36. Nathan
36
NATHAN
It’s really fucking difficult to concentrate on posing, smiling, and looking at the camera, when Candice is right next to me, looking like that . She’s always gorgeous, but today is the first time I’ve seen her in a dress, and it’s making me salivate. Every glimpse of her bare legs through the slits in the white dress has me craving more, and as Mick babbles on about the lighting, all I can think about is getting her alone, bending her over, and seeing exactly what she has on underneath that dress.
“Nathan!” Candice hisses.
“What?”
“Mick wants us to stand a bit closer.”
“Oh, right, okay.” I inch closer to her, afraid that if we actually make contact I’ll end up with a hard on.
We dutifully pose the way he wants us to, back-to-back, each looking off into the distance. On instinct, I interlace my fingers through Candice’s, and lock our hands together.
“You’re cold,” I whisper.
“It’s freezing out and I’m wearing a dress,” she grumbles back, as a gust of wind swirls around us.
“I could think of a few ways to warm you up…”
“What a line, Nathan.”
“Stop smiling so much!” Mick yells at us. “That’s not the vibe.”
“Sorry!” we say together.
“Mick wants the vibe to be wistful, I think,” Candice says.
“Contemplative.”
“Serious cowboys doing serious cowboy shit,” she continues, making me laugh.
“Wise,” I add.
“Stoic,” she says around peals of laughter.
We’re both doubled over now, cracking up, and all I want to do is swing her around in my arms and kiss her. I turn to face Candice, and look her directly in the eyes. Her laughter subsides as her gaze clashes with mine, and the space between our bodies crackles with electricity, like it always does. I hate that the last time I held her was when she was distraught and sobbing in her bed. I’d do it a thousand times over again, but I want her to be happy—I want to feel her joyful and content.
“I love laughing with you,” I whisper.
She smiles at me, bright as the winter sun overhead, and says, “Me too.”
I lean in, hypnotized by her, and tilt her face upwards with my hand.
“Nathan,” she whispers. For a moment, I think she’s going to meet me halfway, and press her lips to mine. But her gaze shutters and she says, “We can’t do this. Not here.”
Right. Around the cameras. Around people who could see. There’s no way Western Horsewoman would pass up the chance to put a photo of me kissing Candice in the magazine, and that’s the last thing Candice would want. I’m just for practice.
“I’ve got some great ones,” Mick calls out, breaking the spell between Candice and I. “Why don’t you two mount up again so we can get some overhead shots, and then I’ll get some shots of Nate solo.”
We do as he says, and canter across the field, Candice taking the lead. Her dress flies behind her, giving me yet another glimpse of her bare skin, and I thank God that I could stay in the saddle asleep because my mind is on anything but the task at hand right now.
Then, Mick takes some of me by myself, on Ballantine and standing with him. Thankfully, I know what I’m doing with these things by now, and it doesn’t take long before he’s satisfied with the shots.
“You’re a natural, Nate!” he crows. “And so is Ballantine!”
I hit him and the camera with the trademark Booth smile: slow, languid and smoldering. I’m well aware that salvaging my reputation is about convincing people to look past the bar fight with charisma and looks.
We wrap up the shoot, and then I head into the house to meet Shane, who decided to do the interviews in there since it’s warmer than in the trailer. Neither Wilson sibling is in the house when I enter, and I assume they’re both hiding from the crew, and from Shane. In fact, I haven’t seen Beau all day, which is typical of my reclusive friend.
“Sit, sit,” Shane says, patting the seat next to her on the couch.
I stare longingly at the chair across from her, but know her well enough to understand that she wants me close so that she can flirt with me. It’s fine, and I probably encouraged that behavior the first time we met. That was back before I got into the fight with Brad, and back before I knew Candice like I do now. I sit on the couch, but maintain my distance from her.
“So,” she says. “I checked in with Amber and we all understand that no topics are off limits for today’s interview. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I say. It’s something Amber and I discussed beforehand, and Western Horsewoman made it a condition of doing the piece. It’s obvious they’re going to ask about the fight, and Amber and her assistant prepared answers for me to use earlier.
“Great,” Shane says, smiling widely. “Let’s dive right in then. Tell me about your time in Star Mountain and at the horse rescue. What drew you to this place?”
“I’ve been friends with one of the owners of the rescue, Beau Wilson, for years. He used to work on my family’s ranch during the summers, and he and his sister took over the rescue a few years ago.”
“Why did they do that?” Shane asks, clearly smelling blood in the water.
“Their grandparents passed away,” I say smoothly.
“And what about their parents?”
“You’ll have to ask Candice about that,” I tell her.
“Of course, of course. Now, tell me why you’re here volunteering in the first place.”
I sigh. Right to the point. “Community service,” I say. “Star Mountain Horse Rescue has had many volunteers work for community service over the years, and I thought it was a great cause to put my time towards. I’d be here even if I didn’t have to be.” It’s the line Amber told me to use, but it’s not a lie. I love working here.
“Community service for the fight you started with Brad Thomas, right?” Shane asks, cocking her head to the side and assessing me.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“You punched him first?”
“Yes.”
“Because you lost.” Shane holds my gaze, her smile now completely gone.
I think hard about how to answer this. Amber told me to skirt around the issue, to come up with a vague reason for my actions. But I don’t want to seem like a liar—I’m plenty happy to let the world think I’m a womanizer and a partier, and even a loser. But a liar? Nope. Not happening.
“No,” I say. “I did not punch him because I lost.”
“Then why did you?” Shane asks.
“I punched him because I was frustrated,” I say, going with my gut. “I was frustrated with an industry that doesn’t always prioritize animal welfare, and I took those frustrations out on Brad. The fact that he won obviously irked me since I think I’m the better rider, but that wasn’t the cause of my frustration that night.”
I see the wheels in Shane’s head start turning as she processes what I’ve just said. It’s not the answer Amber wanted me to give, but it is a good one. It’s a bit arrogant, which is what people expect from me at this point. But it’s also clearly honest, and serious, without being too accusatory.
“Are you accusing anyone in particular of ignoring their horse’s welfare?” Shane asks carefully.
“No,” I say. “If I wanted to do that, I’d go through the proper channels. But it’s an issue that has been weighing on my mind heavily, and it’s part of the reason I chose to do my community service at Star Mountain.”
Bingo. I see in Shane’s eyes that I’ve said the perfect thing—I’ve given her a narrative for her article, one in which I’m not a sore loser, but a man trying to do the right thing.
“Why don’t you tell me more about your time at the rescue,” she says, smiling at me once more. She leans in, too, bringing our bodies closer together. “What kind of work have you been doing?”
I smile back at her, giving her exactly what she wants, and start to tell her about working with Brown Sugar and Candice.