Page 15 of Wild & Worthy

Then I see him.

Cole Maddox moves through the competitor corridor as if he belongs here, yet he sticks out like a sore thumb. Pressed shirt, clean boots, that easy, unhurried stride that says he belongs everywhere he goes and knows it.

He spots me before I can decide whether to hide or not.

His eyes drop to the logo on my shirt. Clark Ranch is printed across the top, clean and simple.

He smiles as his eyes return to mine. "Clark Ranch," he says, stopping in front of me. Conversational, friendly even. Like we're running into each other at a grocery store. "Didn't know Hazel was running athletes this season."

"First year," I say.

"Hm." He looks at the logo again, tilts his head slightly. "Seems like a small outfit for somebody with your ambitions."

It's nothing. The words are nothing — no bite to them, delivered with the same tone you'd use to comment on the weather. That's why it pisses me off. There's nothing to push back against directly, nothing to call out without sounding defensive, just a small, clean cut delivered with a smile and his hands in his pockets.

My jaw tightens. "Clark Ranch has a strong program," I defend.

"Sure." He nods, looking past me for a moment towards Shae. "John built something real out there. Whether Hazel can hold it together is another question." His eyes come back to mine. "You're talented, Addie. You know that. That number deserves a bigger name on it."

"I like the name on it just fine."

He holds my gaze for a beat too long, that smile still in place. Then he nods, once, like I've said something he expected.

"Enjoy Billings," he says, and strides away.

"I genuinely cannot stand that man." Shae appears at my shoulder, cornbread in hand, staring after him with an expression I can't fully read — somewhere between furious and something that seems more personal. Her voice is flat in a way Shae's voice rarely is. "He does that thing where he's not technically saying anything outright rude, yet somehow every word out of his mouth still feels like a threat."

"He's just trying to get in my head before I compete."

"Is it working?"

I look down at the Clark Ranch logo on my shirt.

"No," I say.

Shae watches Cole disappear into the crowd, something moving across her face that's gone before I can clock it. "Good," she says. Then she aggressively tosses her cornbread into the garbage beside her. "You know I dated him once in high school, right?"

I turn and look at her. "What? I mean, I heard what Chace said about your tongue in his mouth, but I thought he was just being an ass."

"Oh, he was,” she winks. “It didn't last long. He asked me to prom junior year. I was new, didn't know anybody, and he was—" she pauses, "—you know how he is. I thought he was charming and handsome."

"Shae." I crinkle my nose at her.

"I know." She picks at the edge of her cup. "He asked me, and I said yes. We made out once at a party, and then a week before prom he started avoiding me. No explanation, just radio silence. I found out through someone else that he'd moved on to a girl whose dad had just bought the Hendersons' ranch. Didn't even bother to tell me himself."

I stare at her. "That's awful."

"It was high school." She shrugs. "The point is, I know exactly what that smile of his can do to a girl." She shrugs again and walks away before I can say anything else.

An hour later, I’m in the stables checking on Dusty, who has now decided the water bucket in his stall is also a threat to his existence. Clearly he’s not adjusting well to the change of scenery.

He’s standing at the back of the stall with his ears pinned forward like the plastic bucket might suddenly grow teeth.

"It’s water, Dusty. H2O. Drink it."

He takes one tentative step toward it, then stops, snorting. I check my phone. Seven-thirty. Chace was supposed to be here by noon. I’ve sent two texts—the first one normal, the second one a little sharp–and I’ve gotten nothing back.

I’m not annoyed. I’m just vibrating with the need to throw something heavy, preferably at his face. I knew Chace operated on his own time, and I knew I was setting myself up for a disaster the second I agreed to this, yet here I am, annoyed with it anyway.