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Yeah, this was definitely worse. Way worse. Wyatt Collins was pissed.
Here we go again, I thought. Not even a word to each other, and we were already in a fight.
“Hey, hey.” His voice was deep, low, and soothing. But he was talking to the horse, not me.
I was staring like an idiot because no one had ever looked as good in a pair of Wrangler jeans as that man.
Wyatt was tall and tanned from the countless hours he spent outside on the back of a horse., He kept His thick dark brown hair—windswept from riding—pushed back off his forehead, the unruly locks held in place by his cowboy hat.
Wyatt’s face bore a serious, intense expression, his deep brown eyes shadowed under a furrowed brow that never seemed to fully relax. His angular features and defined jawline gave him an edgy, grave look that was almost dangerous in its intensity.
He intimidated most people with his silent, brooding manner, but I always felt safe and grounded in his presence, reassured by his solid strength. With Wyatt, I was always cared for and protected. No matter how chaotic the world, he was my shelter from the storm. But right now, he looked like he was the storm.
Gambler came down and stood quietly, whatever he had flipped out about forgotten.
Pain-in-the-ass horse.
A small crowd had gathered around to take in the show.
I stalked over and tried to grab the lead from Wyatt, but he pulled it away.
“Give me my horse, Wyatt.”
“I’ve got him.”
“Wyatt,” I warned.
“Get Cher off the trailer. Or have you forgotten about her now that you have a shiny, new horse?”
“Of course not,” I seethed. What an arrogant asshat.
“What barn are you in?”
I hesitated a moment and glanced around at the people watching and whispering to each other. I pointed at the barn closest to us. Wyatt nodded and started leading Gambler towards it.
I looked for Maisey and found her, brow furrowed in concern.
Are you okay? she mouthed to me.
I nodded, then sighed and went back into the trailer to grab Cherokee. When I got into the barn, Wyatt already had Gambler in his stall and was filling his water bucket.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, leading Cher into the stall next to him and taking off her halter.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he almost yelled.
“What are you talking about?” Startled, I looked up at him.
His face was hard and cold. “What would possess you to buy this horse?” He stepped closer to me, the muscles in his neck tense as he glared at me.
“Some of us like winning,” I snapped.
It was a low blow. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” I sighed heavily, waving off my comment.
Wyatt was an incredible cowboy, but the last couple of years—basically, since we met—he’d been inconsistent in the arena. He’d been through a lot during that time, though, mostly with his dad. It was just bad luck, not a reflection of his skill.
“Yeah, you did.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he spoke again. “He’s dangerous, Kins,” he said almost too softly.
