be, but it’s clearly gone to her head if she thinks anyone in Star Mountain is going to know who she is.
“No one here is going to know who you are,” I say. “So you better not expect them to.”
“Really?”
“Really really.”
I cross my arms and raise a brow at her, expecting her to crumble, but something strange happens. Instead of looking distraught at the idea of being without an adoring audience, the pageant queen smiles and then does a fist pump.
“You just made my day.”
Huh. Weird.
Winnie glides by me and into the back of the house without another word, and I head into the kitchen, knowing that’s where Beau and Candice will want to talk.
Their single story home is small, and we always do meetings in there, usually with a plate of Beau’s homemade cookies close by.
I sit down between the Wilsons, Candice on one side, nervously fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt, Beau on the other.
“This case is going to be tough, Jonah,” Beau says, without looking up from his phone. He rubs a hand over his face and passes me the phone.
I flip through the photos, and can’t keep my mouth from dropping open.
“I’ve never seen laminitis this bad,” I mutter.
“Keep going,” Beau says.
I look at the next photo which is of the bottom of a hoof. “And canker.”
“Yep,” Candice says. “The poor thing spent most of his time indoors, in a stall that was rarely cleaned.”
“Does he have a name?” I ask, setting the phone down. I’ve seen enough.
“No,” Candice says. “Not one that the owner shared with us anyways.” Her bottom lip trembles, out of anger or sadness. Maybe a combination of both.
“This will take work from both of us,” Beau says. “I’ve never treated a case like this, so I’ll need your expertise.”
Beau is a large animal veterinarian, and he’s seen a lot in his time. But as a farrier, I specialize in hoof care, and I’ve treated a few cases of canker before. It can be a pretty intense infection, and needs a lot of attention as it heals.
“It will take weeks of care if it’s as bad as I suspect. When does he get here?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Candice supplies. “Nathan’s going to go pick him up.”
“That a sure thing now?” I ask. Nathan Booth is a famous rodeo rider and a notorious playboy. I don’t want to see Candice hurt, and their relationship is fairly new.
“Definitely sure.” A radiant smile breaks across her face, almost putting Winnie’s to shame. “Nathan is here for good. With me and with the horses.”
Beau gives his sister a soft look, and I can tell that he fully supports his best friend and his sister getting together.
“Good,” I say. “You deserve someone who treats you well. Let me know what time Nathan and the horse arrive and I’ll come right over. I’d like to start treatment as soon as possible.”