And how long before whatever they’re hiding finally comes crashing down on top of me.
Another few hours later and we pull back into the ranch. While in town, Sutton had stopped into her salon, where they trimmed up my hair before sitting me down for a manicure and pedicure. I don’t care much about how soft my feet are, but it did feel nice and relaxing. Until they brought me backed to be sugared and plucked.
The afternoon was almost over when we finally left town, and now it is near on dinner time. I’m ready to be done. Sutton is talking nonstop about how much fun she had. Apparently, she doesn’t get off the ranch as much as she used to. I mostly stayed quiet on the ride, spending most of my time staring out the window and giving one-word responses. It isn’t that I am ungrateful. I don’t see the need for all of this. Also, my social battery nearly depleted itself after the boutique and now is fizzling out on empty.
I enjoy Sutton’s company, but I’ve spent most of my life as an outcast. The drug addicted stripper’s daughter. A pariah. I’ve never had friends to shop with or spend time with. Hell, even if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to afford a shopping trip to Wal-Mart, let alone a mall where most people shop.
That was always fine with me, but now… now angers creeps into my mine at my mother for everything I missed out on, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
I don’t know how to feel about a lot of things right now, and it leaves me confused and hurt, but even worse, it leaves me where I’ve always been.
Alone.
12
Another week passeson the ranch, and slowly I begin to fall into pattern. I wake up, eat a quick breakfast in the kitchen while guzzling down coffee, and head out to the barn for my daily chores. It’s peaceful work, and I find I don’t hate it. Unlike previous jobs I’ve held, which involved dealing with customers and nosy coworkers in a high-stress and tumultuous environment, the barn is quiet.
A ranch hand or one of the trainers will give me a passing nod or a quiet greeting when they see me, but for the most part, they leave me to myself. I don’t mind. A few of the staff still stare at me with hardened gazes, but I’ve learned to ignore them. Whatever issue they have with me being here, they can take it up with John.
“Hey.” Pace pops his head into the stall I’m currently cleaning. Another overly hot Saturday. At least in California, the hot days were tempered a bit. Out here in Texas the heat feels like we’re in the middle of Satan’s butt crack.
Not ideal.
“Hey,” I respond while continuing to shovel out horse shit. One of my least favorite things about horses is how they will shit anywhere, including in their stall.
Gross.
“Once you’re done, come on up to the house and change into some swimwear,” Pace tells me. “We’re going to be heading over the Shaw’s for a pool party.”
No thank you.
“I’m good,” I say. Pace shoots me a dubious look.
“Peyton, it is hot as balls out here,” he drawls. “And besides going shopping last week, you haven’t been off the ranch. You can’t sit up in your room all day like a hermit. You need to make friends.”
He doesn’t know me well enough.
The hermit lifestyle is what I am all about.
I jab the pitchfork into the pile with extra force and glance up at him. “I’m good right here with my new best friends.” I gesture to the horses, who remain blissfully indifferent to the conversation.
He snorts. “Come on, don’t make me drag you. These guys are great, but you need to meet people your age. Plus, the Shaws got a pool big enough to drown a herd of cattle. It’ll be fun.”
I level him with a look. “Fun is not the word I’d use for getting sunburned and pretending I know how to have casual conversations with people who are no doubt whispering behind my back and probably think I will run off with the silverware.”
Pace shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “You’re dramatic as hell, you know that?”
“Saves time.”
He leans against the stall door. “Look, no one’s asking you to hold court. Come, eat, cool off. Hell, you don’t even have to talk to anybody. You can sit under a damn umbrella and scowl at the sky for all I care.”
I hesitate, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist. The idea of being in a swimsuit around people Ibarely know makes my skin crawl, but the thought of sitting alone for another afternoon lost in bad memories doesn’t sound appealing either.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say, reaching for any excuse.
Pace smirks. “Sutton bought you two last week. I saw the tags still on ’em.”
Busted.
