Ducking Ugly: a Menage Ugly Duckling Story (Stud Ranch Standalone)

by Stasia Black

  She shook her head. She couldn’t be thinking about all that right now, though. This was her first chance to try Painter in a competition setting and prove to herself and everyone else that she had a real shot at that hundred thousand dollars next month.

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Alright. She didn’t want to get cocky. But there was nothing wrong with being confident.

  Today in the trials, riders would be judged on a series of ten to twelve obstacles all along a trail in the woods. The obstacles could be anything from logs in the path to navigating around a group of noisy campers to having to open a gate while astride your horse. Calla had never been on this particular trail but she’d been training Painter on dealing with unfamiliar situations and the mare caught on quickly to everything Calla threw at her.

  Not to brag or anything, but Calla basically had the best, most genius mustang of anyone in the whole dang makeover. Facts were just facts.

  Calla grinned, then clicked her tongue while she held onto Painter’s lead. Painter stepped calmly down from the trailer.

  “Good girl,” Calla praised, rubbing down her withers. “What a good girl you are.”

  In the trailer beside hers, Mack tugged on his lead several times until finally his horse poked his nose out the back end of the trailer. Mack held an apple in his hand to coax Torpedo all the way out.

  Several more trailers behind her, all she heard was Liam’s loud cussing. “You stubborn donkey, move your arse.”

  Calla laughed and walked Painter around the trailer. “Good girl,” Calla said again, running her hand down Painter’s long neck.

  And then Calla froze. Her head jerked to look down at her leg.

  Her thigh muscle was spasming crazily underneath her jeans.

  She blinked, her breath catching. She flexed her leg and the muscle stopped jumping. She breathed out.

  Then it started up again.

  Calla shook her leg and jumped up and down. She grabbed her foot from behind and pulled it toward her butt to stretch her quads.

  After a few seconds stretching, she let go and stared at her thigh.

  Painter shifted and snorted beside her, nosing at Calla.

  “Hush,” Calla muttered, shooing Painter away as she glared at her leg. Would it spasm again? If it did, did that mean—? Was this the first sign that she had Huntin—?

  “Well look what we have here. The tomboy slut shows her face in public.”

  Calla squeezed her eyes shut at the voice coming from behind her. “Not now, Bethany.”

  “What’d you have to do to earn the gas money to get here? There are five guys who work out there, right? Do they each like, have a night? Or do they just fuck you whenever they want? Or all at once? Jesus, that’s be a five-some. Or a six-some if you count that mutant-freak giant who runs the place. I’m surprised you’re still walking upright.”

  Calla spun around, ready to let Bethany have it when she heard someone beating her to the punch.

  “I’ve met some real bitches in me life,” Liam said from behind Bethany, his horse in tow. “But don’t think I ever met one as maggoty as you.”

  “Wait, no,” Bethany sputtered, spinning around. “I was just— That was out of context.” She laughed and waved a hand. “Calla and I just joke around like that sometimes. Crude, but you know—” She waved her hand again, eyes wide and desperate. “It’s just a joke. Calla knows that.”

  “That true?” Liam asked Calla.

  Calla glared at Bethany. “No. She’s just a bitch.” She clicked her teeth at Painter and led her away from Bethany, who kept sputtering about how it was all a misunderstanding.

  But Calla didn’t feel any vindication at finally having a witness to Bethany’s true character.

  Her leg. She kept sneaking glances down at her thigh as she walked. She didn’t think it was spasming anymore. It was hard to tell while she was walking.

  People get muscle spasms for all kinds of reasons. Dehydration. Not having enough magnesium in their diet.

  “You all right, baby? Don’t let anythin’ that slag said get to ya.”

  Calla nodded jerkily. “Oh, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Just got us all signed in.” Mack came over to them. “We’re up in fifteen with the second group. I’ve just got to get Torpedo from where Xavier’s holding h—” He paused, looking between Liam and Calla. “What’s wrong. Did something happen?”

  “Yeah, some blonde skank came around telling Cal—”

  “Nothing,” Calla cut Liam off. “Just some trash talking. That’s all.” She narrowed her eyes at Liam. “Let’s just focus on the competition. Clear heads.”

  Mack’s eyes softened. “You got this, babydoll.” He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Hell yeah, she’s got it. Now, second place is a different story. Hopefully there are enough police nearby to hold back the rioting when an Irishman walks away with the trophy.”

  Calla rolled her eyes while Mack scoffed. “I’m shocked you managed to get that animal off the trailer. Look at her.” Mack gestured to Liam’s horse. “She looks like she’s gonna bolt any second.”

  Calla glanced Mistress’s way and Mack wasn’t wrong. The way her eyes were wild and searching, it was obvious all the noise and fuss of the field where everyone had parked was putting her on edge. Calla kept telling Liam he needed to do more desensitizing training with her.

  Liam’s eyes narrowed at Mack. “Sometimes it’s all about the superior rider.”

  Calla shook her head. Seeing them today, she’d hardly believe these were the same two men who’d been caressing each other and sharing such intimate experiences as little as three nights ago. Calla had been going to bed early to get ready for the trials but the boys were always like this. Everything a competition. But when they stepped in the bedroom, it was like they became different people. Or maybe that was the real them and all this bluster was the façade.

  Calla glanced down at her thigh again. It was still.

  Okay. It was just a false alarm. Right? Her throat went dry.

  Today. Today is all that matters.

  And today she was going to show that she was training up a prizewinning mare. Time to get her head in the game. “Where’s the starting area?”

  The guys stopped glaring at each other long enough for Mack to gesture behind him toward a cluster of people and horses.

  Twenty minutes later, Calla, Liam, Mack and a group of about five others that unfortunately included Bethany grouped together near the start of the trail.

  “Ready,” the trail master called out, “Set. Mount up and go!”

  Calla put her foot in the left stirrup and smoothly hiked herself up into the saddle. She only spared one glance behind her to see Liam get his foot in the saddle and then his horse started forward before he could get his leg over. He jumped back to the ground and tried again with the same result. He didn’t give up and drop back down this time, though. He held on, standing with one foot in the stirrup as Mistress turned in circles, teeth snapping in Liam’s direction.

  Calla turned forward, trying to choke back her laugh. She clenched her thighs around Painter to get her moving, noting both Bethany and Mack and a couple others already had their seats too.

  “Stand still, you manky mongrel,” she heard Liam growl as Calla urged Painter into a trot down the trail head. She was third but the path was wide for a little while and she quickly passed a man and headed for the leader. Bethany’s long blonde ponytail bobbed ahead in the distance.

  “Let’s go, Paint. We got this.”

  They were almost on Bethany’s heels before she looked over her shoulder to glare at Calla. Her mouth dropped open and she looked infuriated before her long ponytail whipped around as she looked forward again.

  Just in time, too, because they were coming up on the first obstacle. The trail narrowed slightly and several downed trees had been laid across the trail. Bethany barely stopped
in time for her horse not to trip but Calla had plenty of time to transition Painter from a trot to a walk.

  Bethany had brought out a crop and was smacking the back of her mustang’s rump, finally urging her over the first log.

  Ignore her. Painter was all that mattered right now.

  Calla clicked her tongue and made sure Painter could see the obstacles. Then, just like they practiced every day at home, she led Painter to lift her legs and feel her way over the objects in her path. Out of the corner of her eye, Calla could see the judges standing off in the trees. Probably the only thing that kept Bethany from cussing her out.

  Because by the time she’d led Painter over the last tree trunk, she was in the lead. Calla allowed herself a brief smile before tightening her thighs to send Painter on down the trail. She heard noise behind her—Bethany had probably gotten her horse over the logs and more riders had arrived at the first obstacle—but she tried to block it out.

  Next came a willow tree with sweeping branches that she had to guide Painter through blind. It was an exercise in trust and Painter came through brilliantly.

  She didn’t pause to celebrate though because even though she only looked over her shoulder a couple times and only glimpsed Bethany once, she knew Bethany would be pulling out all the stops to beat her.

  She and Painter had to be perfect.

  They had to be nearing the end of the trail. They’d been through nine or ten obstacles already. Calla had lost count. She’d just finished with the gate obstacle and her entire focus was on finishing strong.

  The next obstacle was a rocky embankment that led down to a stream. Calla led Painter down slowly, letting her get a secure foothold with each step. By the time she was at the bottom, she heard voices behind her and rocks tumbling as other riders made it there.

  Crap. She knew she’d lost time on the gate. On the stupidest thing, too. She’d had to fiddle with the damn latch because it wouldn’t catch the first few times she tried it.

  Calla urged Painter into the little stream at the bottom of the embankment. Her impulse was to rush but she tamped it down. Painter’s safety was always primary. While the first part of the stream was shallow enough that she could clearly see the bottom, white water rushed on the far side.

  It probably wasn’t deep. They wouldn’t make it too risky for a competition like this, but still. There weren’t any streams around the Kent ranch and this was one thing she hadn’t been able to train Painter for directly.

  But when she gave Painter her head, she strode into the water confidently. About five feet in, it went from ankle deep to about a foot and a half, but Painter didn’t even falter.

  “All right, girl. Now for a little deeper.” Calla leaned back in the saddle as Painter took a step into the deeper white water. Her hoof slipped and she scrambled, letting out a short squeal.

  “That’s all right,” Calla said calmly, letting Painter come to a stop so she could feel sure-footed. Calla reached forward and rubbed her neck. “You’re all right. You’re all right.” Then she clicked her teeth and kept her thighs firm around Painter to keep her going forward. “Just a little bit more and we’re done.”

  She knew her staying calm and keeping on would help Painter do the same and they were closer to the far shore than the one behind them.

  The clatter of rocks and voices got even louder behind Calla, followed by splashes, but she didn’t look back.

  Painter took an uncertain step forward. “That’s right, girl. You’re doing so good. Such a smart, good girl.”

  Calla kept talking her through it and only moments later, they’d made it to the shore.

  Clapping sounded in the distance and when Calla looked ahead, she realized the end of the trail was just ahead. They’d made it. She grinned as she nudged Painter up the muddy embankment, about to urge her into a trot toward the finish line when—

  A roaring horse scream from behind her had her whipping around to see what happened.

  Torpedo. He was reared up on his hind legs and—

  “Mack!” she screamed. Mack struggled for a moment to keep his seat on Torpedo but the horse was too spooked. Both horse and rider fell backwards into the water.

  “Mack!” Calla dismounted and ran back into the water.

  Torpedo rolled to his side and got back to his feet but Mack was still down. Bethany and her horse ran by at the same time.

  “Mack!” Calla screamed again, slogging through the knee-high water to get to him. Oh God, if anything had—

  She reached him at the same time he sat up, sputtering and spitting water.

  “Oh my God. Mack.” She flung her arms around him. She was immediately soaked but she didn’t care. He could be hurt. Oh God. She yanked back and looked at him. “Are you okay? Oh God. Does anything hurt? Can you feel your toes? Follow my finger with your eyes.”

  She raised her forefinger and moved it back and forth in front of his face.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled it out of his face. “I’m fine.”

  Then he winced. Obviously not freaking fine.

  “Is he okay?” Calla looked up to see Bethany on her horse, standing in the rapids and looking back at them. Since when was Bethany human?

  “I’m fine,” Mack muttered, hefting himself to his feet. Water sluiced down from his body but thank God, he didn’t seem to have broken anything.

  “What happened?”

  “Is he okay?”

  More and more riders were arriving and seeing Mack unhorsed. Several of the judges had come to the edge of the stream as well.

  Out of her periphery, Calla noticed Bethany take off. In the direction of the finish line. Calla rolled her eyes. So much for human.

  “Are you okay to walk?” Calla asked Mack. “I’ll get Torpedo.”

  Mack nodded, wincing again as he took a few steps into the deeper water.

  “He’s okay!” someone behind them called out and there were cheers and clapping.

  Calla got Torpedo’s lead and he walked through the stream, no problem. Mack was standing on the shore, hands on his knees.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Calla asked when she got to him.

  He immediately reached for Torpedo and the horse nosed toward him like he too wanted to make sure Mack was all right.

  “What even happened?” Calla asked, staring at Torpedo in bewilderment.

  “Fuck if I know. He must have got spooked by that blond chick’s horse when she went past. We were doing fine until then.”

  Bethany. Calla glared open-mouthed toward the finish line. But no. Surely she wouldn’t try to— Not just to win a piddly little competition like this?

  Calla shook her head, dismissing the thought. Not even Bethany was that twisted. More likely it was something in the stream that had spooked Torpedo. He hadn’t been exposed to a stream like that any more than Painter had. Some horses were bound to spook easier than others. It’d be something they’d have to focus on training him with when they got back to the ranch.

  Other riders streamed past them toward the finish line. So much for showing what she and Painter could do.

  Then she shook her head at her thoughts. God, what if something had happened to Mack? It had been a nasty fall. It was only by the grace of God he was all right. It had looked like Torpedo landed right on top of him.

  “You want to just walk Torpedo in?” Calla asked. “It’s not too far.”

  Mack glowered. “The saying is literally get back up on the horse.”

  Calla held up her hands. “Whatever you say boss.”

  “That’s the right attitude.” He smacked her ass and she yelped. “Stop slacking. If we’re not careful, Liam’s gonna beat us and neither of us will ever live that down.”

  “Speaking of.” Calla nodded over Mack’s shoulder as she grabbed hold of Painter’s saddle to mount up again.

  Liam and Mistress had finally gotten to the stream. Where she’d stopped to take a leisurely drink. Liam’s curses could be heard clear across the stream. “Com
e on, you poxy cow! Move!”

  Calla laughed as she readjusted her seat. Ugh. Nothing like the feel of wet jeans on a damp leather saddle.

  “He’s gonna kick her flank,” Mack observed, not yet up on Torpedo.

  “No,” Calla said. “He knows better. She’s ticklish there.”

  Liam kept nudging Mistress with his thighs to get her moving forward, but she ignored him as if he were little more than an annoying gnat.

  Mack just shook his head. “He’s gonna do it.”

  “He wouldn’t—”

  Liam kicked at her flank.

  Oh, Calla winced. Mistress leapt forward into the stream. Leaving Liam behind. He popped right off the back of her rump. And landed hard on his.

  Ow.

  “Wild-eyed bitch threw me!” Liam jumped back to his feet, holding his backside.

  “Calla and Xavier have both told you a hundred times not to kick her flank,” Mack called out across the stream.

  Liam looked around like he was searching for the voice. When he finally located Mack, he flipped him off.

  Calla groaned. “Xavier’s gonna be so proud of how we’re representing him today.” She shook her head and turned Painter toward the finish line as more and more riders rode past. Her shoulders shrank.

  People from the group that had started ten minutes after theirs were passing them now. So much for showing she was a contender. Calla was pretty sure she, Mack and Liam would be coming in last place.

  Her future had never been less secure. She thought about her leg tremor. If she had a future at all.

  Still, as Liam and Mistress came up and she saw the goofy grin on Liam’s face, her heart clenched with emotion for him.

  It was like this every time she felt any moment of happiness or joy. There was always the accompanying terror. It was always there. Whispering this was the best she’d have it and soon it’d all be gone.

  Enough.

  Calla clicked her teeth to get Painter moving as Mack and Liam started bickering about who did better in each obstacle. She looked back and forth from one man to another.