Page 2 of Tin

“He is. Or he was.” The guy is still scowling, and I’m already starting to take back the gorgeous thing.

“You know horses.” He says it like a statement, but his expression suggests it’s more like a riddle spoken by the Mad Hatter in Wonderland, like the idea is completely absurd.

“I know horses,” I confirm. Then, because I’m tired of holding back every little thing that might offend someone, I add, “Judging by the way he came racing over here to see me, you don’t.”

But he just ignores me. Or ignores my comment, anyway. The way he’s staring, piercing me with those devastatingly blue eyes, he’s definitely not ignoringme. “What’s with the boots?”

“Excuse me?” Except I kinda know exactly what he means, and that only pisses me off more.

“Your boots. They’re sure as hell not made for being out here. Just seems odd that someone who knows horses wouldn’t know that.” The following “you’re just another city girl moron” glare leaves little room for interpretation.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I came here to watch my niece ride. If I had known I’d be bailing your ass out, believe me, I would have dressed more appropriately.”

He surprises me by actually breaking into a smile. And I’m back to believing in his natural beauty. Fuck me, the man is hot. And even though we’re both being assholes, I can tell I’m entertaining him. Which in some sick sort of way is completely satisfying.

“Tell me, Boots. You always this argumentative?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Are you always such a dick?” I have to bite back a smile. Because, damn. That felt good. And, call me crazy, but I kinda think he liked it too.

His mouth opens, and I’m ready for round two when the sound of Kirsten’s voice cuts through our moment like an ax. A big, ginormous, chop and hack my moment with hot grumpy cowboy guy to bits ax. My sister never goes small. Knives. They’re small. Kirsten comes in with an ax.

“Quinn? Holy hell, what are you doing with that horse? Give it back. Right now.” Her perfect porcelain skin seems to lose another shade of color. I didn’t even know it could do that.

“Jeez, Kirsten, relax. I wasn’t taking it. What, like I’m going to stick it in my pocket and try to sneak it out of here?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the way grumpy-but- hot Cowboy’s lips twitch. I like it. I want to do that again. “Here,” I say. “You better take Nox before I use my shrinking potion on him and attempt to squeeze him into my sister’s Beemer without her noticing.” And there it is again, that smirk. Maybe I should keep talking. Because now that he’s standing right next to me, I wouldn’t mind seeing that little smirk up close and personal.

“Potion, huh? So you’re a witch? Well, that explains the boots. And the hair.” His voice drops even lower now that he’s so close. I doubt anyone else can even hear him. I face him and immediately notice the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. There’s a mischievous youthfulness about him, but it’s misleading. He’s probably close to Nate’s age, which would put him at right around thirty.

He slides a halter over Nox’s muzzle and behind his ears, purposely ignoring me the whole time. I catch his eyes dart in my direction once, gauging my reaction.

Rather than doing something super clever and confident, I reach up to touch my ends, which are purple. A delightful contrast to the dirty blonde, I always thought, but based on the disgusted curl of his lip as his gaze sweeps my hair, Cowboy disagrees. Or at least he wants me to think he does. That is the kinda thing we have going here.

“My hair is awesome.” Yeah. That’s the best I come up with as he walks away, leading a reluctant Nox back into the barn.

I’m still standing here, debating whether or not it would be weird to hurl another insult his way even after he’s out of sight, when I feel a stabbing pain in my side from where Kirsten has pummeled me with her pointy little elbow.

“What was that?”

I don’t even need to turn and look at her to know she’s not happy with me. That tone said it all.

“What was what? Me and the horse? It got loose. I was just helping out. Doing my part to keep your little birthday troop from getting stomped into the ground. You should be thanking me.” Total bullshit, by the way. Most horses will go out of their waynotto step on a human being. But Kirsten doesn’t know that.

“I’m not talking about the horse. I’m talking about the guy.”

I make the mistake of facing her and regret it instantly. Both her hands are in tiny fists, propped on her hips, and she’s got that expression I swear my mother must have passed down to her in some sort of welcome to motherhood ceremony when she popped out a baby herself. Because she didn’t ever have it before Sophie.

“You mean the asshole who couldn’t handle his horse? Why are we talking about him?” I do my best to match her pose, but I’m a far cry from motherly, so it’s a pretty sad effort, and Kirsten totally bypasses it without so much as acknowledging it. Instead, she narrows her eyes a little more until they’re itty-bitty slits, then scans me from head to toe. I wonder if Mom taught her this x-ray vision shit as well.

Finally her arms drop to her sides and her eyes open up to normal eyeball status again. “Sorry. For a moment there I was worried.”

I shake my head. “Nothing to be worried about. Trust me.” I don’t trust me. But Cowboy is gone and not coming back out after me. And that I can trust.

I follow my sister back to the arena where the girls are still riding their “ponies” around in circles. I’m hoping I was gone for most of their hour lesson, but I’m thinking it’s really only been like five minutes.

“There you are. We were wondering what happened to you.” C.J. is up on her feet. She’s got her camera out, and I’m guessing she’s gotten every angle imaginable at this point of her daughter on that sluggish appaloosa.

“Leave it to my sister to attract a runaway horse and a loser to go with it under any circumstance,” Kirsten announces loudly, accompanying the whole thing with a dramatic eye roll.

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