by Cassie Mae
“What if I want to ride?” Maddie asks without missing a beat. I bolt out a laugh, and I’m surprised to hear Candace laughing along with me.
“Let me introduce you first. Maybe one of the girls will be smitten with you.” A sparkle glints in her dark brown eyes, and I start to think I didn’t eat enough, because with the zapping going on in there, maybe it’s running on empty or something.
We pass the fourth stall, and Mad’s eyes grow three times their size, her teeth gripping her bottom lip to keep from squealing, I’m sure. A light brown horse pokes its head out, rumbling its lips at Candace.
“This is Mona Lisa,” she says, patting the horse’s muzzle. I gulp, getting a good look at those chompers.
“Shit, she’s huge,” I stutter.
Candace lifts a brow. “She’s our baby.” She unlocks the door and pushes her way inside. Mad and I stay where we are. Mad’s probably sticking to her position until she gets the go ahead to pet the thing. But me? I can’t seem to pick up my feet.
“What’d you say?” I mumble, my gaze following up the horse’s neck and ears that stand a whole foot taller than I am. At least.
“She’s the little one,” Maddie reiterates, amusement sparkling in her eyes when she looks at my face. Shit, the color’s draining, I can tell. “Can I pet her?” she finally asks Candace. I give her props for being this patient.
“Go for it,” Candace says. “Start with the neck and let her get comfortable with you.”
Candace’s sentence isn’t even finished by the time Mad’s got her hand on the thing.
“Careful of those teeth,” I say. Her fingers are right there. I bet those things could take ‘em off.
“She won’t bite.” Candace chuckles, pushing her hand into a brush. “Hard, anyway.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Are you scared?” Maddie asks, her grin spreading.
“No.”
“Kinda looks like you are.”
“She’s just…” Big. And this is the small one? And Candace is just in there with her, walking around her butt like she won’t kick her into the wall hard enough to break every bone in her body.
I run a hand through my hair and take a breath. Had no idea I was gonna be terrified of horses while Candace prances around like it’s nothing. Is this how she feels all the time with everything else?
Candace tilts her head at me, and I stay frozen.
“You want to pat her?” she offers, getting a halter put on the thing’s face.
“I’m good here.”
A whinny sounds from behind me, and I’m wound so tight I jolt and let out a “yip.” My hat gets taken clear off my head, and when I turn around, a brown spotted horse bucks its head up and down, my beanie clenched in its massive teeth. The girls laugh at me, and Candace nods to the thief of a horse.
“That’s Flaming June.”
“A what?” I ask, rubbing my head. Did the thing take out hair?
“Her name.” She hooks a rope onto Mona Lisa and hands it to Mad, who is still patting away. “It’s Flaming June.”
“Why?”
“All my girls are named after paintings.” She gestures to the stall next to her, to a horse I’m assuming is there but hasn’t made itself known. “Girl with the Pearl Earring, but we call her Pearl.” She nods to the thief. “Flaming June… or June.” Then she pats Mona Lisa’s neck. “And you know this painting, or you’ve been living under a rock.”
“Are you an artist?” Maddie asks, her hand now reaching back to scratch under the horse’s massive jaw.
Candace lifts a shoulder. “Not really.”
“Yeah right,” I counter, avoiding the stare of the head bobber. “You’ve been painting since you were five.”
“That doesn’t make me an artist.”
“Your art does, though.”
“You’ve never seen my art.”
“I’ve seen doodles.”
“Doodles aren’t art.”
“They are when they look like yours.”
This is good. The back and forth is good, calming my nerves. I nearly forgot there was a horse trying to eat me.
Candace sticks her tongue out, pushing the stable door open. Mad’s head tilts, and there’s a question in her eyes, but I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking and she doesn’t say it either.
“I think Mona Lisa is happy with you,” Candace says. “Let me grab Luke, and he can lead you out to the training field with her. I need to get June and Pearl ready.”
“We’re taking her out?” I point to the horse that’s still got my hat in her teeth. I swear the thing grins at me and laughs.
“Playful horsies need their exercise, too,” Candace says in a goo goo voice, and I wrinkle my nose at her as she leaves.
Maddie doesn’t waste one second. “Do you have a thing for her?”
“A what now?”
She narrows her eyes. “I think you like her.”
“Mona Lisa’s cute, but not my type.”
“You know damn well who I mean.” She pats Mona Lisa’s muzzle, an uncharacteristic giggle slipping from her lips when the horse pushes into her and nearly knocks her over.
I use the distraction as a way to not answer my sister’s ridiculous question. If she knew that this is just how Candace and I talk to each other, then she wouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion. And there’s the fact that I’m basically teaching her to get a backbone so she can date another guy.
I cross to the stall that has… who was it? Merl? No… it was a P-something. The other horse. I peer inside the stall, looking down like an idiot, and I only catch the legs of a bright white horse.
My gaze follows those legs up and up, and I swear the belly is at my eye-level. Its long neck stretches out, swiveling to get a good look at me. She has pitch black eyes, and I’m pretty sure she just stole my soul.
“She’s gorgeous,” Maddie says next to me in a hushed whisper. Okay, yeah… Mona Lisa is a baby. I don’t even really register the massive brown horse standing just behind me, a rope swinging from its halter and down to Mad’s hand.
“Mmm,” I mutter. The thing is pretty, but it would flatten a person into a pancake if it ever took a seat while they just happen to stand behind it.
Does Candace ride that thing? And she gives me guff about Gertrude.
“Okay,” Candace says, and I turn away from the white beast. She signs for Luke while she talks. “Luke’s going to take you out that way. Pete and I will get Pearl and June ready.”
“I call June,” I blurt out. I want nothing to do with Miss Soul Sucker. I’ll take the thief any day.
Candace and Luke share a look, and Luke chuckles and heads out with Maddie.
“What’s that about?”
“June has an exercise buddy.” Candace jogs over to the farthest stall, and I step back, waiting for another horse to barrel out. Instead, it’s a foot-high dog, its long chestnut fur covering most of its face.
“Who’s this?” I ask, a grin playing on my face. “Leonardo DaVinci?”
“Her name is Peaches.”
“No paintings this time?”
“She’s Luke’s.”
I raise a brow. “That big cowboy out there owns this froofy dog?” The Pomeranian mix yips and pants, dancing in a circle around Candace’s feet, and I stifle a laugh.
“She’s tougher than you think.” Candace gives me a playful punch to the shoulder. “Just like me.”
“I recall a spider incident not too long ago.”
“And I recall I killed that sucker.”
“On instinct.”
“Well, yeah.” She brushes past me, a perfume of candied apples filling the air for a brief second. Maybe she made some before she came here. That pie she made was the best damn thing.
She gets June ready, the horse still not giving me my hat back. I stand in front of the stall, the yippy dog bouncing around my feet. I try to trick June by pointing and jumping up to snag my beanie, but June’s much faster.
“Ask her nicely.”
“What?”
“Just say, ‘June, can I have my hat?’”
“And that’ll work?”
“Maybe.” She lifts a shoulder. “She understands a lot.”
My brows go up, but hey, what the hell? I look the brown spotted thief in the eye, trying to ignore how big her teeth are, and say, “Hey there, June. Mind if I have that back?”
June bobs her head up and down, and a smirk hits my lips.
“You do mind? But my noggin will get cold.”
She rumbles her lips around the hat, loading it with horse spit. I make a face and take a step back. “Never mind. You can keep it.”
The horse bends, putting her mouth inches from my face. I eye her warily, watching the spittle run down the material of my now lost forever beanie.
“Nope, I’m good,” I tell the horse, tentatively pushing her muzzle away. Wow, didn’t realize how soft horse noses were.
June doesn’t move, and my heart beats about a hundred times in the few seconds we have a stare off. Then, just when I’m thinking I should move, she sneezes.
I mean, she blows everything in her mouth straight at my face.
My hat, chunks of hay and carrot, and horse loogey covers my skin. I pinch my eyes shut, jolting at the sudden impact. Laughter and whinnying fills my ears, and I take a hand and wipe slowly down my face.
“Oh… my… gosh…” Candace wheezes. She’s bent at the waist, tears filling up those big brown eyes. The freckle in the corner of her mouth all but disappears as she cracks up at my expense.
“Luke is full of shit,” I say, whipping my hand at the ground. Spit and hay spatter across the stable floor.
“W-why?” Candace says, unable to regain her composure.
“He said the horses hadn’t eaten.” I point to my hay and carrot covered face. “I call bullshit.”
“Actually, that could be last night’s dinner.”
“Fabulous.”
“At least you got your hat back.”
“Yay.”
Candace wipes her cheeks free of laughter-tears and grabs my jacket sleeve, pulling me toward a sink kept on the side of the barn that leads to the fields.
“Uh… you left June’s stall open,” I tell her, checking over my shoulder.
“Peaches has her.”
What now? She tugs me forward while I watch a freaking one-foot dog take the horse rope and lead a very willing horse out of her stall.
“Damn… that dog’s better than me with these animals.”
“She’s had more practice.” Candace turns the faucet on and opens the mirror above the sink. I watch the dog lead a trotting horse to the field, and if horses could smirk, I swear June gives me just that as she passes.
Candace presses a wet towel to my cheek, jerking my attention to her. She starts wiping me down, but I take the towel from her and do it myself.
“Don’t think I’m cut out for the cowboy life,” I say, swiping a chunk of hay from my chin.
“I’m not much for it either,” she admits, leaning against the wall and watching me clean up. “I only do the fun parts.”
“Saddling and brushing?”
“Pretty much.” She kicks at some stray hay on the floor. “If you studied my list, you know I don’t do messes.”
“Yeah… I was gonna ask about that.” I turn to face her, but she’s still looking down at the ground. “How in the world are you a painter? That’s gotta be the messiest job.”
“I’m sure Mike Rowe would disagree.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” She wipes above her left eye, and I take it I missed a spot, so I scrub my eyebrow down. “Painting doesn’t have to be messy, though.”
“Isn’t it more fun when it is?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
I scan her up and down, noting how put together she is even after handling horses all morning. I’ve had two seconds with them and I’m covered.
A slow grin wraps my face, and she immediately grows suspicious.
“What…?”
“I think I know what fear to tackle for today’s lesson.”
“If you put any of that horse food on me I will punch you in the face.”
A bolting laugh escapes me, and I shake my head. “Not quite what I had in mind.”
She relaxes against the wall, her eyes waiting for me to let her in on the plan, but since it’s not all the way formed, she’ll have to be patient. Besides, I’ve got a horse that hates me to walk around first.
Candace
“Pete, no.”
I dig in my heels, hoping to fuse them to the tile floor. I see where he’s leading me—Christmas décor won’t disguise the giant, colorful balls and paint spatter that adorn the archway to the Paint Zone.
“We’ve got time for a round before our shift.” He tugs on my wrist, and my darn work shoes have zero traction. I slide across the floor with a fight, yanking against his hold.
“I’ll get paint in my hair!”
“Oh no! Not your hair!” He drops my wrist and gasps, covering his mouth. “I wasn’t even thinking about your hair. What are we going to do?”
“I will murder you.”
He chuckles and reaches for my arm again. I make him work for it, wriggling out of his way like a toddler refusing bedtime.
“Let me do what you’re paying me for!” He chases me, and I circle around a group of older women in ugly Christmas sweaters, using them for a temporary shield.
“I’m paying you to teach me to be bad. I still fail to see how tackling my fears qualifies.”
I fake a run to the left and dodge his grasp again. The older ladies scurry past us and our shenanigans.
“You’re afraid of breaking rules, yeah?” He lets out a breathy laugh, and his fingers finally clasp around my forearm.
“Yes.”
“Breaking rules is part of being bad, right?”
“How is paintballing breaking a rule?” I tell him with a cocky jut of my hip. His grip tightens on my arm, and warm fuzzies spin through my skin.
“What is so scary about getting messy?”
I narrow my eyes and press my lips together. What is he, a therapist? Is he looking for a deep-seated reason? Yeah, I could think back to my childhood and say that Mom and Dad were anal about me ruining precious carpet or rugs or hardwood floors. I was forced to paint in designated areas, but weren’t all kids who were into art?
Even with owning the farm, there was zero tolerance for a spec of dirt indoors. They’d worked too hard for what they had. Messing up anything, even on accident, would be disrespectful. Wrong. Bad.
Whoa… he is a therapist.
I stop struggling against his playful grip. I know he explained it to me already, but I didn’t really see what he was getting at—that my fears all slide into one giant one: I am afraid to break a rule.
Holy wow, I hired a master, and who’d have thunk it’d be Pete.
He lets out a sigh, his smile sliding from his face. He loosens his hold on me, but his fingers stay on my skin, resting lightly on my wrist. “It’s pretty fun,” he says, trying a new tactic. A laugh bubbles up my throat, but it doesn’t come out. “Hell, I was scared this morning, but I had a good time with that pain in the ass horse.”
My controlled laugh bursts from me in the form of a snort, and a tiny speck of spit flies from my mouth and lands squarely on his chest. My eyes widen, and I quickly swipe it from his blue Troublemakers shirt—we’re in the Zombie Zone today, so we’re both wearing blue.
“Whoops!”
“I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve been spit on today.”
I snort again, but thankfully I keep my fluids to myself. Thank heavens I have Pete to be completely awkward to so that when I see Zach again, it’s out of my system.
“Sorry.”
“Liar.”
I lift an innocent shoulder and give him a cheesy grin, getting him to crack a smile and tighten his grip on my wrist. “Okay… we’re going now.”
“What about our shirts?” I flourish a hand down my matching blue shirt. “This is the only one I have.”
“Next excuse,” he says, pulling me along the long hallway that leads to the paintballing arena. “We both know they give us coveralls.”
“Still doesn’t solve the hair issue.”
“We’re working the zombie theater. Kids’ll love it.”
“Managers will hate it.”
“And you’re a rebel now.” He winks, and my heart stutters. Have I ever seen Pete wink? Have I ever had a guy wink at me, period? Whoa butterflies!
The stutter flushes all my fun excuses down the brain toilet, and I’m clean out of them when we get up to the desk.
Aislynn is here today. Her bubblegum pink hair hangs just above her shoulders in double braids, pairing well with the bright yellow shirt that the Paint Zone requires. Her eyes light up when they lock on Pete, and she wiggles her fingers in a friendly wave.
“Hey, Lynny,” Pete says, and I furrow my brow. Bubbles erupt on the back of my tongue, twisting my nose upward like I smell something rank. They are on nickname terms? I’ve been working with Pete for two years and I don’t have a nickname.
Then again, what would he call me? Candy?
Ew.
“Hey.” She reaches toward the wall of bandanas behind her. “Doing a round before your shift?”
“Yeah, we”—he tugs me forward and throws an arm around my shoulder, locking me in place—“are doing a round.”
Aislynn’s perfectly painted lips pop open, and I’m guessing a squeal so high-pitched only dogs can hear escapes her. “You’re going to paintball, Candace?”
“Apparently,” I grumble, the corners of my lips turning downward.
“Sweet.” She pulls two bandanas down and hands them over. Of course… we’re on team white. “Have fun!” she says with a wave, forgoing reciting the rules since we both know them. I’ve also signed all the forms—it was a requirement when I was hired.
I remember scoffing that day I put my pretty John Hancock on the paintball release. Like I would ever go paintballing. Oh, eighteen-year-old Candace, how little you knew.
