12. Solomon #3
“Therapy, mostly. There’s a lot of research that shows interacting with horses can help people with developmental disorders, mental health issues, all kinds of things.
We also run teaching camps for kids and adults who want to learn how to ride.
” I shoot her an apologetic look. “I think the first group is mostly kindergarteners. They can be a little, uh…rambunctious.”
Jay leans over the front seat and pats her shoulder, a smirk on his face. “Hope you came ready to work, girl.”
Apparently, Cecelia Ransome has no aversion to hard work, because she gets in there with Red and the other volunteers like she’s been doing this for years.
Not that she seems to know what she’s doing—she mentioned that she’s never been on a horse in her life.
But everything Red or one of the instructors asks her to do, she jumps right into without complaint.
I watch as she helps a little girl feed Solitaire a carrot, and they both squeal when his tongue shoots out to lick their fingers.
“Oh, buddy,” Jay says, coming up to stand beside me. “You are so far gone.”
“Fuck off.”
“No, seriously. You should see your face right now. Total heart eyes.”
I glare at him. “I’ve never had heart eyes a day in my life.”
“You have your version of heart eyes,” he shoots back. “Where you stand there like a giant, grumpy, silent statue but there’s this tiny little softening right—” I slap his hands away as he reaches to poke near my mouth.
I hear Red’s deep, familiar voice behind us. “Boys, do I need to split you up like I did when you were kids and wouldn’t stop chasing each other with riding crops?”
I grunt. “I mean, if you’re volunteering to get this guy away from me, I’m all for it.”
“Hey!” Jay pretends to be offended. Then he lowers his voice. “Red, I was just telling your grandson here how obvious it is that he’s head-over-heels for this girl.”
“Jay,” I growl, but he ignores me.
Red makes a pleased little sound and I wonder why on earth I thought it was a good idea to come here. Everyone on this ranch is annoying as hell.
“She’s a client,” I grit out.
“Doesn’t stop you from looking at her with heart eyes,” Jay quips.
I glare at him. “Don’t you have work to be doing?”
“I’m not the one standing here staring at the hot soccer player.” My fists clench of their own accord. Of course, Jay notices and starts to cackle. “Look at how mad you are that I called her hot!”
“Alright, Jason,” my grandpa says easily. “Why don’t you go help out in the tack room.” The asshole is still laughing as he walks away, leaving me alone with my grandfather.
“Don’t start,” I say before he can open his mouth.
He holds up his hands. “I’m not saying anything.” There’s a beat of silence. “I do like that girl, though.”
I groan. “Red.”
I’d seen them laughing together earlier. I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that she’d have such an easy time wrapping another Barnes man around her little finger.
“She didn’t even flinch when I put her with the preschoolers,” he goes on. “She told me her family does a lot of charity work.”
“Mmhm.”
“Apparently she always volunteers for the jobs that include working with kids.” This time I just grunt and Red laughs. “Someone like her would be good for you.”
“Grandpa—”
“She’d get you out of your shell.”
I kick at the dirt. “Why do people always say shit like that? Maybe I don’t want to get out of my shell. Maybe I like my shell. It’s very comfortable in here. I’ve been fixing it up my whole life.”
He laughs at that. “Okay, let me rephrase. She seems like the kind of girl who would join you in your shell and make it a happier, less intense place.”
I rub my hands over my face. “This metaphor went completely off the rails.”
“Solomon.”
I meet his eye, just like I always do when he uses that tone. “You deserve someone who makes you happy, bud.”
“Maybe,” I say gruffly. “But so does she. And I’m definitely not it.”
I hate the expression on his face—like my truth wounded him. But there’s no denying it— I couldn’t do anything to improve the life of a woman like Cecelia Ransome.
I can tell Red is gearing up for one of his big speeches, but someone on the other side of the paddock calls him over. So he settles on slapping my shoulder before walking away. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid.”
There are a bunch of things I probably should be doing right now, but it’s hard to move my feet from this spot.
Even harder to move my gaze from the laughing girl currently high-fiving the little boy who had previously been too scared to help feed the horses.
She looks so good standing there under the blue sky, her eyes bright and happy, the sun glinting off the lighter strands of her hair.
I think there’s a very good chance I’m in some real trouble here.
I’ve had a crush, or whatever you want to call it, on Cecelia Ransome since her freshman year, long before she even knew I existed.
And, apparently, all it takes to push that over into full blown obsession is an afternoon playing one-on-one soccer and a morning of her helping on my grandfather’s ranch.
A moment later she looks up, our eyes meeting. The smile doesn’t leave her face and all I can think is, yeah, definitely in some big trouble.