Page 9 of Catching Sparks

“The one and only.”

“Has he met Wade yet?” I ask, my imagination threatening to run wild at that idea.

“Oh, he has. Brody said he made Garrison walk all the way from the main house to the guest house with his luggage dragging in the mud.”

I snort, and Honey, as if sensing the perfect time, replicates the noise. “Even the horses know that guy is no good.”

Anna is silent for a moment, the only sound between us our horses’ hooves on the growing grass. “Is it bad if I say that I don’t know if I hate him or not yet? He’s been an ass, sure. But I’ve met worse people.”

“Are you saying you want to give him a chance to prove he isn’t a Sir Douchealot?”

She laughs softly as we reach the back of the guest house. “Maybe? Hate is such a strong word, anyway. I don’t know if I truly hate anyone. Well, other than Stewart, maybe.”

It’s safe to say we all hate her ex-fiancé. I mean, come on, he cheated on her after three years together and had the audacity to come back begging for her back months later. He’s the reason she’s here in Cherry Peak and in love with Brody, so really, we can hate him while also being grateful for what she gained from his loss.

“That’s fair. Although, I think I’m almost there with my landlord,” I mutter.

“He’s still giving you trouble?”

Honey falls in line beside Sky, bringing me and Anna close enough for the sides of our boots to nearly touch as I say, “Apparently, because we work up a sweat in the studio, we should prefer cold showers. To be honest, I feel like he just doesn’t respect me. It’s the same shit I’ve been dealing with since I opened BB.”

The judgmental old people that make up most of Cherry Peak’s population have never approved of my pole studio. They think it’s dirty, like a strip club without the patrons and ridiculous income. As if there aren’t respectable, clean strip clubs out there, anyway.

I’ve tried not to give them an inch of brain space, but it’s hard when there are so many against you and your passion. I’m not ashamed of what I do. I love helping women find their confidence, and more often than not, that’s exactly what Beautifully Bold does. It doesn’t matter what our body type is, we can always feel powerful and confident and gorgeous.

I wish more people understood that. Or at least attempted to understand it.

“He’ll give me trouble until the lease is over in two years. I’m sure of it,” I tell her, shrugging my shoulder in an attempt to play it off.

“I’m sorry, P.”

With a flick of my wrist, I wave her off. “Enough of this. Tell me more about Garrison. I’m intrigued now.”

“I wish I could be more help, but I know almost as much about him as you do.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

The sun is too high to tell if the lights are on inside the guest house, and as we round the side of it, there’s no car parked outside. It’s as good as empty.

The twitching of Honey’s ears is the only tell I get before I’m pulling lightly on her reins, bringing her to a stop on the side of the gravel road. Anna’s already looking at me with wide eyes, Sky still beneath her.

She mouths something that looks like, “That’s him,” and I seal my lips, glancing at the man in the front yard. He’s tall, dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a matching button-up that’s rolled a few times up his forearms. From this distance, it’s hard to tell much more about him besides the terrible choice of ranch clothes and slicked-back head of brown hair. Well, and that he’s pissed off.

An array of rough words explodes out of him as he shoves his arm into the air and waves it around like a madman. The phone in his hand nearly goes flying across the yard when he checks the screen and then shoves it back into the air.

“What is he doing?” Anna whispers, both of us watching who I assume to be Garrison Beckett like a pair of hawks.

I don’t reply before urging Honey forward at a creeping pace. She walks softly past the porch and through the grass behind him. Movement behind me has me peeking over my shoulder to see Anna following.

“Can you hear me? Hello? Nathan?” he barks, continuing to wave his arm.

Honey stops as I lean back in the saddle and cock my head at the back of Garrison’s. “You’ll probably have better luck getting signal if you stopped waving your arm so much.”

Two things happen next.

First, Garrison whips around so quickly he loses his balance and stumbles back two steps.

Next, his eyes meet mine, and he jolts, losing his grip on his phone. Almost in slow motion, it goes flying through the air before dropping into the mud beside his shiny black shoes.

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