Tin

CHAPTER ONE

RIKER

I fucking hate my life. Really. Fucking. Hate. It. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m even still here is because no one else is left to live it. It’s not even my life anymore. Just pieces of everyone else’s. Shit they left behind that couldn’t be sold or handed off to strangers. Responsibilities. Land that’s been in this family for generations. And that motherfucking horse. Nox.

He was my grandfather’s pride and joy. Pretty damn sure he loved that horse more than he loved any of us. Although I don’t see why. That four-legged asshole has done nothing but cause problems for the ranch since my grandfather’s been gone. Three years now, he’s been busting through fences, tearing up stalls, and scaring off pretty much anyone who’s willing to get close enough to feed him. Which leaves me. But it’s all good. In the grand scheme of things, Nox is but a minor listing on the billboard of reasons I fucking hate my life.

QUINN

I glance down at my black leather boots. They’re not faring well in the muck and mud, but after last night’s rain, I expected as much. Once upon a time, I had proper clothes for this stuff. These days, however, most of my wardrobe consists of skinny jeans and ballet flats. And I’m not complaining. I’m just not prepared. But then how prepared do I need to be today? It’s my niece’s birthday party, and even though she’s about to get up on a horse, it’s not likely I’ll be getting anywhere near one. Still, I wish I had my old boots .

“This was a great idea, Kirsten. I think the kids are having a blast.” I take my seat next to the other moms on the bench outside the riding arena. Automatically, I scan their footwear, then smile internally. At least I still knew better than to wear opened toe sandals.

My sister’s friend, C.J., leans forward to see past the two moms sitting between her and Kirsten. “Sophie is doing awesome. Is this her first time on a pony?”

Kristen smiles. “It sure is. And no shocker there. Look at who her aunt is.” She gently nudges me in the ribs. “Sophie was probably born with some sort of special pony DNA.”

I laugh. “Are you implying your child is part pony? And that she inherited this pony-part from me?”

“Maybe not a pony gene, just your pony sense.” She’s grinning. She’s the only one who’s been around long enough to remember.

C.J. cocks an arched brow in my direction. “You ride, Quinn?”

“Used to.” Another lifetime ago.

C.J. shrugs. “I didn’t know that.” And it’s clearly really bugging her. C.J. likes to be in the know. And we all like it when she is, because she spreads “the know” around. In a totally “non-gossipy, just informing every one of the current events like I’m a newscaster and it’s my job” sort of way. And really, where would we be without the news? Especially since I’ve only just moved here. Meeting C.J. has really gone a long way in getting to know everyone else. Even if I haven’t actually met everyone else yet.

Right now she’s staring back and forth between my sister and I, shaking her head, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s so distraught over having been left in the dark about my little riding habit or if we’ve done something else to offend her. It’s possible. I love C.J. and all, but that girl is high maintenance.

“Sometimes I really don’t see how the two of you are even sisters,” she says .

Ah. That thing. Yeah. We knew about that too. Which is why Kirsten whips back her long, perfect, platinum-blonde curls and laughs while I tuck a strand of my dirty-blonde waves carelessly behind my ear and offer up an awkward smirk. It’s the best I can do sitting next to life-size Barbie.

Feeling properly motivated to move this conversation along, I point out the six girls straight ahead, just bobbing along on their ponies. Well, they’re horses. But everyone here’s been calling them ponies and I don’t want to be the asshole who corrects them now.

“Anyway, how long are they going to make the girls just walk around in circles? I mean, this is a lesson, right? They should be teaching them stuff.”

Kirsten gives me a look, and I know I’m annoying her already. I do it a lot. But today it’s in record time, and I feel all at once slighted and impressed with myself.

“They’re only five, Quinn. They’re stoked just to be up on a pony.”

And now I kinda do want to correct her. But I won’t.

“I’m just saying. You paid for a lesson. A lesson implies learning stuff,” I grumble as I slide off the bench. As much as I’m trying, I still don’t fit in with Kirsten and her friends the way she’d like me to. I don’t really know what she thought would be so different this time around. We certainly never hung around with the same crowd when we were kids.

Even with the age difference meaning less now at twenty-two and twenty-seven, we still couldn’t be less alike. If anything, the last three years have probably put more distance between us than ever. But I know Kirsten, and she’ll never accept that. She needs us to be close. She needs us to be perfect and sisterly. Because she’s perfect. Only I’m so far from it, perfect looks like a speck of dust from where I’m standing.

I overhear C.J. make a comment about my sudden exit, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I head toward the barn to try and absorb some of the scents. Maybe if I just stand inside an empty stall for a while and then don’t shower for a couple of days, I can pretend my life hasn’t turned into the shithole it is. I realize, of course, Kirsten would never let me stink up her house like that—not with horse or myself. So this very moment is an act of playing pretend already, but I’m getting good at that. Playing pretend. It’s my thing. I’m the Master of It.

Rounding the corner to the front of the structure, I’m suddenly face-to-face with a riderless horse running straight at me in a full gallop. Without even thinking, I stretch out my arms and step directly into its path.

“Whoa. Whoa, now.” It’s the most gorgeous Friesian stallion I’ve ever seen, and he slides to a stop just a few feet in front of me. Double-checking to make sure I’m right about this boy business, I take a step toward him. He shies away, backing up, and I can tell he’s seriously considering bolting again. “Easy, boy. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Keeping my eyes averted as I walk slightly sideways, I continue to approach him until I’m standing at his side. “There you go. That’s a good boy.” Careful not to startle him again, I slowly brush my hand along his neck, then pat him gently before grasping a handful of his mane near the withers. Considering he’s not wearing a halter or a bridle, there isn’t much else I can hold onto right now, and letting him roam the property while kids are present doesn’t seem like the most excellent idea. Of course, now that I’ve got him by his mane, I’m not really sure what to do next.

“Nox. You sonofabi— oh.”

I turn toward the deep voice and realize I’m standing face-to-face with the second most gorgeous thing I’ve seen today. Except while the first one was scared, this one looks pissed .

“I take it this guy is with you?” I walk toward him, clicking my tongue to let my new horse boyfriend know we’re moving.

“He is. Or he was.” The guy is still scowling, and I’m already starting to take back the gorgeous thing.

“You know horses.” He says it like a statement, but his expression suggests it’s more like a riddle spoken by the Mad Hatter in Wonderland, like the idea is completely absurd.

“I know horses,” I confirm. Then, because I’m tired of holding back every little thing that might offend someone, I add, “Judging by the way he came racing over here to see me, you don’t.”

But he just ignores me. Or ignores my comment, anyway. The way he’s staring, piercing me with those devastatingly blue eyes, he’s definitely not ignoring me . “What’s with the boots?”

“Excuse me?” Except I kinda know exactly what he means, and that only pisses me off more.

“Your boots. They’re sure as hell not made for being out here. Just seems odd that someone who knows horses wouldn’t know that.” The following “you’re just another city girl moron” glare leaves little room for interpretation.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I came here to watch my niece ride. If I had known I’d be bailing your ass out, believe me, I would have dressed more appropriately.”

He surprises me by actually breaking into a smile. And I’m back to believing in his natural beauty. Fuck me, the man is hot. And even though we’re both being assholes, I can tell I’m entertaining him. Which in some sick sort of way is completely satisfying.

“Tell me, Boots. You always this argumentative?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Are you always such a dick?” I have to bite back a smile. Because, damn. That felt good. And, call me crazy, but I kinda think he liked it too .

His mouth opens, and I’m ready for round two when the sound of Kirsten’s voice cuts through our moment like an ax. A big, ginormous, chop and hack my moment with hot grumpy cowboy guy to bits ax. My sister never goes small. Knives. They’re small. Kirsten comes in with an ax.

“Quinn? Holy hell, what are you doing with that horse? Give it back. Right now.” Her perfect porcelain skin seems to lose another shade of color. I didn’t even know it could do that.

“Jeez, Kirsten, relax. I wasn’t taking it. What, like I’m going to stick it in my pocket and try to sneak it out of here?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the way grumpy-but- hot Cowboy’s lips twitch. I like it. I want to do that again. “Here,” I say. “You better take Nox before I use my shrinking potion on him and attempt to squeeze him into my sister’s Beemer without her noticing.” And there it is again, that smirk. Maybe I should keep talking. Because now that he’s standing right next to me, I wouldn’t mind seeing that little smirk up close and personal.

“Potion, huh? So you’re a witch? Well, that explains the boots. And the hair.” His voice drops even lower now that he’s so close. I doubt anyone else can even hear him. I face him and immediately notice the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. There’s a mischievous youthfulness about him, but it’s misleading. He’s probably close to Nate’s age, which would put him at right around thirty.

He slides a halter over Nox’s muzzle and behind his ears, purposely ignoring me the whole time. I catch his eyes dart in my direction once, gauging my reaction.

Rather than doing something super clever and confident, I reach up to touch my ends, which are purple. A delightful contrast to the dirty blonde, I always thought, but based on the disgusted curl of his lip as his gaze sweeps my hair, Cowboy disagrees. Or at least he wants me to think he does. That is the kinda thing we have going here .

“My hair is awesome.” Yeah. That’s the best I come up with as he walks away, leading a reluctant Nox back into the barn.

I’m still standing here, debating whether or not it would be weird to hurl another insult his way even after he’s out of sight, when I feel a stabbing pain in my side from where Kirsten has pummeled me with her pointy little elbow.

“What was that?”

I don’t even need to turn and look at her to know she’s not happy with me. That tone said it all.

“What was what? Me and the horse? It got loose. I was just helping out. Doing my part to keep your little birthday troop from getting stomped into the ground. You should be thanking me.” Total bullshit, by the way. Most horses will go out of their way not to step on a human being. But Kirsten doesn’t know that.

“I’m not talking about the horse. I’m talking about the guy.”

I make the mistake of facing her and regret it instantly. Both her hands are in tiny fists, propped on her hips, and she’s got that expression I swear my mother must have passed down to her in some sort of welcome to motherhood ceremony when she popped out a baby herself. Because she didn’t ever have it before Sophie.

“You mean the asshole who couldn’t handle his horse? Why are we talking about him?” I do my best to match her pose, but I’m a far cry from motherly, so it’s a pretty sad effort, and Kirsten totally bypasses it without so much as acknowledging it. Instead, she narrows her eyes a little more until they’re itty-bitty slits, then scans me from head to toe. I wonder if Mom taught her this x-ray vision shit as well.

Finally her arms drop to her sides and her eyes open up to normal eyeball status again. “Sorry. For a moment there I was worried.”

I shake my head. “Nothing to be worried about. Trust me.” I don’t trust me. But Cowboy is gone and not coming back out after me. And that I can trust .

I follow my sister back to the arena where the girls are still riding their “ponies” around in circles. I’m hoping I was gone for most of their hour lesson, but I’m thinking it’s really only been like five minutes.

“There you are. We were wondering what happened to you.” C.J. is up on her feet. She’s got her camera out, and I’m guessing she’s gotten every angle imaginable at this point of her daughter on that sluggish appaloosa.

“Leave it to my sister to attract a runaway horse and a loser to go with it under any circumstance,” Kirsten announces loudly, accompanying the whole thing with a dramatic eye roll.

“Excuse me?” But no one is paying attention to me. They’re all laughing at my sister’s little display of—I don’t even know what to call it—sisterly concern? Total bitch? I’m going to settle somewhere in the middle on this one and call it good.

Fine. There’s no denying that my ability to attract douchebags is frighteningly impressive. And the horse thing? Whatever, that part I like. Not that I’m putting forth any effort in either department. Men and I are done. Whatever entertaining notions I enjoyed while fucking with Cowboy were exactly that. Entertaining.

I don’t want more. I’m not capable of more. More would mean feeling. Would entail wanting. Desiring. And a slew of other emotions I haven’t experienced in over three years. And it’s not due to any stupid na?ve intention of trying to keep my heart from breaking, nor is it as a result of having it broken by some poor slob who should have known better.

I can’t feel. I don’t have a heart. Period.

Torn between wanting to wander off again and worried I might run into Cowboy once more, resulting in attracting more unwanted attention from my sister, I stay standing in place and stare blindly into the riding arena. I want to be a better aunt right now, but I can’t watch this farce of a riding lesson a moment longer without jumping the fence and taking over.

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that, because all of the horses have suddenly come to a unanimous stop.

“What’s happening now? It hasn’t been an hour already, has it?” I’m still no good at judging time. You can’t spend years forcing yourself to lose track of it and then turn around and have a feel for five minutes versus fifty. It’s all the same to me.

“It’s thirty minutes of riding and thirty minutes of horse play,” my sister informs me, still flaunting a noticeably snide undertone.

“I’m sorry. What exactly is horse play?” It sounds like torture. For the horses.

“Oh, the kids will get to groom one of the horses and then I think they dress him up or something.” The delight on my sister’s face is almost disturbing. She never was much of an animal person. Of course the one thing that would draw her interest would have to include a makeover of sorts.

“Dress him up?” I’m still sorta hoping she misunderstood something as simple as placing a blanket on a horse as putting a dress on it. I’m probably wrong, though.

“Yeah. They have tutus for him and party hats and stuff. I saw pictures from other birthday parties. It’s totally adorable. Wait til you see!” Only Kirsten would get this excited over a tutu.

“Sounds fantastic.” I resist the urge to twirl my finger in the air for added emphasis on my sarcasm. It came across plenty already.

“Lighten up, Quinn. This is a kid’s birthday party. Not some barrel racing event. You keep taking everything so seriously, you’re going to ruin this for everyone, including your niece.” The mommy glare is back, and I get it. Time to check myself. This is a kid’s party. I do need to lighten up. I just don’t have a fucking clue about how to do that anymore .

“Sorry, Kirsten,” I mumble as I fall in line behind her. Everyone is headed back to the barn to begin the horse play portion of the party. I guess I should find solace in the fact that they’re no longer calling them ponies.

Of course, as luck would have it—and I’m referring to my type of luck, the unlucky kind—Cowboy is standing right there in the aisle with Nox. When he sees the troop of five-year-olds being led inside by their fearless leader, a fifteen-year-old who probably spends her time mucking out stalls and doing every dirty job around here imaginable in exchange for whatever scrap of riding time she can get, he quickly unties the stunning black stallion and leads him into one of the nearby stalls.

But it’s too late. Kirsten’s seen him. “You. Here.” She orders me to her side like I’m one of the freaking five-year-olds she’s responsible for.

“Yeah, okay.” I nod and purposely walk in the opposite direction. Treating me like a kid is only going to make me want to act like one.

I take my place as far away from the scene as possible and lean against one of the full-length stall doors. Its inhabitant is busy munching away on leftover hay and couldn’t care less about my presence.

Meanwhile, Kirsten isn’t at all satisfied with my lack of involvement and promptly takes me from one extreme to the next. First dragging me away from the dangers of socialization, then practically throwing me to the wolves.

“My sister. Quinn.” Kirsten points directly at me as she calls out to the fifteen-year-old leading the pack.

“What about your sister?” What could she possibly be announcing about me now?

“They asked for a volunteer.” She’s smiling broadly as she waves me back over, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “You know about this stuff,” she says to me. “Go help your niece. ”

I swallow a sigh and start walking in their direction. When Cowboy comes out of the stall and takes the lead rope from the fifteen-year-old tour guide, I can’t help but snort loudly. Kirsten’s little stunt just backfired on her, big time.

“I can see why they requested a volunteer now. I wouldn’t trust you to handle this horse on your own either.” I pat the petite bay mare on her neck. She reminds me of my Jazz, but I try not to think about that now.

“The volunteer isn’t for the horse,” he grumbles, then nods at the crowd of five-year-olds. “It’s for them. I don’t do kids.”

No shit.

“Well then, we’re in big trouble,” I whisper back. “Because I don’t either.”

Remembering my sister’s evil glare and my niece’s innocent smile, I do my best to get a grip. Maybe I’m not cut out to wrangle an entire party, but I know my way around at least one of these little minions.

“Sophie, come on up here with me.” I’ll just make her my guinea pig. Whatever Cowboy has planned for the kids, she’ll do first and I’ll wing it with the rest. No one will ever have to know that the anxiety of this encounter is repeatedly bringing me to the brink of peeing my pants.