Page 9 of Save a Horse

He possessively keeps her hand in his and clears his throat as they approach. “What can we help with?”

“You know the POS system; can you show Amy?” My tone is clipped, but I don’t need his peacocking, alpha bullshittoday after fucking the one woman I didn’t have the balls to approach yesterday.

We get it, she’s yours.

“I actually know a lot about trees,” Amy offers. “Well, not alot, but I am a fast learner. Christmas is my specialty; I’m the newly appointed marketing and public relations director for my family’s candy cane business.” She’s dead serious, I don’t dare snicker.

Mitch frowns and whispers to her loud enough for me to hear, “You are?”

“Don’t judge! Candy canes and Christmas trees aren’t that different. Seasonal goods are hard…difficult.They aredifficultto sell. Let me at your wood…trees.Let me sell yourtreestoday.” She then mutters to herself, “Shit, I’m messing this up.”

I successfully stifle a laugh and ask, “What kind of candy canes, sweetheart? Are we talking the ones where you get twelve for a dollar? Or the long, thick ones that cost a little more?” Neither of us break, and I wait for even the slightest tilt of her lips that never comes. “The fuller, flocked trees sell better, but sometimes you need a dependable Fraser fir to last all season long.”

Amy bites her bottom lip, but quickly schools her expression, clearing her throat. “Sometimes you want to ‘deck the halls,’ and other times you want ‘yuletide cheer.’ Got it.”

“Exactly.” I tip my cutter at her, wondering if I should’ve gone bigger; a mountie is too much, but maybe my cattleman?

This is a dick measuring contest, after all.

“Where do you want me, Hoss?”

Fuck, he caught on.

I blow out a long breath. “Honestly, I don’t know. We usually have a fuckton of traffic before Thanksgiving, but thanks to the storm, I don’t know what to expect.”

Mitch slings his arm around Amy and winks. “We’ve got this. Don’t we, Aces?”

The fucking audacity.

“Whatever. Find me if you need me. I have to chop a dozen more for today.” I walk away with my pride, because… Fuck. This. Shit.

I only make it ten or twenty feet before Mitch grabs me by the shoulder, whispering, “Hey, man, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Amy and I…Fuck, I didn’t mean to be a dick, but you and I both know that I can’t compete with you.”

Stopping in my tracks, I turn to face him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“If you saw her first, you would've won her over with your ‘I’m a lost soul’ shit, and she would’ve ate it up as you ate her cunt—which is delicious, by the way.” My jaw ticks, pissed at myself more than him. “She’s perfect, so… let me have this?”

Mitch flashes his doe eyes and I almost feel bad for him, until reality settles in. It doesn’t matter than he fucked her, I need them to work. “I don’t give a fuck where your dick was last night, sell my trees.”

He releases me, and I stalk off to the main house where the shop resides downstairs and I live upstairs. My ego refusesto let me look back at my hurt friend and his beautiful new conquest. When she leaves in a few days, everything will go back to normal.

I grab my favourite axe from the front entry and make my way to the last twenty trees I need to chop down today. If I’m being honest, I only need ten, but I’m doing that manifesting thing Mitch harps on me about—if I cut them down, they’ll sell.

As I carve into the base of a Douglas, I nearly miss as I hear her saccharine sweet voice. “Need a hand?”

“No,” I growl, slicing into it with more force than necessary.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I want to help any way I?—”

“Thank you for coming, but I don’t need your help, sweetheart.” I don’t dare check for a reaction, she’s likely pissed at my misogynistic bullshit. Rightfully so. As I continue hacking at the tree, it finally falls, and guilt seeps in. I look up to find Amy with her arms crossed over her chest and eyebrow cocked at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “I was waiting for your tantrum to be over so you could apologise for being an asshole.”

I take off my hat, rake my hand through my hair, then replace it. “I’m sorry, it’s stress. I didn’t mean to take it out on you two. I don’t know if Mitch told you but if this weekend doesn't go well, this will be our last year.”

“He did.” Amy takes a hesitant step closer. “Let me help.”

“And how is a candy cane princess going to help me sell these exactly?” Defensiveness looks horrible on me, but I double down. “Are you going to chop them down yourself?”

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