Page 78 of Ace of Spades
“Parking lot, near the trailers,” I tell him.
“Be right there,” he tells me, commotion in the background of the call before the line goes dead.
“You really called for backup?” Weston yells, throwing an elbow in Tag’s face as the latter rolls off of him, Weston gaining the upper hand as straddles him and begins raining punches. “Do you know how insulting I find that?”
“Not backup, you jackass—someone to pull you off these guys before we all get arrested!”
Chance pummels the guy below him, the guy’s friend coming up from behind to put him in a chokehold. Dakota jumps out from behind me before I can stop her, jumping on the guy’s back in an attempt to pull him off of Chance before getting an elbow to the face that knocks her down to the ground with a yelp.
“Motherfucker!” Chance yells, his head whipping back and connecting with the guy’s nose as I help Dakota up.
I make out the sound of a truck door slamming shut a few rows down, boots crunching on the gravel as I turn to find Rafe and Beau racing towards us, Chelsea hot on their tail.
The drunk trio very quickly realizes that they’re now the ones that are outnumbered, each of them running off with their tails tucked between their legs as I rush to Weston.
“Was that necessary?” I ask, reaching up to gently run my fingers over the bruises already forming across his face.
“Were you worried about me, Sorrels?” he asks, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Worried you’d get your ass beat before I got the chance to do it myself,” I scoff. “Let’s get you guys cleaned up.”
Our group returns to my trailer, where I manage to make makeshift ice packs for the boys, a gnarly bruise already forming across Weston’s temple, and a split lip making him look even rougher than usual. Something swoons in my belly at the thought of him earning those injuries defending mine and Dakota’s honor.
“Dammit, I got blood on my new chaps,” Chance groans, holding the ice pack up against his still bleeding nose as he tries to wipe blood off of the leather.
“Gives them some character,” Beau teases, pouring him a shot of bourbon.
The group falls into easy conversation as I turn back to Weston, dabbing at the cut on his lip with a wet rag. Thankfully, we had left the dogs and baby Poncho back home with Debbie and Rhonda, so we had a bit more walking room in the trailer.
“Hey,” I ask. “Do you think you could walk me back to the stables real quick?”
“Of course. Didn’t you already feed, though?”
“I, uh—I just want to make sure I topped off their water, I can’t remember if I did or not.”
“Well, alright,” he says, pushing off of the kitchenette counter and letting the others know that we’d be right back. Crickets hum from the ditches just beyond the gravel lot as we weave through trucks and trailers, the smell of dirt and horses thick in the summer air.
And for the first time, I feel myself getting nervous around Weston. Not the bad type, either—the good nervous, where it feels like I have butterflies tickling my stomach. It’s a new sensation, something that I don’t remember ever feeling around Brad or any of the boys I dated back in grade school.
“I didn’t get to say this earlier, but I wanted to thank you,” he tells me, his deep voice cutting through the silence as I turn to look at him, the two of us walking side by side. “For standing up for Dakota. At the end of the day, I can’t always be there for her every second, but I’m glad she has a friend like you who’s got her back. She really likes you, you know.”
“And I really like her,” I tell him truthfully. “I’d stand up for her any day, it’s not something I need thanks for.”
“You know,” he smirks. “You’ve got some pretty big balls on you, I’ll give you that.”
“Yeah, and you’d best remember that, cowboy,” I smile, gently shoving him with my shoulder as we make it to the stables.
“Did Vegas throw a shoe?” Weston asks, leaning over the mare’s stall door.
“I don’t think so, why?”
He unlatches the stall door, rounding my mare as she eats away at her hay, picking up her back hoof as I follow behind him, latching the door behind me.
“Shit,” I mutter, now seeing what he was talking about.
“I’ll have Rafe look at it tomorrow,” he tells me, setting her foot down and wiping his hands on his jeans.
Weston goes to walk past me, reaching for the stall gate as my hand darts out to grab his bicep and stop him.
