Hate You Not: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Ella James

“They won’t need a therapist if they have someone present for them. Someone who spends time with them.” I can’t believe I’m doing this—that I’m arguing about this with him. “I’ll be here daily. I practically never travel. If I do, it’s to the beach with family. I’m a good cook, and I’ll offer them a stable home.”

  “If you let them come back with me, you could pay the bank loan back on this place.”

  I blow out a breath and cover my face. “And just why would you do that, hmm?”

  “I want them in San Francisco. I want them to have the life my brother would have wanted.”

  Anger tightens my throat. “What about the life my sister wanted?”

  “She was raising them in California.”

  “Yes, because your brother had to move back there!”

  Oliver’s giggle interrupts us, and I realize he is hanging from the mesh wall, watching us. And listening, I realize when he shouts, “I don’t have a brother, silly goose!”

  My face heats up. “No, of course not. But I do! Your Uncle Shawn. Did you know you’re going to meet him tonight?”

  He frowns. “We have an Uncle Shawn?”

  “Yep, just like Uncle Burke here. But Uncle Shawn has big trucks. Giant ones. Sometime soon, he’ll let you get into one.”

  “I want to get in,” Margot says. She’s crouched beside her brother now, peeking at us through the mesh wall.

  “Tonight, we’re going to the rodeo. And Uncle Shawn will sit with you. He used to ride on bulls, but now he’s retired, so he just sits in the stands.”

  “Where will you be?” Burke asks.

  I smile. “On my horse.”

  Chapter 6

  Burke

  She rides a horse? I guess should have known, but I’m surprised to hear her say it.

  “Where’s the horse?” I ask.

  “In the barn.”

  “Where’s the barn?”

  She gives me a look that screams city slicker. “Behind the house.”

  “I want to meet him!” Margot bounces toward the castle’s exit. A second later, she’s pulling her shoes on, and Oliver is doing jumping jacks beside her.

  “Can we see him now?”

  “Sure,” June says. She keeps her gaze away from my face, like she’s trying to pretend I’m not here. “If you want to,” she tells Oliver.

  “Can I ride him?” Margot asks.

  “I don’t know.” June looks thoughtful. “He has to race tonight, but maybe you could ride him around my little dirt track one time. Would y’all like to do that?”

  Both kids answer with screams of glee. June turns to me with a wide-eyed, arched-brow look, as if she’s trying to say, Okay, time for you to go.

  I smile. “What’s the horse’s name? I want to meet him, too.”

  Her lips press into a thin, annoyed line.

  “Hot Rocket,” Ollie says, holding his arms out airplane-style and then pretending to take flight.

  “Hot Rocket, huh?”

  “I didn’t name him,” June mutters.

  I turn to her, pleased that she’s addressing me. “What would you have picked?”

  She scrunches her nose and gives sort of a huff. “Anything but that.”

  Hot Rocket. And then it hits me. “That wasn’t his original name, was it?”

  Her face reddens as we start to walk after the kids, so I know I’m on the right track. “Was it…Crotch Rocket?” I murmur. “Hmm?”

  She gives me a death glare. “Like those motorcycles,” I say, grinning. That is so damn funny.

  “Yes,” she says dryly. “Some fool redneck named him Crotch Rocket.”

  “Hey, they’re fast.”

  “He’s fast,” she affirms.

  “Is he? He’s a race horse?”

  “He’s a horse who races,” she says, striding out ahead of me as the kids disappear around the side of the house.

  “Same thing,” I say.

  “Not so much. He’s not an income earner with me. I just ride for fun.”

  We jog after the kids for a moment, and I try not to look at her ass. It’s an amazing ass. I focus instead on her ponytail. “Slow down now,” she shouts at the kids. “We’re old folks.” She cuts her eyes at me. “One of us is.”

  “Hey, I’m still in my prime.”

  She snorts.

  Oliver turns around to look at us, and he and Margot start to walk backward. “Are you riding in a rodeo tonight?” Oliver asks.

  She gives him a small smile. “Something like that.”

  “What do you guys think?” I ask the kids. “I think we’ll have to go and watch her.”

  “Yesss!” Margot says.

  June shoots me a look of loathing.

  “What? We want to cheer you on, Aunt June.”

  “I’m not your Aunt June.” She gives me a baleful look. It makes me grin. “Okay, June. You know, I heard it’s actually June Bug.”

  “Doesn’t have the ring that Burke Bug does,” she claps back.

  Again, I give a hoot of laughter. “I’m more of a stallion.”

  I’m going for ridiculous, but she won’t even crack a small smile. June rolls her eyes, pulls her hair from its ponytail, and tosses the thick locks over her shoulder.

  “Is that right?” she says, sounding dry and unimpressed.

  “I can ride, too, you know.”

  “Oh, can you. You take some fancy lessons?”

  “Like the kids here.”

  “That’s…so wonderful,” she says, her tone syrupy as we continue walking after the kids.

  “We ride horses out in California, too.”

  She looks at me, and I can’t read her face. “You want to ride Hot Rocket?”

  “Sure.”

  She strides ahead of me as the kids crest a little hill, approaching a big, red barn. “Sounds like a plan.”

  From the outside, the barn looks about the size of your average roller skating rink. It’s got a gray tin roof, the classic-looking double doors on one side, and a little round hole by the doors. The round hole, near the bottom of the barn’s external wall, and some of the lawn around it are surrounded by wire fencing.

  June stops by the fencing, makes a clucking sound, and chickens start to march out. They gather along the fence, and I watch June’s face spread into a big grin.

  “Hi there! Cinderella…Snow White…Ariel…Moana…Sleeping Beauty…Elsa…Anna…Rapunzel.” She holds her hand open, facing the kids. “Hold your hands out and I’ll give you some feed to sprinkle in there with them.”

  Margot squeals. “They like me!” The birds squawk and scatter at her delight.

  “You scared the chickens,” Oliver says, giving her a glare.

  “It’s okay. Just throw this in. There are some roosters, too.” They come out on cue. “That’s Aladdin and Peter Pan,” she tells them, pointing out each rooster.

  For the next few minutes, I watch as she explains the birds’ quirks to Oliver and Margot.

  “This one here, Elsa—she likes to be held. Do you want to see me hold her?”

  It’s a fucking treat to watch June scoop the little chicken up. She holds her hands out, palms spread, like she’s miming a bird, and Elsa the mostly white chicken scrambles over. June seals her hands around Elsa and then quickly brings the bird against her chest.

  “Do you want to know why she likes this? Because Elsa is a rescued chicken. She was my first chicken. She was raised since she was tiny by an older woman nearby who really liked to hold her. So when that woman…couldn’t care for her any more, I took her.”

  I’d be willing to bet the woman died, based on June’s face when she said it. But the kids don’t bat an eye. Eventually, they both hold Elsa. Then June leads us inside, to a stable that has eight stalls.

  “At certain times, we’ve had more horses. My grandmother’s sister, who’s in heaven now, had this place built. She loved to breed race horses. That was a long time ago,” she adds with a small frown, which she quickly covers with a smile. “Hot Rocket is
down here…”

  And like his owner, the old boy is damned beautiful. He’s black-brown, with healthy muscle and a shiny coat. Looks like he’s maybe a quarter horse.

  As soon as we get within his range of vision, he steps over to the rail, and June feeds him something from her pocket.

  “What was that?” Margot asks.

  June grins. “He likes raisins.” From this angle, I can see she has a little dimple on her left cheek. She swipes her hair back from her face and pulls it up into a hair band she’s been wearing around her wrist. Then she digs more raisins from her pocket.

  “He really likes those?” Oliver asks, wrinkling his little freckled nose.

  “Oh yes. He would eat them all day, wouldn’t you, Hottie?”

  The kids pet him and June shows them how to feed him raisins from an upturned palm. I watch from behind them, thinking she looks more content than she has since I met her. After that, she sends us out to walk around the track while she fusses over the stallion and saddles him up. When she and Hot Rocket stroll out, Margot and Oliver flip a coin, and Margot gets to go first.

  June grins as she leads our niece around the track. Our niece. That’s weird. But accurate. The weirder thing is me trying not to look at Auntie June’s ass in those leggings she’s got on today. I’m finding that it tends to be her ass I get hung up on—that or her smile. Woman’s nothing like I expected.

  In a few minutes, she, Margot, and Hot Rocket are back beside me. June helps a beaming Margot down and waves Oliver over.

  “I got it.” I grab him by the hips and lift him up into the saddle, and Oliver tips a pretend hat at me. “Thank yeh suuuur.”

  “Yes, sir, my pleasure.”

  June rolls her eyes. Then she pulls the elastic band out of her hair, puts it between her teeth, and starts to fuck with it. Even her hair’s abnormally pretty—sort of golden. With her smooth, tanned skin and those brown eyes with little gold specs—

  I divert my eyes down to my boots.

  When I look up, she’s still at it. I frown.

  “Braiding,” she says. “Have you heard of braids, Burke Bug?”

  The kids giggle at that. I roll my eyes at her like she just did at me.

  “Maybe on”—I wave my hand, searching for the word— “on little dolls. Are you a doll, June?”

  I add some innuendo just to irritate her and am rewarded with a puritanical widening of her eyes.

  “Not so much.” She shifts her attention to Oliver. “I’m going to walk you around. This is just to get you used to his rhythm and pacing. We don’t want to tire him out. Does that work for you?”

  Does that work for you? I don’t know a hell of a lot about kids, but I don’t think you ask them if something works for them. My thoughts must be painted on my face, because she gives me a covert “what?” look.

  I flash her a phony smile. Go and start walking him around the track, sweetheart. Let me see the back of that fine braid there.

  I smirk as she passes.

  She sighs like she can feel my eyes on her ass.

  “Aunt June is silly when you’re here. I like that.” I look down at Margot. Her hair is in pigtailed braids, too, I realize. She’s smiling up at me angelically.

  “I forgot you were there, kid.”

  “I’m sneaky like that.” Her smile widens. She looks so peaceful and content right now. It’s almost impossible to believe she just lost both parents. Six is a better age than nine, though. Maybe she’ll fare better than I did.

  I give her cheek a soft pinch. “How ya doing, kiddo? What do you think of Aunt June’s farm?”

  “It’s my farm now.” She lifts her chin a little.

  My stomach gets that topsy-turvy feeling. “Is it?”

  “Yeah. I’m just gonna be a cowgirl.” She shrugs, and I can’t help laughing.

  “Are you?”

  She shields her eyes with one hand and looks out at the woods surrounding the field we’re in. “It’s a little hot here, but I like the big trees. And I like Aunt June, and her chickens. Do you?” She frowns up at me.

  “Do I like the chickens?”

  “Do you like Aunt June.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Yeah. Oh yeah. I like her.”

  “I don’t know if she likes you. Maybe.” She shrugs, looking contemplative.

  Then she wraps an arm my leg, below the knee. I touch her hair and try to swallow, which is suddenly harder than normal.

  “I miss Mommy,” she whispers.

  I suck a breath in.

  “Why can’t I see her?” Her voice cracks, and I bite the inside of my cheek and squeeze my eyes shut for a second. “I just want to see her one more time.”

  She sniffs, and my eyes throb as I grit my teeth. Then Hot Rocket is bounding toward us. Oliver is laughing, and June’s running beside him.

  I wrap an arm around Margot’s back and hug her little body to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage. It’s inadequate, I know, but I’m not sure what else to say. “Hey…you want to see some cool tricks?”

  She looks up at me, wiping her eyes, and nods solemnly.

  I give her a wink then stride over to lift Oliver off the horse.

  “Nicely done, my little dude.” I mount the horse and give June a grin when I’m up in the saddle. “What do you think? Trust me to give him a whirl without an escort?”

  June’s flawless face is wary, her eyes held wide in that irritated way.

  “Stay on this track,” she warns. “Don’t try the jump course.” She points to the course, which, like the barn, is up atop the little hill. It’s closer to the woods, though, and I’m surprised to find that it looks pretty advanced. June must be an accomplished rider. “Hot Rocket is sort of a one-person horse,” she warns me. “I know all his quirks, and I know how to manage him.”

  “Is the course safe?” I ask. “In good condition?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Is he?”

  She looks annoyed—a state I seem to bring out in her. “I said he’s racing tonight, didn’t I?”

  “Good.” I wink. “Then we’ll manage.”

  I take off, trotting at first, sizing up the course that’s separated from this dirt track by maybe twenty yards of dry grass. It’s legit, but nothing I can’t manage. I’ve been riding since I turned three.

  I board my horses at some stables near Moss Beach. I don’t get by there as much as I did before phase two of this app started kicking my ass, so the rest of the time, my mares participate in a program that helps disabled kids. Works out for everybody.

  It’s kind of dickish to take Hot Rocket through the jumps course without doing whatever warmup he’s used to, but he seems pretty chill, and I want to amuse Margot. It’s not like I’m going to fuck this up. I’ll take it slow, and we’ll both be fine.

  I go extra easy the first time around. There are a couple doubles and triples, a ditch obstacle, a log fence, and a bunch of barrels toward the course’s rear, which I avoid.

  In my periphery, I can see June and the kids rushing over. I give the kids a hoot and a wave, and Hot Rocket and I start through the course a second time. I don’t want to tire the guy out, so I tell myself we’ll stick to three times around.

  He’s a talented dude. We get good clearance on the rails and sail over the log fence. He doesn’t hesitate either time for the ditch, so by the time we come up on the barrels, I decide to go for it.

  Barrel racing isn’t something I’ve done much of, but I’ve done it on a few courses, mostly at summer camps. Right before we reach the first one, I nudge him with my heel.

  Normally that gives a horse a little jolt of speed, but Hot Rocket takes it as a cue to blastoff. He lurches forward so fast my ass comes off the saddle. As he whips around the first barrel, I tighten up and move with him. We fly around the next two barrels, and there’s two more. I get a hamstring cramp just in time for him to jerk left around one of them—hard.

  I don’t expect to fall. The only time I’ve ever toppled off a
horse’s back, I was fourteen and at camp and standing in the saddle like a jackass.

  It happens so fast, I can’t process. One minute, I’m cringing from the hammy cramp. The next, I’m eating dirt. I blow like a light bulb for a second, opening my eyes to the sensation that I can’t breathe. Knocked the wind out of myself. I get a gasped breath just as my head starts going hazy. I push myself up on one arm.

  Fuck. My shoulder zings when I move, and my head…really hurts. A wave of nausea prickles through me, so strong that I think I might get sick. Then there’s Oliver and Margot. June is dropping down beside me.

  Her eyes are huge, and the kids—behind her—look like they might cry. Somehow, I make it to my feet and spread my arms.

  “So what’d you think?” I look at Margot.

  She looks horror-stricken. I laugh—which makes my head throb. “Did you like my trick?”

  The kids look at each other, skeptical and seeking clarity. June frowns deeply.

  I grin, and she gives me a what-the-fuck look that’s so damning, I can’t help another laugh.

  Shit. I wince, and she steps closer to me. Her hand reaches out, her soft fingers touching my forehead before I can jerk away. “You’ve got a shiner coming up there.”

  In a low hiss, she adds, “What were you thinking?”

  I frown like I’m confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I asked you not to ride him over here.”

  “Say that again.”

  Her eyes are warm on mine—too warm, so I give her a smirk. “Say what again?”

  Oliver helps her out: “Raaaaahde,” he mimics with a delighted smile.

  She rolls her eyes—at me, not him. “You’re totally ridiculous.” Her dark brows draw together. “Are you really okay? You look a little bit dazed.”

  I move my hand over my eyes, which are still throbbing and feel sore with sunlight in them.

  “I’m fine. That was just the trick I promised Margot.”

  Behind June, my niece giggles.

  “I think he fell off,” Oliver says.

  I lean around June so I can see him better. “What?” I act offended. “Me? Fall off a horse?”

  While I’m not looking, June wraps her hand partway around my wrist and tries to tug my hand off my eyes. I grin when I realize that her little fingers won’t fit around my arm.