“You have no right to be so pissed off with me. I didn’t do anything to you.” She shakes out her long hair, drawing my attention to the loose curls that now swing like a pendulum across her back. The hat on her head is the same one she worewhen we were kids, and I bite my cheek, letting my anger swell so I don’t feel anything else. “You couldn’t even say you were happy to see me before we started this little game you want to play?”
“I’m not in the business of lying.”
Her lips curl into a slow, crooked smile. “Right. It’s going to be like this, then?”
“I’d prefer not to be like anything, but here you are, throwing a tantrum by beating the shit out of my truck tires because you’re pissed off about something.”
With a flare of her nostrils, she taps the round toe of her boot to the rim of my back tire and clicks her tongue. “I’m pissed because you’re acting like you have any right to glare at me like that.”
“You think I don’t?”
“No, I don’t. If anyone should be upset, it’s me.”
I bark a cold, dead laugh and retreat, done with this conversation. “Get the fuck out of here, Tilly.”
“You can’t hide beneath all those new tattoos.”
“I’m not hiding shit,” I spit, whirling on her as my muscles bunch beneath my shirt.
There’s a furious tearing sensation in my chest as I tower over her, trying desperately to inhale breaths that aren’t full of her thick honey scent. It’s too familiar, and that knife slides right between my ribs, pricking the scars left on the thrashing organ behind them. She cranes her head back to keep eye contact with me, her lip curling just enough to show a flash of white teeth.
“You need to stay away from me. I want nothing to do with you, Tilly. With or without a ring on your finger.”
“So, you have heard, then.” She says it almost proudly, and that makes my rage ten times worse.
I round the back of the truck bed, tossing my previous plans out the window in exchange for getting out of here. At least she has the sense not to follow me.
“Everyone’s heard, and that’s not a fucking compliment.”
Without giving her a chance to reply, I whip open the door and get inside. I slam the door shut behind me and crank the engine, watching the black cloud of exhaust curl around her until she’s nothing more than a faceless figure in the rearview.
My boots kickup dust behind me as I circle the pen, my jaw sore from pulsing it the entire drive home. It’s still hot despite the sun having long since set, but I only roll my sleeves up before gripping the railing.
The black horse is still nameless. I’m not about to give him one until he shows me he deserves it. So far, he’s kept himself glued to the far side of the pen unless he’s eating or taking a few careful sips of the water I offer. I’ve got enough patience to last a lifetime, but tonight, I’m on edge, angry from my showdown with Tilly.
“You’ve got to give me something,” I tell him, knuckles white from my grip on the railing. “They’re gonna start pushing me to get you saddled soon.”
The horse stomps at the ground with an angry shake of its head. Hot air explodes from its nose in a very adamant fuck off. I ignore it, notching my boot on the railing. The bastard can heave and snort all he wants, but it won’t do him any good.
“You’re not charging at me, so I know you don’t hate me as much as you want me to think.”
There’s still hay on the ground from his dinner, and I shake my head at it. Diesel’s whinny from inside the stable calls to me,but I ignore him, knowing this is where I need to be tonight. Riding would clear my head easier. Maybe I’m trying to make myself suffer.
The horse watches me, his body wound tight as I jump over the railing. He throws his head back, digging a hoof deep into the dirt in warning.
“I’m not going to ride you,” I say, keeping my voice as even as I can. “Not yet.”
He huffs like he’s calling bullshit, swinging his neck side to side. It’s the same type of warning I saw from people during the three years I spent behind bars.
“You’re not all that different from the men I watched in prison.” I take a slow, controlled step closer. “You’re wound too tight. Eyes always tracking the exits. Teeth out for anyone that gets close.” Another step. “They break you down, pen you, and expect you to come out gentle.”
He doesn’t move, simply eyeing me up, considering whether I’m worth charging at.
“But you don’t come out the other side of shit like that the same. You come out meaner. Smarter. Itching to start a fight just for the hell of it with the first person who tries to put hands on you.”
A muscle twitches in his neck when I drop to a crouch. I give him the choice, whether to come to me or turn away. Hell, he could charge at me and put his hooves through my chest if he wanted to. It doesn’t matter as long as it’s his move.
“I’m not going to do that to you.”
