Page 3 of Tin

“Excuse me?” But no one is paying attention to me. They’re all laughing at my sister’s little display of—I don’t even know what to call it—sisterly concern? Total bitch? I’m going to settle somewhere in the middle on this one and call it good.

Fine. There’s no denying that my ability to attract douchebags is frighteningly impressive. And the horse thing? Whatever,thatpart I like. Not that I’m putting forth any effort in either department. Men and I are done. Whatever entertaining notions I enjoyed while fucking with Cowboy were exactly that. Entertaining.

I don’t want more. I’m not capable of more. More would mean feeling. Would entail wanting. Desiring. And a slew of other emotions I haven’t experienced in over three years. And it’s not due to any stupid naïve intention of trying to keep my heart from breaking, nor is it as a result of having it broken by some poor slob who should have known better.

I can’t feel. I don’t have a heart. Period.

Torn between wanting to wander off again and worried I might run into Cowboy once more, resulting in attracting more unwanted attention from my sister, I stay standing in place and stare blindlyinto the riding arena. I want to be a better aunt right now, but I can’t watch this farce of a riding lesson a moment longer without jumping the fence and taking over.

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that, because all of the horses have suddenly come to a unanimous stop.

“What’s happening now? It hasn’t been an hour already, has it?” I’m still no good at judging time. You can’t spend years forcing yourself to lose track of it and then turn around and have a feel for five minutes versus fifty. It’s all the same to me.

“It’s thirty minutes of riding and thirty minutes of horse play,” my sister informs me, still flaunting a noticeably snide undertone.

“I’m sorry. What exactly is horse play?” It sounds like torture. For the horses.

“Oh, the kids will get to groom one of the horses and then I think they dress him up or something.” The delight on my sister’s face is almost disturbing. She never was much of an animal person. Of course the one thing that would draw her interest would have to include a makeover of sorts.

“Dress him up?” I’m still sorta hoping she misunderstood something as simple as placing a blanket on a horse as putting a dress on it. I’m probably wrong, though.

“Yeah. They have tutus for him and party hats and stuff. I saw pictures from other birthday parties. It’s totally adorable. Wait til you see!” Only Kirsten would get this excited over a tutu.

“Sounds fantastic.” I resist the urge to twirl my finger in the air for added emphasis on my sarcasm. It came across plenty already.

“Lighten up, Quinn. This is a kid’s birthday party. Not some barrel racing event. You keep taking everything so seriously, you’re going to ruin this for everyone, including your niece.” The mommy glare is back, and I get it. Time to check myself. Thisisa kid’s party. Idoneed to lighten up. I just don’t have a fucking clue about how to do that anymore.

“Sorry, Kirsten,” I mumble as I fall in line behind her. Everyone is headed back to the barn to begin the horse play portion of the party. I guess I should find solace in the fact that they’re no longer calling them ponies.

Of course, as luck would have it—and I’m referring to my type of luck, the unlucky kind—Cowboy is standing right there in the aisle with Nox. When he sees the troop of five-year-olds being led inside by their fearless leader, a fifteen-year-old who probably spends her time mucking out stalls and doing every dirty job around here imaginable in exchange for whatever scrap of riding time she can get, he quickly unties the stunning black stallion and leads him into one of the nearby stalls.

But it’s too late. Kirsten’s seen him. “You. Here.” She orders me to her side like I’m one of the freaking five-year-olds she’s responsible for.

“Yeah, okay.” I nod and purposely walk in the opposite direction. Treating me like a kid is only going to make me want to act like one.

I take my place as far away from the scene as possible and lean against one of the full-length stall doors. Its inhabitant is busy munching away on leftover hay and couldn’t care less about my presence.

Meanwhile, Kirsten isn’t at all satisfied with my lack of involvement and promptly takes me from one extreme to the next. First dragging me away from the dangers of socialization, then practically throwing me to the wolves.

“My sister. Quinn.” Kirsten points directly at me as she calls out to the fifteen-year-old leading the pack.

“What about your sister?” What could she possibly be announcing about me now?

“They asked for a volunteer.” She’s smiling broadly as she waves me back over, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “You know about this stuff,” she says to me. “Go help your niece.”

I swallow a sigh and start walking in their direction. When Cowboy comes out of the stall and takes the lead rope from the fifteen-year-old tour guide, I can’t help but snort loudly. Kirsten’s little stunt just backfired on her, big time.

“I can see why they requested a volunteer now. I wouldn’t trust you to handle this horse on your own either.” I pat the petite bay mare on her neck. She reminds me of my Jazz, but I try not to think about that now.

“The volunteer isn’t for the horse,” he grumbles, then nods at the crowd of five-year-olds. “It’s for them. I don’t do kids.”

No shit.

“Well then, we’re in big trouble,” I whisper back. “Because I don’t either.”

Remembering my sister’s evil glare and my niece’s innocent smile, I do my best to get a grip. Maybe I’m not cut out to wrangle an entire party, but I know my way around at least one of these little minions.

“Sophie, come on up here with me.” I’ll just make her my guinea pig. Whatever Cowboy has planned for the kids, she’ll do first and I’ll wing it with the rest. No one will ever have to know that the anxiety of this encounter is repeatedly bringing me to the brink of peeing my pants.

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