Rein In (Willow Bay Stables Book 3)

by Anne Jolin

  Reading about them, especially Rhys, who I’d become so enthralled with from a distance, one would expect to feel the basic remnants of fear, but I didn’t. These men were dangerous, of course. You’d have to be ignorant to think they weren’t, but I wasn’t sure that I believed that was all they were.

  Glitch was nerdy and hilarious in a self-deprecating kind of way. Dirt, under all those muscles, was actually quite brilliant, and Fun Bobby had a heart that was as big as his shirts were tight.

  Grant believed he could give these men a second chance, and I believed I could help him.

  Closing the file, I stuffed it in my backpack and slid off the bar stool in Grant’s kitchen.

  “Thank you for breakfast, Taylor,” I hollered into the house as I snagged the last bite of bagel off my plate.

  She answered from somewhere in the house that I could hear but not see. “You’re welcome, dear.”

  It was almost eight in the morning on Sunday, and Josh would be arriving for the day. We’d made a little progress since his altercation with Rhys that one afternoon a few weeks ago, and I was trying to build on that before we lost momentum.

  Sliding my toes into the sneakers outside the back door, I held the bagel bite between my teeth and wiggled my heel inside. They’d once been white, but now, with the magic erasers, they were more beige. But being a barn rat had never been pretty.

  The back of the main house stretched into a massive, landscaped yard that looked over the barn and the rest of the property. Heading straight across the lawn, I hopped over the fence and waved at some of the arriving volunteers.

  Some were new but most had been there at least a few years. Grant and his program had a way of making people want to stay.

  A faded blue minivan pulled into the lot, and I waved to Josh’s parents as he slithered out of the back seat.

  “Have a good day!” Mrs. Farina hollered to her son, but he only grunted in reply as he walked toward me.

  “Morning, Josh,” I chirped after swallowing the last of my bagel.

  He scowled at me. “Do woodland creatures do your hair in the morning or something?”

  “Pardon me?” I laughed.

  He huffed and pulled his headphones off his ears. “You’re a morning person,” he stated.

  “I am,” I said proudly.

  “It’s annoying,” he finished.

  Shaking my head, I put an arm around his shoulders, at which he groaned. “Better wake up, sunshine,” I teased. “We’re in charge of turn-out today.”

  His head dropped back and he cursed.

  The youth around here had very little childlike qualities to them, and that extended to their vocabulary without a doubt.

  I was sitting on the porch of Grant’s office eating lunch while Josh puttered on his sketch pad when a car pulling some kind of trailer came up the driveway.

  The vehicle parked in the space closest to me and idled for a minute before the driver turned off the engine. I was surprised when a girl climbed out of the car. She looked close to my age, maybe a little older than me, but even from a distance you could tell she was beautiful. Her body was willowy like London’s, but she was shorter than me with long, light brown hair.

  She pushed the sunglasses she was wearing up into her hair, revealing cheeks covered in freckles and scanned the area in front of the barn.

  She was looking for someone, and I knew exactly who the moment he stepped into the sunlight.

  Sundays and Wednesdays were Rhys’s days off, which meant that today he’d be free to do as he pleased. I’d chalked up my fascination and knowledge of him to good work ethic, but even I knew I was full of it.

  His reaction the day Wells had shown up and blown his top in the parking lot had given me the encouragement I needed to delve into him. If I was honest, I’d lurked around the barn a night or two since, hoping to catch him reading, but it seemed he’d found somewhere else to spend his evenings.

  He was timid with me and I hated that. My heart loved to conquer.

  She broke into a run and launched herself into his arms. He caught her and held her tightly against his chest. They stood like that for forever, and I sat with my tuna sandwich halfway to my mouth, watching the entire time.

  When he finally set her on the ground, his smile knocked the wits right out of me. It was brilliant. Not in the cheeky way I’d seen him smile with the guys—this was uninhibited by any emotion except love.

  Whoever she was, he loved her very much.

  They walked to the trailer at the back of the car, and the girl gestured wildly with her hands, though I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  Finally, like a child, Rhys disappeared under the tarp she’d tied down.

  “Lunch is over,” Josh said from the bottom of the steps.

  Unable to take my eyes away from them, I gestured in his direction. “You can have a few more minutes,” I told him.

  “Right,” he scoffed. “I can have a few more minutes.”

  I was so curious that Josh’s sarcasm barely touched me.

  The tarp billowed up and down as Rhys moved around underneath it, and I felt my butt moving to the edge of the stair.

  Finally, something started to emerge. It was black, of course, and round… It was a tire, the front tire of a motorcycle. Rhys was backing a black Harley-looking motorcycle down the trailer ramp as the girl bounced excitedly beside him.

  He swung a leg over the seat and his hands moved out to caress the handlebars.

  It was as though I was watching him meet with a second person that day, like the bike was an extension of him.

  The girl leaned forward and whispered something to him.

  Then I heard it, anyone in the vicinity would have.

  He laughed, and when he did, I thought the world must have turned upside down.

  I had never, not once in my life, heard anything that vibrant come from a single person. It was like watching a dam break and a rush of water come surging forward.

  Rhys tapped the spot behind him and in a practiced motion, the pretty brunette swung a leg over the bike.

  My stomach rolled and flitted on a feeling. It was tight and coiled in a way that made my chest feel uncomfortable and my palms sweaty. The pressure on my heart increased as she slid her hands around his mid section and leaned into his back, tilting her cheek to the side.

  I knew what this was.

  I was jealous.

  I was jealous of a girl I’d never met with a boy I’d never really talked to.

  She’d had his laugh and his smile in the span of ten minutes.

  In six weeks, I had two full sentences, one of which was rude and a question.

  I was jealous that she got a window into the man who read books to horses in the dark of night, while I could barely get him to look at me.

  My stomach turned and my pulse skyrocketed.

  I was jealous.

  “Are you done creeping on that guy?” Josh asked, stepping into my line of vision.

  I looked around him to see Rhys and the girl disappear up the driveway on his motorcycle.

  “Yes, I’m done.” I smiled.

  For today.

  THE SUMMER HEAT LICKED AT the beads of sweat on my throat as I picked up speed.

  I straddled thunder between my legs. I had missed it. I missed the way the roar climbed up through the engine and pulsed in my chest. It was the first time since being in this new world that I felt like I hadn’t missed a beat, like there wasn’t nearly a decade missing from my story.

  The back road weaved and I leaned into the turn. Late June had brought with it warmth that even in the night the air couldn’t seem to cool down. Twisting my wrist, I throttled through the bend and straightened out onto the long stretch of blacktop.

  It wasn’t as hard as I’d expected to renew an expired motorcycle license. Maddy had brought the papers with her when she delivered the bike.

  God, it felt good to see her.

  It felt like the winds of hell in my heart got swe
pt away in her brown eyes.

  It was easy to get lost with Maddy. It always had been. That’s how we survived.

  Guilt snaked around my breath, and my knuckles went white.

  My bike taunted me, like an old friend on a dare. A dare I accepted as I pulled back the throttle again.

  The engine bucked.

  “Son of a bitch,” I grumbled under the sound of the spitting Harley.

  I let off the throttle, but it was no use. The bike was slowing down regardless. Looking around me, I steered the bike to the shoulder where it promptly slowed to a stop.

  Stomping the kickstand down, I threw a leg over the seat and growled.

  Maybe you didn’t forget how to ride a bike in eight years, but fixing one was a whole other ball game.

  Peeling off my shirt, I wrapped my left hand in it so my skin wouldn’t melt off and used it to inspect the engine.

  I couldn’t tell shit and it was hot as hell, burning me even through the shirt.

  I tried rolling the engine over a few times but it useless. The thing was dead, and it needed a mechanic. Something I wasn’t.

  Tires rolled on the pavement behind me as I pulled the grease-covered shirt back over my head. There was the sound of brakes, followed by a change in gear, and I looked over my shoulder to see an old pickup truck had stopped and was now backing up in my direction.

  I leaned forward, pulling the keys from the ignition and stuffed them in my pocket. There was no way I could leave a bike like this on the side of the road. Even without the keys, it would be gone by morning.

  Walking toward the pickup, I pushed the aviators up on my nose and readied my practiced civility. “Thanks for stopping,” I said just I was approaching the window.

  “No problem.”

  A rush of cold air from the cooling system of the truck teased the sweat on my skin, and my heart suddenly burned at the sound of her voice.

  There she was. That white-blonde hair fell around her face, her upper body leaning forward onto the steering wheel so she could see me.

  “You shouldn’t be out so late,” I growled, taking a step back.

  She looked at the dash, humor dancing in her eyes, and smiled. “It’s nine o’clock.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Is something wrong with your bike?” she asked.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Do you want a ride?”

  Wiping the grease from my hands on my shirt, I shook my head.

  She frowned as I took another step back.

  “You’re due back for curfew in an hour and a half,” she said, worry etching itself on the corners of her mouth. “It’ll take you at least two just to get to the edge of the property from here, longer if you’re walking that.” She pointed at my bike.

  I sighed, resigned.

  She knew I couldn’t miss curfew.

  It was hard to ignore the way the blue in her eyes lit up at the conceding of my situation.

  Jumping down from behind the wheel, she rounded the hood of her truck and my ignorance died in the air around her. After nearly two months, it was the first time I’d seen her in anything but that white volunteer shirt, and in that moment, this wasn’t something I missed.

  If watching her go felt a little like the sun setting, then watching her walk my way in that yellow dress felt a lot like the perfect sunrise.

  She looked relaxed.

  As she got closer, I could tell the ends of her hair were wet and without thinking, I reached out to touch it.

  Her body froze—only for a split second—and then melted quickly back into ease. “I had a bath,” she answered my curiosity, and with regret, my hand retreated back to my side.

  She was wearing white flip-flops, and for some reason, the fact that her toes were painted surprised me.

  It was a peach color that played off the way the sun had kissed her skin.

  Something so innocent and private about it stung my soul, and I staggered backward.

  My social skills were sorely lacking, and I felt the briefest of panic at the silence between us.

  “Well, let’s load this bad boy up then.” She clapped her hands together, moving through the tension like it was natural to her.

  I watched her hips sway as she wandered to the back of the truck, undoing the latch to let her tailgate down.

  There was no way I could lift a bike that heavy into the back of her truck alone, and it pained me to think of staining that yellow dress of hers with the black grease that covered me.

  As though she had rescued men on motorcycles a dozen times, she slid the plank of a two by four out of the bed, resting one end on the back of the truck and the other on the ground below it.

  “Did your dad teach you to ride a motorcycle?” she asked as I rolled the bike up the wooden board.

  “No,” I grunted, dragging it the rest of the way into the bed.

  Her face fell.

  “I never had a dad.” The additional words were given in hope of soothing her, but by the small intake of air through her lips, even a man as socially inept as me could see my mistake.

  “I’m sorry,” she fumbled, slamming the tailgate back up as I secured the bike.

  Running a hand through my hair, I stood looking down at her and shook my head. “Don’t be.”

  She nodded quickly, walking back to the driver’s side.

  I jumped down from the bed and yanked open the passenger door. She was already buckled in and waited for me to fold my larger frame onto the bench seat before she shifted into drive.

  A country station filtered at a low volume around us, and my fists clenched.

  She was still. It came easy in her heart, I thought. Just like the way her voice picked up the song on the radio and began to sing off-key as she drove.

  There it was again, that burning in my chest as I watched her.

  She was the reigning beauty of all the years I missed.

  My heart on fire screamed unjustly and yet, somehow, I would never have robbed her of that. I was happy she’d had those years, even if I hadn’t.

  “Why are you out so late?” I interrupted her stillness out of selfishness.

  She smirked at the gravel in my voice, her eyes dropping to the dash that now read nine twenty.

  “Chocolate cupcakes,” was all she said.

  The drive back took hardly any time at all. I noted her walking calculations to have been a bit exaggerated but didn’t say anything.

  She pulled into the parking lot outside the barn, and we both sat there for a moment as she killed the engine.

  Her head turned in my direction, tilting to the side, and she smiled in a way that made the darker parts of me quiver.

  “Will you help me carry these bags inside?” she asked.

  Looking down at the floorboards, I saw two small grocery bags. I’d seen Aurora lift bags of feed that weighed as much as Glitch on a weekly basis, but I nodded.

  We walked in silence up to the main house, but I stopped when I realized I wasn’t sure where to go. She moved around me, taking the lead, and I followed.

  It was as if when I ebbed, she flowed.

  She stopped just before a set of French doors that looked to lead into a kitchen. Her eyes dropped to the bags in my hands.

  “Do you want a cupcake?” Her voice faltered a little, and it felt human. So human that I nodded.

  The apples of her cheeks became rounder when she smiled and her smile, tonight, was directed at me.

  She didn’t use her keys, the door was unlocked, and I followed her inside. Aurora moved around in the moonlight of the kitchen, the way a firefly does at night, and in a way it felt wrong not to stare.

  I wondered how a God, if there was one, would let an angel like that end up so often in the dark with a man like me.

  Finally reaching the far wall, she flicked a switch and we were bathed in light.

  “Okay, pass me the sugar, please.”

  I frowned and she pointed to the bags in my hands.

  Setting t
hem on the counter, I opened the plastic to reveal sugar, flour, eggs, and pretty much anything but chocolate cupcakes.

  Ducking into a cabinet, she pulled out two large bowls and a tray with holes in it.

  “You should never eat store-bought cupcakes,” she murmured into a drawer while she pulled out a measuring cup and a whisk. At least I was pretty sure that’s what it was called.

  I pressed my lips together flat in order to fight the smile that pulled at my cheeks.

  Setting everything up in a semi-circle around her, she used an elastic around her wrist to pull her long hair up onto her head.

  My eyes fell to the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

  She was so alive.

  “Rhys, the sugar.” Her voice broke the fight against my lips, and I smiled.

  I started to pull items from the bags until my hands closed around a bag of sugar.

  Her small frame leaned forward and took it from my outstretched hand but not before her nose scrunched up.

  “Hands.” She pointed to the sink.

  I looked down at my palms, still covered in grease, and winced.

  Her world had bags of sugar in pretty hands while mine had smears of black on pale skin.

  Wandering to the sink behind her, I began washing my hands. Not once, not twice, but three times it took for them to be clean.

  I looked to each side of me for a towel but came up empty.

  Turning around, I nearly knocked her over she was standing so close.

  “Here.” She passed me a hand towel.

  It was suspended in the air between us as her wide eyes studied me.

  My mind tripped over itself, paralyzed in its proximity to her.

  She titled her head to the side, barely a fraction of an inch. Someone less caught up in her would have missed it entirely, but I didn’t.

  It seemed impossible for me to ignore anything about her.

  The towel dangled from her dainty hands, just far enough away that I couldn’t reach it without moving.

  It felt like a dare, and my heart cowered behind my ribs like a fool.

  My wet palms felt like they’d begun to sweat, and the blood pounding in my head made me dizzy.

  I’d always picked truth over dare.