Page 50 of Ace of Spades
“Wait, do you really mean that?”
“Yeah, I do. I would have to run it past the other guys, of course, but I’m sure they would love the idea. Chance had started putting together a budget for the project, I know that he hadallocated a certain amount towards marketing and advertising that we would pay you. I don’t know exactly how much, but at least it would be something. As long as it isn’t a conflict of interest with your dad’s resort and all, but it sounds like you two aren’t exactly on the best terms right now, so…”
“Wes, that’s—” I cut myself off, realizing that I was already sounding way too excited. “I mean, yeah. I’ll have to think about it. And it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest, I don’t want anything to do with his projects.”
He chuckles, urging Lark forward. We break through the branches, a creek coming into view. Both of our horses come to a stop on the rocky banks, the sun reflecting off of the running water as birds chirp in the distance, the sound of running water against the rocks bringing a sense of calm. A field of yellow and white flowers bloom on the opposite bank, only about a stone’s throw away.
I nudge Casino a step forward, her hooves edging closer to the bank, the earth softening and giving slightly under our weight. I feel Weston’s eyes on us, the heat from his gaze lighting me on fire as it always seems to do.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“We call it the Hidden Creek. Not very original, I know. But we’re the only four who know about it, and we agreed to always keep it that way. Even the ranch hands don’t know it’s here. The only exception is Chelsea, of course, now that she and Beau have gotten serious. And now, you, I guess.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why did you bring me?”
He shrugs. “I guess I felt like you needed it.”
With that, he dismounts, throwing Lark’s reins over her neck as walks to her side and undoes her saddle, lifting it off of her and placing it at the foot of a nearby boulder, the mare waiting patiently for his return.
“You coming?” he asks, leading Lark into the creek, water engulfing both of them until it reaches right below Weston’s waistline.
Hesitating for a moment, I swing my leg over Casino’s side, following Weston’s lead and removing her saddle before leading her into the water. The chill hits me immediately, my jeans getting soaked as I trudge my way through the stream, Casino bobbing her head up and down as she snorts in excitement.
I can’t help but laugh as my mare drops down in a crouch before falling to her back, rolling around in the water a few times before standing back up and shaking herself off like a wet dog.
“So, I know that you know your horse better than me, and all,” Weston says, earning an eye roll from me. “But it seems like she’s enjoying this.”
“I said I was sorry,” I say, splashing him with water as he chuckles. We let the horses decompress, walking them up and down the creek for the rest of the afternoon until the skies begin to turn grey with the threat of rain.
“We should probably head back,” Weston says. “You know the weather around here, it could be sunshine and rainbows one minute and a monsoon the next.”
As if he had predicted it, the rain hits right as we tack our horses back up, drenching the both of us as the woods around us grow eerily dim.
“We’d better go,” I say, trying not to panic at the thought of being stuck out here when the storm hits.
“Sorrels,” he calls to me as I mount Casino. “It’s just a summer rainstorm, we’re fine.”
“I know,” I say, trying to convince myself of just that. I must not do a good enough job of hiding my fear, because Weston is atop Lark and at my side in the next moment.
“Hey, talk to me,” he says, the wind picking up strength around us.
“I just—I don’t like storms, that’s all, it’s not a big deal or anything,” I tell him, turning Casino towards the woods that we came from.
“Sorrels,” he calls, trotting up to my side and grabbing one of Casino’s reins to stop her. “Look at me. It’s just rain, okay?”
It starts coming down around us, as if summoned by his words. My breathing quickens, causing Casino to begin pawing at the ground beneath us.
“Hailey,” he drops my reins and reaches for my face instead, his large hand gently grabbing me by the nape as our horses press together underneath us. “Breathe.”
“I’m not crazy, I swear,” I nervously laugh. “I just don’t like storms. I don’t even have a reason or anything, they just make me nervous. I feel like bad things always happen during storms, you know? Like, during the movies—when it’s storming, it typically means that something bad is about to happen. And even in real life, nothing good has ever happened during a storm. They spook the horses, they soak the arena, they cause accidents—I just don’t like them, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, his tone calm and patient. “You want to hear something funny?”
“Sure,” I tell him, the two of us starting to walk once more.
“I actually love storms.”
“You do?”
