Page 46 of Savage Heart

“What are you guys even doing?” he asks. “I was looking for you, Maverick.”

“We were just riding,” I say.

His hands clench into fists at his sides. He’s really upset.

“You do this all the time?” His voice squeaks.

Both of our voices have been doing that lately. It’s dumb.

Iris and I don’t say anything, and Lincoln rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t know,” he says, quieter now. “You never asked me to come.”

“We weren’t trying to leave you out,” Iris says, stepping closer to him.

“Sure feels like it,” he mutters.

“I’m gonna take her back now,” I say.

“You do that, Prince Harrington,” Lincoln says, his eyes flashing at me. “You always get to do whatever you want anyway. Must be nice. I’d get to do whatever I wanted, too, if I was a Harrington.” He shakes his head and walks away.

He’s been saying things like that lately, and it makes me feel gross and guilty and sad.

“Lincoln, hey,” I call out, but not too loud. I don’t want to wake up the wranglers.

He doesn’t turn around.

Iris and I stare at each other, and I wait for her to get back on the horse.

I’ll make it up to Lincoln somehow in the morning. I don’t want him to feel left out, but I don’t want to stop my rides with Iris either. Our night rides are my favorite.

“Thank you,” Iris whispers, when we reach Little Lark. “Do you think Lincoln will be okay? He seemed really mad.”

“I think so.”

I hope.

Over the next few weeks, something shifts.

Lincoln, Iris, and I come in from a ride. I swing down from Lucky, rubbing my dusty hands on my jeans. Lincoln is already on his feet, tugging Copper’s reins free. Iris sees Charlie and Billie, so she rides over to say hi.

“I beat you,” he says.

I glance over. “Didn’t know we were racing.”

He snorts. “We’re always racing. And I got through the creek first.”

I guess he did. I stopped to let Iris cross without getting splashed, Lucky sidestepping the whole way across.

When we lead our horses into the barn, he brushes Copper fast.

“You gonna pick out the hooves or just stand there?” he asks.

I grin. “I was letting you go first.”

“I’m done already,” he says.

He’s not. One hoof is still caked with dirt, but he sets the hoof pick down and dusts his hands off.