Page 68 of Dust Storm

“Why are you laughing at me?” I shouted.

His eyes just crinkled beneath the brim of his cowboy hat as he turned Libby and trotted back to me.

If horses had resting bitch face, his did and it was aimed at me.

“This horse is broken,” I said with a huff. Copping an attitude was better than admitting that I sucked at this and hated it. “Please take me back to the barn. I’ll walk next time.”

Christian sided up to me, facing the opposite direction like two cops sitting window-to-window in a parking lot. I jerked away when he reached out and touched my hand.

“Cass, you’re white-knuckling the reins.”

“I’m trying not to fall off!”

“You’re not gonna fall off, but you’re pulling on them so hard that Dottie here thinks she’s supposed to stop.”

“I don’t know why you thought I was capable of riding a horse all the way out here. We’re miles away and now I’m stuck on this animal for the foreseeable future.”

He chuckled again and pointed behind me. “I can still see the barn.”

I gritted my teeth for the millionth time, making my jaw ache.

I would have to see a dentist after this little sabbatical.

“Breathe, Princess,” he said as Libby shifted close enough for him to squeeze my knee. “You’re tense.”

“I’m always tense. That’s nothing new.”

What was new was the fact that I was wearing blue jeans and the boots Christian gave me.

At least I hadn’t chopped off my hair or given myself a bathroom sink dye job.

The ring I had worn for years was no longer on my finger. It was sitting on the nightstand in Christian’s house until I figured out what to do with it.

If jeans and boots were rock bottom, I’d say I was handling the end of my relationship pretty damn well.

Then again, compartmentalization was my bread and butter.

I’d deal with the feelings later.

Or never.

It was fine.

I stared down at Christian’s thumb as it stroked back and forth over my knee. It was thick and rough with callouses. I saw him wash his hands often, but it seemed as though his cuticles were permanently dirty from doing tasks around the ranch.

“Look.” His tongue darted out and wet his lip. “It’s none of my business how you deal with your shit. Just don’t blame the horse.”

The man was delusional if he thought I’d be able to ride this monster without falling off and cracking my head open.

Christian must have telepathically told Libby to turn so we were facing the same direction because she slowly shuffled around and lined up with Dottie—the horse who had the misfortune of carting me around today.

Dottie. It sounded like a lunch lady with a hair net. Not a thousand pound mammal.

“Relax the reins. You can hold ’em tight if it makes you feel better, just don’t yank on ’em.”

Reluctantly, I wiggled my fingers and loosened my grip.

“You can rest your hands on the front of the saddle if you want something to hold on to, but you don’t need it. You’re not gonna fall off.”

---