12. Sage #2
As we make our way through the crowd, I take the opportunity to snap more photos: weather-worn wood, scuffed boots and spurred heels, dogs with tongues hanging out.
My camera is warm in my hands, my heart light. This is far from the New York City scene, and the photos I’m taking would never make it onto one of Graham’s gallery walls—they won’t even be used for Wild Ember’s marketing. That knowledge is kind of… freeing.
It takes me back to when I first picked up a camera and started taking photos of pretty or intriguing things just to hang them on my bedroom walls.
Mom and Dad didn’t like it. The photos didn’t match the rest of the house’s carefully curated aesthetic, but as long as I kept my hobby to my bedroom, they let me do it.
Right now, as I capture the details around me—moments in time that will be forgotten by everyone else—I feel more like the giddy teenager I was than I have in years.
A short while later, burger in hand, I follow Taryn as she browses stalls selling saddles, bridles, and other horse-related equipment. I swallow the last bite and lick the grease off my fingers while she haggles with one of the vendors.
A hand holding a plastic cup of lemonade extends into my view. “You look like you could use this. It’s hot out here.”
Holden’s eyes are fixed on me, his expression as unreadable as ever, but I can’t ignore the flutter in my chest that shouldn’t be there.
Smiling, I take the cup. “If you’re not careful, I might get used to you bringing me beverages.”
This is the first time I’ve brought up the fact that he still brings me coffee every morning. It seems easier to just thank him when he casually hands it to me on my porch and pretend it doesn’t give me a warm glow.
“Can’t have you getting dehydrated and passing out on me, City.”
With a roll of my eyes, I take a sip. The drink is cool and tart, instantly refreshing.
I let out a sigh of appreciation, and his lips curve up. What would those lips feel like brushing against mine? I quickly take another sip. God, why does he have to be so damn attractive?
“Holden? Holden McBride?” A woman makes a beeline for us. “I heard you were back. I’ve been hoping to see you around.”
I take her in. Long, golden blond hair. Big blue eyes. She’s gorgeous, and by the way she’s batting her lashes at Holden, she knows it.
“Looks like you found me.”
His tone isn’t rude, but it’s not overly welcoming either. From the set of his shoulders, he’s clearly not thrilled with the attention.
“I was so sorry to hear about your accident, but I’m glad to see you looking so…” Her gaze travels slowly over him. “Healthy.” To emphasize her point, she reaches up and squeezes his bicep. “When are we going to see you on the back of a bull again?”
This time, there’s no mistaking how he stiffens. Though the woman doesn’t seem to notice, too busy smiling up at him expectantly.
Can’t she see he doesn’t want to talk about his career, no matter how pretty the woman asking is?
I have absolutely no doubt that Holden is capable of taking care of himself. He’s spent years as a rodeo star, so he must have dealt with fans of all kinds. Yet the way he angles his head down, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes, makes me feel almost… protective.
Stepping forward, I plant myself directly between them. “We should head back, Holden. The auction will start soon. We wouldn’t want to miss it.”
The woman and Holden both turn their attention to me, her with a frown and him with his brows raised.
I tilt my head, giving him my best slightly ditzy smile. “You know I’m going to need you to explain it all to me.”
His brows pull together for just a second before the corners of his lips twitch up. “Excuse us, ma’am,” he says to the woman before dipping his head down to me. “Let’s go.”
I ignore the irritated look the woman shoots me, more pleased than I have any right to be when Holden’s broad palm splays over my back again, guiding me away.
He tilts his face down, murmuring, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“What?”
“Asking for help.”
I scoff, though it comes out a little breathlessly. “I asked you to teach me to ride, didn’t I?”
His low chuckle sends a shiver through me.
“I guess you did.”
“And you know I didn’t mean it, anyway,” I say. “I was just trying to get you away from…” I gesture vaguely behind me.
“The buckle bunny?”
I turn to stare at him. “The what?”
“Buckle bunny. Women who follow the rodeo circuit. Like to spend time with riders. Chase buckles.”
I roll my eyes. “Spend time? Really? How old are you?”
A faint smile plays across his mouth. “Just trying to keep it clean.”
I purse my lips. “You know you could just say thank you, right?”
His gaze lingers on my face, some of the humor fading from his expression. “Thank you, Sage.”
My whole body tingles in response to the way he’s looking at me.
God, how did he go from irritating me to affecting me like this so quickly?
Maybe it would’ve been better if we’d kept antagonizing each other rather than sliding into a truce so soon.
Because it suddenly feels as if we might be sliding right past a truce into something else.
Or at least, I am.
Either way, after Graham, I should know better than to mix business with pleasure. God knows, I don’t want to fall into a pattern. Not to mention, my current employers, however many there are, probably wouldn’t be pleased if I found myself distracted from my work.
We collect Taryn and her new bridle, then return to the shed. This time, most people are gathered around the metal fences instead of in the stands. With his height, Holden easily spots Chance and Sterling and leads us toward them.
The auctioneer is already on stage, leaning down and talking to some other men.
Taryn nudges me with her shoulder. “They’re about to start.”
She’s right. The auctioneer straightens, claps his hands, and launches into a rapid-fire introduction.
A man enters the ring, leading a dark brown horse with a half-white face, which I think I recognize from the demonstration.
The auctioneer’s voice changes, his words coming even quicker, laced with numbers and phrases I don’t understand. Hands and paddles rise, and even the slightest nods seem to count as bids.
None of the McBrides make a move, so I assume this isn’t one of the horses Chance is interested in. Within moments, the gavel comes down, and the horse is led out.
As the next horse enters, there’s a stir in the crowd. People shift aside to make room for three more cowboys and a pretty red-haired woman.
“Uh-oh, here we go,” Taryn murmurs.
I edge a little closer to her. “Who’s that?”
“The Ashlands. Gage, Levi, Colt, and Tessa.” She points them out and grins at me. “You’re about to see some fireworks. They’ll be after the same stock we’re looking at.”
The tallest of the brothers—Gage, I think—leans against the rail with the easy confidence of someone who expects to win. Now and then, his attention drifts from the ring to the bidders, a hint of a smile playing around his mouth as though he’s as interested in his competition as he is in the horse.
Beside him, Levi barely moves, his focus locked on the auctioneer, who’s rattling off the horse’s breeding and achievements. The third brother, Colt, seems less engrossed in the details than in the horse itself, following its every movement as it circles.