Page 7 of Just Say When

“What’s the plan, Essie?” he pushed. “What are you going to do with Pirate?”

I shrugged. “Haven’t really thought past saving his life and getting him healthy and sound again.”

Brax’s gaze cut to the colt and he frowned. Pirate shifted his weight between his hind legs, giving each hoof a break in turn, clearly uncomfortable as he munched his hay. Brax didn’t live and breathe horses like I did, but he had a fondness for the animals and hated any kind of cruelty and suffering.

“What’s the damage?” he asked gruffly.

“Bad case of thrush, in both hind feet. He’s too sore for bleach and water, but I have medication for him.” Like he knew we were talking about him, Pirate lifted his head. I raised my hand to rub his white face, then retreated slowly when he flinched. I didn’t take his reaction personally. My beautiful boy hadn’t been treated well.

Brax’s frown deepened. He wrapped his large hand around the wood beam above his head, like he was checking its sturdiness. “It’s a good barn, but we didn’t build it with a stallion in mind. What if he doesn’t get on with Buckley when he regains his strength? He needs more space.”

I didn’t particularly enjoy the reminder that my backyard barn existed thanks to my ex-best friend. Back when we were thirteen and I was just starting to get attention at rodeos, Brax had wrangled his brothers, his dad, and Jack into building me a two-stall barn. I might never have been able to afford to keep a horse of my own if he hadn’t done that.

“He’s a sweet baby,” I protested, even though I knew as well as he did that that was likely to change.

“He’s three. If Pirate needs to be gelded, it has to happen soon. The decision needs to be made one way or the other.”

Brax was right. Bloodlines alone didn’t make a horse worthy of keeping his balls. Pirate’s sperm would be downright useless if he couldn’t prove himself in the ring, andthatcame down to training and temperament. He needed discipline and an eagerness to please. And stallions? More often than not, they were assholes. A stallion that had been abused for most of his life?

Well.

The odds were not in his favor.

Prevailing wisdom was to lop off the balls before a colt showed stallion-ish behavior because once that behavior was there, it often didn’t go away again, even when the testosterone did. That behavior generally reared its head somewhere between ages two and four. Pirate had just turned three.

But just because Brax was right didn’t mean I had to tell him so.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I said. “I literally stole this horse, Brax. The only person who has any right to voice an opinion about Pirate’s balls is his owner, and I don’t see him standing here, do you?”

His grin was a slow, dangerous thing that had my stomach flip-flopping before he said a single word. He leaned in, the muscles of his forearm tensing as he gripped the beam overhead.

“You’re looking right at him, hellion.”

4

Essie

“S

omeone give me a needle,” I said as I stormed into the library Saturday morning. “I’m in a stabbing mood.”

Hannah Bell, the Aspen Springs librarian and the organizer of our little sewing club, grabbed my embroidery project from the metal cabinet that also housed a hodge-podge of holiday decorations and signage from past library events.

“What’s going on?” she asked as she handed over my half-completed cowgirl flipping the bird under a Dolly Parton quote:Don’t be a lady. Be a legend.

“Braxton Hale.” I practically spat his name like it tasted bad.

James Campos, the head trainer at Lodestar Ranch and very likely to soon be Brax’s sister-in-law, judgingfrom the way his older brother, Adam, lit up every time she was near, exchanged a knowing glance with Chloe Adams, the fourth member of our club, who was generally very smart, but was under the misguided impression that Brax was nice simply because he was polite and tipped her generously at the coffee shop every morning.

Frankly, I didn’t care for it.

I threw myself onto one of the empty chairs and split a glare between the two of them. “He’s a jerk,” I announced in a tone that dared them to contradict me.

“He does seem to rub you the wrong way,” James said diplomatically.

It wasn’t a contradiction, but it wasn’t agreement either. She wasn’t one to talk shit about someone behind their back, and she actually got along with Brax. Of course, most people in Aspen Springs would argue that Brax was a goddamn delight compared to his grumpy older brother, Adam. I wasn’t one of them.

Chloe smirked at the butterfly she was embroidering. “Sometimes when people rub each other the wrong way, it’s because they want to tear each other’s clothes off and rub each other therightway.”

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