Page 7 of Brim Over Boot
I consider that, fingers drifting through the strands curling now at my nape and around my ears, before I shake my head.‘I’ll keep it for now.’
He lifts his hands to say something else when a figure comes around the corner, bumping into me and sending me bumping into Remi. I help my brother catch his balance before turning to face…
Of course.
Noah fucking King.
“Oh, sorry. I—” The man cuts off abruptly, his eyes meeting mine before his teeth shut with an audible click.
“The fuck is your problem?” I say, my heart pounding fast, one hand still on Remi’s shoulder to hold him steady or—I don’t know—keep him away from Noah. My adrenaline is so high I barely even register Noah signing,‘Sorry,’to my brother.
“Didn’t see you,” he adds gruffly in voice, making to step past.
“What deal did you cut with the Brookes?” I ask before he can walk away, the words practically gritted out. I haven’t been able to stop wondering since I got Henrietta’s call.
Noah stops, looking back at me, his hulking presence enough to ensure my adrenaline doesn’t fade. The guy is big. Taller than me by an inch or so but bulkier by a good bit. The edgy cut to his dark brown hair—shaved at the sides but long on top—furthers thetough guypersona. As do the tattoos snaking out from under the collar of his shirt.
His eyes, a much lighter shade than his hair, narrow. “Why would I tell you?”
“’Cause I wanna know.”
“Colt,” my brother says softly, his hand on my arm squeezing once as he looks from Noah’s lips to me.
“Listen to your brother, little Colt,” Noah says with a sneer. “You won’t like what I do if you don’t let me go.”
It’s then I realize I have his arm in my grip. I drop him like a hot potato, and Noah huffs before walking off.
“Little Colt,” I repeat to myself, practically shaking.
God, I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.
‘Be right back,’I sign to Remi.
His voice follows me, “Colton” spoken with as much pleading as resignation, but I keep on. I catch up to Noah in the next aisle over, near the farrier supplies. The box of horseshoe nails in his hand lowers to his side as he turns to face me, his stupidly full lips set into a hard line.
“Don’t,” is all he says.
I get in his face, poking his chest with my finger. “What is your problem?”
“Me?” he asks, incredulous. “What’s yours?”
“You,” I answer. “Is that not obvious?”
“You couldn’t make it any clearer,” he says flatly, pushing my hand away. “Back. Up.”
“Why?” I goad. “Feel like hitting me?”
His face runs through a myriad of emotions as my pulse beats a swift staccato in my ears. “Back up, Colton.”
I don’t know why I do it. I really don’t.
“Make me,” I spit out, shoving his chest.
The next second, there’s a forearm pressing me into the shelves of neatly boxed nails at my back, Noah’s presence looming over me and damn near suffocating.
“Jesus,” I mutter, sucking in a breath as his eyes ping between my own, the copper-colored gaze hard and unflinching.
He gives me another small shove before letting go, some of the boxes behind me rattling. Without a word, Noah King turns away, shaking his head as he walks off down the aisle.
