Page 37 of Wild & Worthy

Chapter thirteen

Addie

When I stretch awake on my bunk Sunday morning, the smell of diesel and horses fills the air, and my head is pounding before I've even fully opened my eyes.

I groan, turning over in the covers, last night replaying in fragments I'm not ready for. Chace disappearing to pay our tab after our argument, reappearing a few minutes later swinging his keys and pointing toward the truck without a word. I'd followed without arguing. The five silent minutes back to camp, neither of us addressing what had almost happened between us at that bar.

When I kiss you, Addie Dawson, it won't be because of some stupid bet. It'll be because you beg me.

His voice is still lodged somewhere in my brain. The way he'd smelled pressed up against me sends an unwelcome wave of heat through me even now, hours later, safely alone in my own bunk.

Fuuuck. This would be so much easier if he weren't so attractive. That's all this is. I'm not blind. I've always known he's attractive. It's just a normal biological response to an attractive person standing too close. That's it. It’s simple biology.

I reach for my phone with my eyes still closed, then open them straight into the bright screen glare, which sends a spike of pain directly through my skull.

Okay. Maybe I drank more than I thought last night.

Alcohol-induced attraction, then. Even better. That explains everything.

I finally focus on the time. It’s just after ten. Shit. I should've been up hours ago. Dusty needs to be fed, watered, and stretched out before the four-hour haul to Cheyenne. What an irresponsible excuse for a horse owner. This is what Chace does to me. He makes me reckless and careless, just like him.

I swing my legs off the bunk, land on the camper floor, grab a pair of jeans crumpled from yesterday, and pull a tank top over my sports bra. I need to get to Dusty before he decides to hold this against me for the rest of the week, because he will.

When I step out of the camper, the first thing I notice is the fire, burned down to a smolder. Chace must have started it this morning, but there's no sign of him anywhere. I glance toward our coffee station and spot another foil-covered plate waiting on the table. Eggs and bacon underneath, still warm. When I reach into the cooler for the half-and-half, I find it's been swapped for a small jug of milk. A smile creeps across my face before I can stop it.

He remembered. I prefer milk in my coffee, some offhand comment I barely remember making, and he actually remembered it. I'm not sure what it is about a gesture that small that makes my heart swell, but I don't care to examine it right now.

I make a quick cup of coffee and scarf down the eggs standing at the table, then take the coffee with me and head toward the barns to tend to Dusty before he decides to stage a full blown revolt.

The fairgrounds are in full teardown mode now. Trucks backing up to trailers, kids underfoot everywhere, weaving in and out of adults too busy loading gear to keep track of them. A couple of dogs chase each other around a stock trailer while their owners scold them halfheartedly. Cowboys coiling ropes, checking hitches. Everyone is prepping to head out. And here I am, just now getting to my horse. All because I threw myself a pity party last night and drank more than I should have.

Two other barrel racers are already pulling out, their trailers rocking gently over the uneven ground. I recognize one of them, a girl out of Nebraska who's been sitting a few spots above me all season. I think her name is Sydney.

I instantly start thinking about the current standings. My time yesterday, the penalty, and where that leaves me heading into Cheyenne. I need a clean run there. Not just clean, but fast. Fast enough to make up ground, fast enough that Sydney and everyone else ahead of me starts feeling the pressure.

Five events left before the cut for finals consideration. That’s five chances to prove the summer wasn't wasted. That’s if I don’t tank in any one of them. Any event now could put me so far back that it won’t be worth the expense of continuing. I cannot afford to let everyone back home who believes in me down. Especially Hazel and Clark Ranch. They invested in me, and I plan to make it worth it.

I round the corner expecting a restless, pissed-off horse ready to lecture me for oversleeping. Instead, I find a full water bucket, fresh hay, grain already in the feeder, and Dusty standing there looking perfectly content, like he's had the best morning of his life.

I approach him, rubbing his neck. “Who took care of you, boy?” I nuzzle into him, wondering if some other rider took pity on my poor horse. Then I see Chace’s baseball cap hanging on a peg, and I don’t have to guess anymore.

I’m a horrible horse owner. I walk into his stall and press my forehead against his neck for a second. "I'm sorry, bud. I overslept. That's on me."

He keeps chewing. Completely unbothered by my guilty conscience.

"You could at least pretend to be mad at me."

He swings his head around and bumps my chest, nose working straight into my jacket pocket where I sometimes keep a peppermint.

"Oh, so now you care." I push his nose back gently. "You're lucky you're cute, you know that? Because this wouldn't fly with a less charming horse."

He snorts directly into my jacket.

"Food. That's all I am to you. A woman who shows up, eventually, with sweets."

He bumps me again, more insistent this time, ears forward, completely without shame about his priorities. I laugh and dig the peppermint out of my pocket.

I clip the lead rope on and start with the basics, the same routine I've run a thousand times. I could do this in my sleep. That’s how well I know it. I stand at his shoulder and press my flat palm against his chest, applying just enough pressure. He steps back on one hoof, then the other. He’s calm and even-paced.