“You only brought brushes. I grabbed the rest of what was in the stall.”
“Your dad didn’t mention needing to do full service on these horses,” I say, feeling the need to clarify.
Rowe’s laugh is all bark. “Of course he didn’t. You wouldn’t have agreed if he had.”
“Well, do they not have supplies here at all? Surely, we didn’t need to bring everything,” I bite out.
His eyes drift across the ranch, as if that’s answer enough. I flick my braid over my shoulder. It hits my back before I take one end of the tub and nod for him to grab the other.
“Right. Let’s take it with us, then.”
We haul the bin up the driveway to the house. My shoulder aches from the weight of it, but I don’t have the chance tocomplain before Rowe’s lifting it higher on his end. I’m hardly carrying any of its weight now.
I keep my mouth shut about it.
By the time we make it up to the house, there’s a man standing behind the screen door. It’s creepy as hell the way he’s lurking instead of outright standing on the rickety porch.
“Rowe Carrigan. It’s about damn time you got here,” he says, finally pushing the door open.
The tub is lowered to the ground quicker than I was expecting. It drops hard, the contents rattling. Rowe’s back stiffens, his shirt pulling taut across his shoulders. I stare boldly, unable to help myself from taking a peek at the muscles flexing.
“Can’t go any faster than the speed limit lets me, Walt” is all Rowe says.
The man chuckles deeply, the sound cruel. “Is that right? Criminals only care about the law when it benefits them, then?”
My eyes narrow on the man. Even from a few yards away, I can see the crusty-ass mustache above his lip and the bulge beneath the bottom one from where I’d bet he’s got spit tucked. The nicotine that goes flying through the air a beat later makes me cringe, confirming my suspicions.
“You wanted to talk about the stud, so let’s talk,” Rowe says, voice low.
I cross my arms over my chest and keep the man in my sights. My movements seem to snag his attention. His ugly brown eyes flick toward me, snagging on my crossed arms for a beat before he forces them away to the man a few paces ahead of me.
“This is the groomer?”
“I am,” I answer for Rowe.
He doesn’t look back at me. “She is.”
“Tilly, I think is what Jed said your name was. That it?” he asks me this time.
“The one and only. Where are the horses?”
Walt flings a hand to the left of the house. “The stable’s that way. Only got a few horses. You don’t need whatever’s in that bin.”
This isn’t a horse ranch, then. From the smell, I’d have assumed cattle if I’d seen anything thus far that looked remotely close to a cow. Maybe they’re kept further out.
“I’ll decide that when I get there. Thanks. It’ll take me a few hours to finish,” I declare, already lowering my arm to grab the bin. “And I’ll need Rowe to help me haul this over there.”
He turns then, beckoned at the sound of his name. The frustration burning in his grey eyes brings out something in me that I’d prefer not to feel around him. He doesn’t need my protection, and I guarantee he’d get all bothered if I tried to offer it.
Still, I don’t like when he looks like that. Especially not when the cause is some creepy old cowboy with a musty-ass mustache. Not everyone can pull one off, and he certainly cannot.
Luckily, Rowe blinks away all hints of emotion from his gaze and grabs his side of the bin. I feel myself relax a little and wait for him to lead the way, despite neither of us having a real idea of where to go.
“I’m not done talking about my horse, Rowe,” Walt grumbles when we start walking away from the house.
I flash him a poisoned smile over my shoulder and pat Rowe’s back a couple of times. “Don’t worry, I’ll return him to you shortly.”
Rowe doesn’t bother adding anything to my statement. I watch the back of his head as he walks, lifting the bin even higher than he was the first time. It’s so light in my hands now that I could drop it and it wouldn’t fall.
