Page 133 of Things Left Unsaid

Even with the distance, I can see the red stripe where the bastard managed to break skin. But at least the gelding’s out of harm’s way.

Colt grabs the ranch hand by his collar, hauling him up with it.

The punch he doles out to the bastard has me biting my lip. It shouldn’t be hot but this punishment is deserved and my inner Neanderthal appreciates the primal display.

The thought almost has me face-palming.

I’m cringing at my brain which Tee has corrupted.

“Colt can’t stand it when they mistreat the horses,” Callan mumbles, making me jump because I didn’t realize he’d joined me at the window. Still, he’s a welcome distraction from my embarrassing inner monologue. “You don’t have to be scared?—”

I need to nip that in the bud. “I’m not.”

Ten years might be missing from my ‘Colt’ encyclopedia, but I know him well regardless.

“It’s the only time he gets mad,” he assures me, though I don’t need the reassurance. “Grantley’s on his last warning too.”

“Grantley?”

“Marvin Grantley. He’s a piece of work.” Callan hisses as blood explodes from the guy’s nose in an impressive arc when Colt’s fist collides with it. That’s when he drops Grantley like a sack of potatoes.

Even from this distance, I can sense the control it takes for Colt to leave Grantley alone.

But he does.

That’s freaking hotter.

I’m not going to loop Tee in on today’s development. She’ll be asking for a play-by-play, and that’s not only dangerous for her imagination but for mine too.

Hugging my arms to my chest, I cup my elbows. “Why was he on his last warning?”

“He’s usually late. Aggressive with the animals. Things like that.”

“I’m surprised you’re in the know about the particulars.”

He sniffs. “Just because I don’t go out on the property much doesn’t mean I don’t pull my weight in other ways.”

“I wasn’t accusing you. I didn’t think staff minutiae would interest you.”

His grunt is the only answer I get. Still, after that meltdown, it’s better than silence.

A couple ranch hands approach when Grantley staggers upright and takes a swing at Colt, but he sidesteps him, kicks his leg out, and down Grantley goes again.

Callan whistles when Colt, still seething with anger, turns his back on the asshole and strides over to another horse that’s been tethered to a nearby post. He jumps on saddleless and takes off in the direction the Camargue went, leaving his men to deal with Grantley.

If there’s one thing that’s my catnip, it’sthat.

No saddle. Just pure command of the beast. And what command. He maneuvers the nineteen-hand Percheron X like he was born in that position.

Having been raised to ride as soon as I could walk, I know the feeling, though I’ll admit I haven’t jumped back on the saddle yet.

Neither have I gone home to the Bar 9orfrosted any sugar cookies.

My time here’s been strange.

The days have passed quickly. The hours drain fast when you call your best friend at three and don’t stop talking until nine. Then, there’s work to be done and video games to play with Callan.

I guess I’ve been hiding out here and I didn’t even realize it.

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