Page 121 of Double Bucked

I swing myself up back in the saddle and hold out a hand for Everett. He takes my hand and pulls himself up, mounting the horse behind me.

Gotta say—I’m not used to riding double saddle with a guy, but we fit. Everett’s body is flat, all coiled, tight muscles pressed against my back. His arm hooks around my middle. He wraps his hand around the horn of the saddle between my legs and grips.

Head in the game, Ransom.

“Hup!” I kick my heel into Fancy’s flank, and she obliges, taking off.

Loren is hungry for the win. He’s hot on the ball, and his powerful stallion pounds dirt, keeping the other horses a healthy distance.

Fancy isn’t afraid. She’s light and quick, and I weave her up behind him. Loren’s horse grunts, and Loren glances back. He does a double take when he sees the both of us on the horse, and his mustache nearly jumps off his face. He swings for the ball, but this time, Everett hooks him, knocking Loren’s mallet back. In the same swing, Everett hits the ball, and suddenly, it’s ours.

Everett deftly knocks the ball to another team member. He guides the ball into the goal, and—like that—we win the round.

But more importantly, Loren loses.

Apparently, someone’s shaken the skeletons awake because our audience breaks into the liveliest applause they’ve had all day. We even get a couple of hoots and hollers.

“How do you like that?” I call back at Loren.

The sneer on Loren’s face? That’s priceless.

I lift my mallet in the air. “Three cheers to Team Dumbass!”

There’s a puff of breath against the back of my neck, and I swear to God, I think I made Everett Stick-in-the-ass Hollow laugh.

Loren—giant man-child that he is—throws a fit. He rips off his helmet. I can see him shouting at the referee.

But his words get drowned out because then I see it.

A notch on the back of his head. Stitches and a shaven patch of skin.

The kind of mark a hammer might leave, for example, if it hit someone in the back of their head when they went running from the murder scene.

40

CLAIRE

I’m sipping my sweet tea, nodding without listening to the mindless banter of my former Promise Sisters, when the room tilts.

At least, that’s how it feels.

The commotion from the crowd watching the polo game outside draws the interest of everyone inside. It’s as though we’re on a ship, and suddenly, the ship has tacked, sloshing everyone to the other side of the room, noses pressed to windows, breath fogging glass.

I peer outside the wide, observatory-style windows myself, expecting to see the tail end of an accident—a horse and rider flailing on the ground.

What I find instead makes my blood temperature rise.

Ransom and Everett are riding the same horse. Cuddled tightly together, they play the game as a single unit and are, subsequently, demolishing the competition.

In any other circumstance, I might find this cute! Entertaining! Amusing!

But when they’re making a mockery of the Equestrian Club…right when I’m about to have a meeting with its owner…

It’s infuriating.

They’re like children. I can’t take my eyes off them for two seconds.

“Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath.

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