Page 3 of Brim Over Boot
He grunts. “Colt, I know you won’t wanna hear this, but I don’t think he’s the only one in the wrong here.”
I sputter, but Jackson holds up a hand and goes on.
“You know I love you, and Iknowyou’d never try to be underhanded on purpose. But you and Noah have let this animosity go on for far too long. Maybe if you just…stopped bristling every time the man’s name is mentioned, the two of you could figure out how to coexist peacefully for once.”
“I don’t bristle,” I defend.
“You bristle,” he says flatly. “You’re bristling right now.”
I let my shoulders come down.
“Darling has more than enough horses for two farriers,” Jackson says seriously. “Y’all are only rivals because you make it so. Why do you even hate the guy so much? What’d he ever do to you?”
“Other than try to steal all my clients?” I retort.
Jackson simply raises an eyebrow.
I throw my hands in the air with a huff. “I don’tknow, okay? He hated me on sight. He was an absolute asshole the first time I met him, and he hasn’t stopped being one since. Maybe you should askhimwhy he hatesmeso much. I didn’t do a goddamn thing to deserve it.”
“Well,” Jackson mumbles, pulling the door to outside open, a crisp breeze taking the opportunity to blow in. “I think you either needa sit down with Noah and talk this thing out or let it go. You let the man have too much of a hold over you, Colt. And that, whether or not you wanna admit it, is entirely your choice.”
His piece spoken, my brother walks out the door, stopping only long enough to say a quick goodbye to Ash that involves locked lips and schmoopy expressions.
I don’tletNoah have a hold over me, do I? Anyone would be justifiably indignant in my shoes. Noah King is a right asshole, and all of this—the fighting, the client stealing, therivalrybetween us, as Jackson called it—is wholly his fault. It’s been his fault since the start.
Well, there’s one thing I know for certain. Sitting down with Noah isn’t going to happen. Not ever.
But there ain’t no way I’m letting it go.
Chapter 2
Noah
“Morning,Noah.”
“Jenna,” I greet, plunking my handful of groceries onto the conveyor belt at the front of the store. “How’re you?”
“Just fine, thanks. You see the buttercups blooming down the road? Spring is here.”
“Sure is,” I agree, pulling out my wallet as Jenna rings up a package of bacon, followed by a bag of all-purpose flour.
“Get your bike out yet?” she asks.
I give a brisk nod. With the snow having melted in town apart from a few parking lot drifts here and there, today was Daphne’s first trip out. It always feels good, the first ride of the season. Like stretching my legs or, hell, a long-needed orgasm.
Speaking of…
“You still haven’t takenmefor a ride,” Jenna says, tone switching from conversational to…decidedly not.
“I’m much too old for you, Jenna.”
It’s a point I’ve argued more than once, although it hasn’t stopped Jenna’s flirting.
She looks me up and down. Slowly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You’re, what—twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six,” she corrects.
