"I don't mean like that," I sigh, frustration tightening my chest. This isn't a conversation I meant to have tonight. "You two have history. You're still friendly. And the truth is he and I have never gotten along. So anything I say about his mare's behavior is easily twisted to be perceived as some personal jab against him. And given he's Kitterman's head trainer, we can't afford to give him any reasons to start talking shit about us."
Her brow furrows, concern narrowing her eyes. "You think he would? Even knowing the situation?"
A sudden rush of relief floods my chest at her reaction. I don't know why, but part of me worried she'd tell me I was crazy for thinking he'd be capable of doing something shady that might hurt the ranch. Hurt her.
"I think he has reasons beyond wanting to work with his mare for coming to rodeo nights," I say carefully.
Despite a gut instinct telling me to watch my back around him, I have no proof of anything. Well, not counting his attempt at snatching Liz away from me, but he had every right to make that move. And much as I'd like to, I can't deny there would have been benefits to her and the kids in taking the job and the life he was offering her.
She takes the information in silence, pressing her lips together, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she thinks it over, gaze cast aimlessly at the dark road ahead.
"I don't want you to worry about this," I remind her. "I promise, I'm handling it. He never partners with anyone but me, and I make sure his mare is always separated from the other horses." Pairing with him means I have to expose one of our horses, but I always ride Kimber on the rounds I go with him. She can handle herself without letting Brennan's mare get her agitated or worked up.
Finally, she nods. "Alright." Her hands fold in her lap and she turns toward me, lips quirking. "Kind of seems like we got all the standard catch-up talks out of the way already. Wanna take me home?"
I snort. "Not a chance. You think I got you all dressed up and tricked you into coming out with me just to talk kids and business?"
She frowns. "That is what you said the reason was."
I grin at her and wink. "I lied."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LIZ
Despite my many demands he tell me what the hell is going on, Jovi remains tight-lipped the rest of the drive. It's only when the truck is parked and we're getting out that the music playing from the outdoor stage and spilling into the parking lot sparks some sense of understanding.
"Is that?" I ask, gaze pinging toward him, unable to finish forming the words. Because it can't be. And if it is, there's no way he'd have remembered. So, it's foolish to think it could be the reason we're here.
"Dee Sparks?" He grins. "Sure is." His hand reaches for mine, and without thinking, I let him twine his fingers through mine as he tugs me along.
"I didn't think she was performing anymore," I say, still too dumbfounded to move my feet without tripping over them and annoyingly grateful he's taking control of navigating the walk from the truck into the venue.
"She doesn't normally," he says, face turned forward as he weaves us between the other vehicles. "But my dad was the one who gave her that first shot at performing back in the day. She played on our tiny shit stage in the Raleigh at eighteen. Just her and herguitar."
Dee Sparks never made it big commercially, but she built a solid following for over a decade, producing three albums on her own and touring all over the country multiple times before she decided to shift her creative outlets elsewhere after having her first kid.
She illustrates children's books now, but around here, everyone still knows her as the wild woman with the raspy voice, rocker guitar skills and emotionally charged ballads that wrapped around your heart and ripped it right the fuck out.
We clear the parking lot, and he adjusts our path away from the main entrance and toward a door marked employees only.
"So she's playing local gigs again?" I ask, still trying to make sense of things.
He stops at the door and turns toward me. "Not exactly." His head tilts side to side, his expression turning strange. Almost bashful. "I may have called in a favor for old time's sake."
I frown and I'm pretty sure my heart beat out of rhythm. "Why?"
He shrugs. "Because I know you bought tickets to her last show, waited seven months for the date to arrive, only for Lena to have a piano recital that same night."
"You remember that." It's not a question. It's barely a fully formed sentence, my words hardly more than a breath of strangling emotions.
He steps closer, head bending down toward me until out noses nearly touch. "Do you have to keep pretending to be surprised?"
I want to tell him I am surprised. There's no pretending to it. But is that the truth?
Deep down, I know that dedicating years to hating each other didn't mean we were oblivious to each other. Our lives overlapped so much, for so long, of course we knew things about each other. Still do. Hell, if I’m really honest, I secretly depend on Jovi to hold the pieces of my past, feel grounded in the fact that there's one person in this world who sees me, and even when it's not in the most flattering light, still accepts me. Unconditionally.
Same as I do him.
