Chapter Fifteen
Caine
“Jason, come on!” I yell for the fifth time this morning.
The guy doesn’t last more than two seconds on Temper. His grip is off, his balance is nowhere to be seen, and I swear to God, I think he’s still drunk from last night.
“I’m trying, Caine!” he yells from his ass on the ground.
“How much did you drink last night?” I ask the twenty-one-year-old.
“You want to get trampled out there? Cause that’s the direction you’re going in.
Get your ass over here!” I yell as Max gets Temper under control and in her stall, so she doesn’t run over the dumbass who is supposed to be my star bronc rider this year.
After Jason stands and brushes the mud from his jeans, he walks over to me. The stale smell of whiskey is even stronger than the smell of manure and wet horse. And I glower at him.
“You’re done for the day,” I tell him.
“Caine!”
“No! You smell like a fucking dumpster at a bar. Did you even make it to bed last night? And sleep?” I ask him, my finger pointing in his face.
My three other riders snicker behind him, and I step to the side and look at them.
“You said you’d all do better. But here we are! We have only a few months until the season starts again, and you’re acting like amateurs looking for a death wish,” I yell. “Is that what you want? Or something worse? Broken to the point where you know all the shit around you, but can’t ride again?”
At that, all of them stop laughing.
“Sorry, Caine,” Jason says, frowning as he shuffles his boots to his water bottle.
“Weston, you’re up.” And fuck if I’m not over this day already.
I barely slept. I know that’s not their fault, but the lack of sleep and the reason for it is putting me in a foul mood.
I don’t know what to do about the curvy little brunette in my house. For the first time in a long while, I want something more. I just don’t know what it is. I also don’t know what can happen with a girl who is twenty-three, although I find I forget all about her age.
When I picked her up the other day and we were driving to my house, it didn’t matter at all. And it didn’t seem to occur to me while we were eating dinner in my kitchen.
It’s been a week now, and I’m still not used to her being in my home. And I don’t want her to leave. Truth be told, I still haven’t had the time to get her car towed to the garage. And to be honest, I’m in no rush to do so.
Having her in the room right next to mine… that’s what’s painful. I’m not used to having to curb my desires.
But she finally asked about her car last night, so I have to tow it to the garage tomorrow morning.
I couldn’t sleep last night… again, and getting up was the only thing I could think to do so I wouldn’t sneak into her room and stare at her like a creep. The woman is stunning, and I don’t think she knows just how beautiful she is.
Without a shadow of a doubt, I know she feels something too. What exactly, obviously I don’t know, but I know she’s attracted to me. But fuck if I know what to do about it. I feel like I’m out of my depth. I don’t know how to date anymore.
And it doesn’t help that everyone came in today hungover, as though they work a desk job and don’t have to have full use of all their faculties. I wish I were kidding around just to scare them, but I’m not. And they know well enough that this sport isn’t a joke.
I watch as Weston hops onto Docile in the chute and gets into position. I make sure my horses rest. I don’t allow them to get overused during training, and we take good care of them during competitions.
My horses are my life, and I make sure my trainers, riders, and other employees treat my animals with respect. We do a lot of training on machines to reduce the stress on the horses. But nothing can truly replace the unpredictability of a strong horse working to throw her rider.
And with competition season so close, the guys need time on horseback. Weston is the only one that doesn’t smell like alcohol, and while he’s the youngest rider I’m training, he seems to have his head on straighter than the rest of these assholes. And the kid is good! He killed it last season.
We’ve been working all day, doing different exercises to get the guys ready, but these guys are supposed to be experienced riders, and by the state of them, you would never know that.
“Get those spurs up,” I tell Weston when we get Docile back in the stall.
He nods, knowing his foot position will kill his score. He can stay up the full eight seconds, but he must ensure his boot heels stay in contact with the mare above the point of the shoulders before her front legs hit the ground on the first jump out.
“Good job today,” I tell him as he walks over. “The rest of you need to get your shit together or don’t show up tomorrow.”
They walk away, their hungover asses dragging as they move past my staff. They have to help them get the mares back in the barn.
“Let Max and the others clean up for the night,” Lance tells me as he wraps up his last class of the day. “You look like you’re ready for the night to be over.”
I nod because he’s right. Fuck, he has no idea how much.
We walk to my house, and the warm scent of thyme and garlic welcomes me as I walk inside the house and music is blaring over a speaker coming from the kitchen.
“Did you get a cook?” Lance asks me, his dark brown brows furrowed.
I smile as I hear a rather beautiful voice singing “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus.
I quickly remove my shoes and make my way to the kitchen and stop short when I see Mikayla singing and shaking her ass at the stove, swaying her hips and lifting her arm, throwing her head back as she uses the spatula as a microphone.
“AH!” she screams when she turns around and sees us standing at the entry. “Jesus, Caine!” she yells at me, her hand over her heart.
I lift a brow when the song “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift comes on. I don’t know what comes over me, but I walk over to Mikayla and wrap my arms around her waist and start dancing with her.
She turns around and smiles up at me, wrapping her arms around my neck before I grab her hands and put one behind my back and spin her out and back to me.
“What is happening?” Lance asks.
Mikayla stops dancing and turns toward Lance, her cheeks red, either from exertion or embarrassment, maybe both. I don’t think she saw him standing there earlier. It makes me smile because, obviously she only has eyes for me.
“Lance, this is Mikayla,” I say. “Mikayla, this is my brother, Lance.”
Mikayla walks to him and extends her hand for him to shake. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”
Lance tilts his head slightly but takes her hand. “Hi,” he says tentatively, his eyes slightly narrowed while he takes her in. “Um…”
“I met Caine and Patrick a little while back,” Mikayla says, obviously seeing my brother’s confusion. “My car broke down last week, and Caine helped me since my only friend in Texas is in Austin.”
“I see,” Lance says, but from the look on his face he doesn’t see at all.
Granted, this isn’t something I have ever done before. I have never actually brought a woman back to this house, let alone allow her to stay here for a week.
“So not a cook.”
“Not for hire, no,” she says, shaking her head. “Speaking of which.” She walks back to the stove.
“Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my brother?” Lance asks me in a hushed, angry whisper. “You invited a stranger into your house?” he asks as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the kitchen. “You can get pussy anywhere.”
My eyes narrow in anger at his last words. Then I push him farther out of earshot. “I’m not fucking her.”
“But you want to,” he whisper-shouts.
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Um… I don’t know, because she’s what? Sixteen?” he asks, lifting his arm and pointing it at her. His face is turning red, as though I’ve somehow done something to offend him.
“I’m twenty-three! And you’re not as quiet as you think you are. The house has great acoustics!” Mikayla yells from the kitchen.
Lance closes his eyes and has the presence of mind to turn red.
Rather than leave, which is what I’d prefer, I was actually looking forward to being alone with Mikayla after my long day, Lance walks back into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry.”
Mikayla turns and looks at him and tilts her head to the side as she regards him. “You’re sorry I heard.”
I quirk a brow as Lance stiffens.
Mikayla looks at me and frowns. “There’s enough food for you both. I’m gonna call an Uber.” Mikayla turns the oven off and places the spatula down and walks aways and I feel… panic.
“No, wait!” I holler as I follow her out of the kitchen.
Mikayla may be short, but her legs are fast.
“Mikayla!” I take her hand before she makes it to her bedroom. “Please.”
“What?” she asks, jerking her hand out of my grasp. “You can get pussy anywhere.” She repeats what Lance said earlier, somehow looking down her nose at me.
“You aren’t that Mikayla, and you know it.” My jaw clenches, and I try to keep my temper in check. I feel like an asshole because she looks near tears.
“Come here.” I reach for her and pull her into my arms.
“You smell terrible.” She crinkles her nose, but she still hugs me, her arms tight around my waist.
“Please—don’t leave,” I practically beg. Okay, I’m fully begging. She can’t fucking leave!
“This is so weird,” she whispers.
“Why is it weird?” I have never been more nervous about a response to a question in my life!