Page 50 of Lawless Rivals

On the porch, I tug on a pair of work boots while Saint does the same. He’s already walking off by the time I straighten, the icy wind biting at my cheeks as I follow.

Shay falls into step beside him without a word. They speak low as they walk ahead, their conversation hushed. Saint glances back to check I’m still following.

And I am because there’s nothing else I can do to change it.

He sets the pace and I’m forced to keep it.

The two men lead me along the treelined path, past the barns, and into the stable block, the smell of hay and horse a reminder of home.

“You know how to skip out a box?” he asks.

I nod.

He hands me a pitchfork, tips his chin toward a wheelbarrow, and says, “Get started.”

Then he turns back to Shay and continues his conversation.

I pick the closest stable, slide open the gate, and get to work, raking the fork through the bedding.

Manual yard work is straightforward enough, but as time passes, my attention keeps drifting.

From where I’m standing, I can see Saint and Shay talking in low voices, their heads angled toward each other. Saint looks irritated as he speaks while Shay listens, his expression giving nothing away.

Rafe joins them, all restless energy and hand gestures. His voice lifts just long enough for my father’s name to carry across the barn before it drops again.

I pause with the pitchfork stabbed into sodden bedding and tell myself I’m staring because I don’t trust them.

However, that’s just an excuse.

The fact that Saint hasn’t looked at me since we stepped into the yard eats away at me more than it should.

I drag the fork through the bedding as if it’s done something wrong and stop, exhaling through my nose.

This funk I’m in is stupid.

It’s what happens when a guy plays at being decent to make you forget what he actually is.

He’s waiting for this to be over. For me to be gone.

The woman with the black ponytail appears in my line of sight and blocks my view of him, her body planted at the opening.

“You seem very interested in their conversation, little Miss Harrington.”

I straighten and tighten my grip on the handle.

“What’s it to you?” I say, acting unbothered. “I don’t owe anyone anything.”

Her mouth curves into a thin smile.

“Nah, ya don’t owe us shit,” she says. “But that curiosity of yours could get people around here in trouble.”

“Kidnapping women tends to do that,” I reply.

She laughs and glances across at Saint. “Or maybe you’re watchin’ because ya can’t keep your eyes off him.”

“Oh, please,” I scoff. “You can keep him.”

Her gaze cuts back to me. “Has he kissed ya?”