Page 2 of Sugar
I quickly bend over to inspect the ground like an idiot, suddenly interested in the way the grass in the yard gives way to the rich layers of dirt inside the corral, hoping like hell she didn’t catch me staring.
“Kasey?”
I cringe.Shit.
There’s no pretending now. I stand and turn back to find her looking at me, nose scrunched. There’s a rogue strand of hay caught in her hair above her ear. “Itisyou.”
I dip my chin the same way I’ve seen Brooks do a hundred times to girls in town. “Sure is,” I say, a little lamely. “Didn’t realize you knew my name.”
“What are you doing here?” she asks, ignoring the statement.
I look pointedly at the barn. “Same as you, I think. Rodeo camp.”
Her head tilts. “What event are you training for?”
“Bronc riding.”
“You’ve been here this whole time?”
“Since Sunday, yeah.” I approach her slowly, eyeing the flush that still stains her cheeks. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she huffs.
A small grin pulls along my cheek. “I dunno. You look pissed.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and throws a glance toward Manuella. “I wasn’t done working with Duke.”
“I didn’t know you rode horses.”
She looks back at me. Shrugs. “I imagine there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Right.” I nod. “That’s fair. I just . . . I guess seeing you here is taking me by surprise.”
Her eyes narrow. “You think I can’t ride?”
I hold my palms up. “Not what I meant,” I say. “I actually have a hunch that you’re probably pretty damn good.”
“Why’s that?”
I grin. “I saw you on the football field for tryouts. Something tells me you don’t do things you’re not already sure you’re good at.”
She eyes me as the words settle over her. Eventually, she sighs. “That’s the thing—I’m here because I’m not that good yet. Duke and I have been training in dressage for three years, but I’m so over the stuffiness of it all. Practicing the piaffe feels so silly when we could be flying across the arena, racing to beat the clock.”
“Barrel racing?” I ask, even though Benny already said it. I want Ava to keep talking.
She nods. “For now.”
My grin grows at the implication of what might come later. I look at the barn again. “How long have you and Duke been racing?”
There’s a beat of silence before she answers. “Three days.”
It takes sheer will to hold back my laughter. “You mean you haven’t trained for it at all before coming here?”
She shakes her head.
“How the heck did you get accepted into Benny’s program?” It’s pretty competitive—I asked Brooks to film me breaking six different horses so I could submit the footage with my application.
“I wrote a convincing letter” is all she says.
