“Sorry, boss.”
Luke giggles at the f-bombs flying left and right. And I feel it then. All eyes swivel in my direction, the men straightening or clearing their throats, like I’ve never heard a swear word in my life. Leave it to Cade to make me seem like some fragile princess.
I wave in their general direction and offer a friendly smile as I drawl, “Nice to fuckin’ meet y’all.”
Luke barks out a laugh. He’s so good for my confidence, always approving of my jokes. “Bad word, Willa!”
A couple of the guys press their lips together, trying not to show their amusement. Because if I can feel Cade’s scowl, no doubt, so can they.
“Nice to meet ya, city girl!” one guy calls from where he’s seated atop a fence, waving one dusty hand in my direction.
When one domino falls, so do the rest. Within seconds most of the guys are laughing and Cade is shaking his head at me.
He does that a lot where I’m concerned.
I wink at him. “Thank you for the coffee. I’m ready for you to break my back.”
His face pales, like he realizes how I could have interpreted his note. “I meant you could ride if you wanted to.”
“Oh, I want to.”
Heat flares on his cheeks. I shouldn’t prod the bear like this, but it’s just who I am. I like to watch him squirm.
“A horse. You can take mine.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder.
“Nah, I think I’ll take one of the young ones.”
“No chance.” His jaw hardens.
“Why not?” I quirk a brow.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.” He says it so simply, like it should be obvious to me.
“But I thought that’s what the note meant? Unless the note really meant . . .” I trail off and waggle my eyebrows at him.
“You’re insane.”
“I know,” I smile back brightly. “I’m a redhead. No takesies backsies, Eaton. A couple of hours ago you were fine with me getting on a youngster and now you’re not?”
“I changed my mind. My ranch. My rules. It’s possible you don’t ride all that well anyway. Plus, you need to be in one piece to take Luke to that kid’s birthday party today.”
I quirk a brow at him. Dick. Is he trying to bring out my competitive side? Leaning close, I whisper in his ear, “I dare you to let me sit on that one.” I point at the leggy youngster standing in the middle of the round pen, giving the foul-mouthed cowboy total stink eye.
“That one is rank. I’m pulling you something good-natured,” he says, walking away with his horse in hand, Luke following to see the others. Like his choice is final.
There must be at least ten horses in that pen, but it’s the sorrel horse in the round pen that has my attention. The one who chucked that cowboy good and hard.
I feel kindred with that one, and I didn’t wear my jeans and paddock boots in the middle of summer so I could stand around in the sun, sweating.
While Cade’s back is turned, I march in the opposite direction and duck under the fence post of the round pen. I feel eyes on me, but the men say nothing to stop me.
They must be smarter than Cade.
The little horse’s nostrils flare with each breath, wary eyes looking around a little. But honestly, I’m not worried. I ride well. I know I do. I haven’t been handed easy horses my entire life. I haven’t had grooms and trainers do the dirty work while I sat on the sidelines. I grew up with more money than most of the other girls at my barn, and yet I was always the one that had to work for things.
My dad often joked that none of the money was mine. It was his, and he wasn’t going to spoil me with it.
Both my parents value a good work ethic. Hard work and making something of yourself are what they value most. They never forced my brother or me into post-secondary educations. They followed our leads, and while I thought it was unfair at a younger age, I get it now. I get not bankrolling your children’s lives. I get not micromanaging their choices.
And I’m glad they haven’t. However, I’d have taken a little more pressure.
Maybe I wouldn’t be a directionless bartender if they had set more expectations. Who’s to say?
With that in mind, I take the reins and slide a hand over the young horse’s shoulder.
“Boss is gonna kill ya,” one cowboy mutters from the opposite side of the fence panel.
I just smile to myself.
No, he’s not. Cade Eaton is out of his depth with me.
I push my hand into the stirrup, shifting the saddle across the horse’s back, watching her ears flick back and forth. “Easy, baby,” I murmur.