by Jeannie Watt
“I don’t know you, Matt.”
The expression of confusion intensified. “We spent months together.”
“Yeah, we did. But I don’t know you.” She dropped her arms to her sides, facing him squarely. “I only know what it’s like to be used by you.”
* * *
FOR A MOMENT Matt simply stared at Liv. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any stranger, she came up with this.
“Are you talking about studying together?” Her color crept up, telling him that yes, that was exactly what she was talking about. “I used you? I asked if you’d help. You agreed. I didn’t twist your arm.” In fact, he’d thought she’d kind of enjoyed tutoring him despite the fact that she barely said two words to him that weren’t related to calculus—not unless he asked her a direct question. She’d practically been paralyzed by shyness until she got into the heat of an explanation.
Those days were obviously long gone.
“You really don’t know?” she asked flatly.
“Would I be asking if I did?”
She glanced over at the riders gathering in the center of the arena without her, then back at him. “I stupidly thought that we were becoming...friends.”
“We were friends.” Kind of.
“More than friends,” she said abruptly.
For a moment he simply stared at her. More than friends. Like...
“You flirted with me,” she said before pressing her lips tightly together as if to keep more words from coming out.
“I flirted with everyone.”
“How was I supposed to know that? I didn’t get to hang in your circle. All I knew was that you joked with me, teased me and...sometimes you touched my shoulder or my hand and...yes, it was totally ridiculous, looking back, but I thought that once we were done studying together that maybe we could go out or something.” Her voice became almost deadly as she said, “I was waiting for your call.”
“I—”
“And you did call. But it wasn’t me.”
Shae. He’d called Shae and asked her out. They’d dated for...what? Maybe two or three months before she’d dumped his ass.
What was he supposed to say now?
Apparently nothing, because Liv wasn’t done.
“That was a long time ago, and trust me, I’m well over the disappointment—” sarcasm dripped from the word “—however, it gave me vital insight into the way you work.”
“I wasn’t working you.”
“You were getting what you wanted. When you were done, you just walked away. Didn’t even bother to talk to me in the halls at school. Did you think I was tutoring you for purely academic reasons?”
“Yes. I thought you just liked studying.”
“You’re an idiot,” she said, picking up Beckett’s lead rope and then snatching back the saddle pad that Matt still held. She settled it on the horse’s back. Matt put his hand over hers, stopping the motion, and she jerked it away, the pad slipping off again. He bent to pick it up, shook the dust off, but he didn’t hand it back. “I didn’t use you and I didn’t abuse Beckett. I’ve never abused an animal in my life.”
Liv’s blue eyes narrowed. “Well, something happened to him, and there’s no way Trena did it. She wouldn’t even go out into the corral to catch him for me when I came to look at him the first time. I had to catch him.”
Matt had to agree that didn’t make sense—if it were true. What was going on here? A regular injury he could understand, but injuries due to use?
Liv held out her hand for the saddle pad, a challenge in her eyes. Matt let go and she once again settled it on Beckett’s back and then turned to lift the saddle and settle it into place. She pointedly ignored him as she busied herself with cinches and the breast collar, checking for fit and tightness with quick automatic movements. When she bridled the horse, she held the bit and waited for him to take it, talking in a low voice as if Matt weren’t there. He thought he heard the word bastard.
What he’d just witnessed was habit; the actions of a person who knew how to handle a horse. But if Liv had not abused Beckett, that left him with a mystery to solve.
“I want to see those vet records.” It was a stab in the dark, a way to once and for all eliminate Liv as a suspect.
Liv’s eyebrows rose disdainfully. “I don’t have to prove anything to you,” she said. “I’m late.” She swung easily up into the saddle—a saddle that was too small to have made the marks on Beckett’s back. “Stay away from me, Matt.”
She urged Beckett forward, riding past him, her jaw set. Matt stepped back, then strode toward the parking lot, all thought of catching up with Pete and asking about his knee treatment long gone. He was going to find out what had happened to his horse, ask some questions about what Liv had seen at Trena’s. And if Willa ever called, he had questions for her, too.
* * *
ONCE PRACTICE STARTED, Liv had no choice but to pay attention to her riding—it was either that or possibly be smashed by an oncoming horse—but she couldn’t push Matt’s accusations out of her mind. She’d abused the horse. Right.
Fortunately, Beckett was learning the routine and anticipating moves, so Liv got away with being less than totally focused and the practice went far more smoothly than it should have, considering.
“Is everything all right?” Andie asked in a low voice during a brief break between runs.
“Fine,” Liv lied. Just as fine as things could be. Yeah.
“I thought I saw Matt over by your trailer.”
Linda called for attention, so Liv merely said, “No biggie.”
Andie frowned as she turned her horse to get into position, and Liv realized that she wasn’t ready to discuss her encounter with Matt. Not yet—not until she’d had a chance to work through it. There were so many questions. Who had abused the horse? Had she been wrong about Matt or was he a very, very good actor? And why, why oh, why, had she felt compelled to tell him about the crush?
As soon as practice ended, Liv rode back to her trailer at a trot, dismounted and started untacking the horse. She’d barely flipped the stirrup up over the seat of the saddle when she heard someone walking along the other side of her trailer. Great.
She turned, cinch strap in hand, ready to tell Andie that they’d talk tomorrow, but it was Margo, leading her horse by the reins.
“I want to apologize for eavesdropping earlier,” the older woman said matter-of-factly. “It wasn’t my intention.”
“I don’t see how you could have helped but hear us,” Liv said as she began undoing the cinch, grateful Margo hadn’t also heard the confession of her high school crush. Although, come to think of it, high school crushes were nothing to be embarrassed about. Being accused of abusing a horse? Now, that was embarrassing.
“I want you to know that I don’t for one minute believe that a daughter of Tim Bailey would ever mistreat an animal.”
Liv momentarily stopped pulling the latigo out of the cinch ring. “You know my dad?”
“We graduated high school together.”
Something in the way she said it told Liv that they were more than classmates, that they may also have been friends, so she asked, “Have you seen him lately?”
“I just moved back to Dillon a few months ago.” A small ironic smile formed on her lips. “And your dad tends to keep to himself.”
“Definitely not a social butterfly,” Liv agreed, pulling the heavy saddle off Beckett’s damp back. The white hair of the healed sores
stood out against the sweat-slicked dark hair. Damn. If Matt wasn’t responsible...
Margo laughed. “Understatement of the year.”
Liv stopped, still holding the saddle. Margo really did know her father. Curiosity piqued, Liv said, “You know, if you ever wanted to stop by and say hello, Dad would probably enjoy catching up.”
An odd look crossed Margo’s face. “I’m not much for popping in to visit people.” She folded the reins she held into an accordion before saying, “Although I wouldn’t mind talking to him at some time.”
There was a note in her voice that Liv didn’t quite understand, making her wonder if perhaps she shouldn’t have been so hasty with her invitation. Perhaps Tim didn’t like Margo. Or vice versa. “Well, maybe we can work something out,” she said noncommittally.
Margo laughed softly. “Yes. Maybe.” Her horse nudged her shoulder and she reached up to run a hand over his nose. “I need to get going. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t embarrassed at me overhearing your conversation and tell you that it will go no further than me.”
“Thanks,” Liv said.
“And...well...just so you know, Ronnie and Becca and I meet down here in the morning to practice the drills at a slower speed.”
“You do?”
“Sometimes we just practice ground work and equitation, but most of the time we do the drills. If you’re interested, the next time we meet is this coming Saturday at eight. Just show up. It’s a lot more...relaxed.”
“Thanks. I might do that.”
Margo smiled and disappeared back around the trailer just as Andie rode up.
“So, no problem with Matt?” Andie said.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Liv replied as she pulled the saddle off Beckett’s sweaty back. “Just...horse stuff.”
“All right...” Andie did not sound convinced, but she didn’t push, either. “Ready for your first day of work?”
“Totally,” Liv said. She was looking forward to something to think about besides Tim, Matt and Beckett. She’d tell Andie about Matt’s accusation in a day or two, but right now she wanted time to think and work through a few issues, such as who was lying about Beckett. Trena? Or Matt?
* * *
MATT DROVE HOME on autopilot, his mind more focused on his horse than the road. One mystery had been solved and another more disturbing mystery had taken its place.
What the hell had happened to Beckett since the last time he’d seen him? His gut kept twisting in knots as he thought about his horse being hurt.
It was now obvious why Liv was treating him like crap; she thought he was responsible—that he’d used the horse to the point of abuse and then dear Trena had taken advantage of his absence to sell Beckett in order to save him.
A grim smile formed on his lips. Oh, yeah. Trena was truly a champion of animals, which was why Beckett was all scarred up.
But his ex hadn’t caused Beckett’s injuries. He was positively certain of that, because she was nervous around any animal larger than a cat. The few times he’d tried to get her to ride had been disastrous. She’d ridden to please him, clinging to the saddle horn and smiling bravely. He’d thought she’d eventually relax, as most people do, but Trena was truly uncomfortable on horseback.
Therefore, the only logical conclusion he could come up with was that she’d allowed someone else access to Beckett. And he had a very strong feeling that the someone was a he, not a she.
So who had Trena loaned Beckett to? And where had the guy ridden Matt’s horse to the point that he’d caused serious sores without any of the locals seeing him?
Easy answer. Not here.
Beckett had pulled a tendon at the very beginning of the Texas circuit and he’d brought him home to heal. It should have been a matter of weeks, but Matt hadn’t bothered driving the thousand miles back home again to pick up the horse. He was doing okay in Texas on Ready, his other horse. He figured he’d give Beckett a good rest, then start using him again on the Montana circuit, which started in July.
Almost four months passed before he’d returned home again—earlier than intended thanks to Willa’s tip—to find Trena and Beckett long gone. She’d remained in the area until just before he’d returned. But had Beckett? That was the question.
The answer was almost certainly no.
The only way he knew to get the answers he wanted was to hunt Trena down and demand them. But even if he did that, would the answers be truthful?
Knowing what had happened would allow him to beat the shit out of whoever had hurt his horse, but it wouldn’t solve anything and it wouldn’t erase the pain Beckett had suffered.
Matt slowed as he approached the Y where the pavement turned to gravel. In the distance he could see the lights of the Bailey Ranch, two miles down the right fork. Did Tim also think he was an asshole animal abuser? Had Liv told other people that he’d hurt his horse?
No. It would have gotten back to him, but then again...would people tell him? Or just assume he had a dark secret and not call him on it?
Matt’s jaw tightened as he realized just how possible that might be.
How in the hell could Liv have ever believed that he’d injure his best rodeo horse? And apparently still believed it, even after he told her he had nothing to do with Beckett’s injuries. Okay, so maybe he’d missed that she’d had a crush on him in high school—which was understandable, since she’d never shown a sign of having any feelings that way—but that didn’t make him a horse abuser.
Shit.
Five minutes later, he parked the truck in its usual spot by the barn and sat for a moment. It was a night where he would have preferred to be alone, primarily so that he didn’t have to make an effort to be civil when he was feeling anything but. But he wasn’t alone, so he needed to suck it up, go inside, be friendly.
“Hey,” Craig called from where he was sitting at the kitchen table typing on his laptop when Matt walked in the door.
“Hey,” Matt said, hanging his hat and then pushing his fingers through his hair. He needed a haircut. “Something wrong with the sofa?”
“What?” Craig’s eyebrows went up behind his glasses, then he caught on. “Ha. Funny one.” He went back to his typing.
Matt smiled a little in spite of himself and debated. Disappear into his room and stew, or have a beer and pretend not to stew here in the kitchen? He hated being cooped up in his room.
“What are you doing?”
“Researching. Getting a feel for your profession.”
“You’re researching calf roping?”
“Tie-down roping. The name of the event has changed.” Craig looked over his glasses. “You knew that, right?”
“I’m aware,” Matt said, wondering again how Willa had ever produced a kid like this.
“I was just wondering how someone can make money roping a calf when my mom can’t make ends meet doing hair and training horses.” Craig pushed his glasses up as he stared at the screen. “Criminal,” he said. “I think my mom needs to brush up on her roping skills.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” And not many people made enough money at it to live. Most, like him, had additional income or a spouse with a decent job.
“Seems like you’ve made some bucks,” Craig said.
“You’re researching me?”
“Oh, yeah.” Craig leaned back so Matt could see the screen with his smiling face on it. “You have a fan club.”
“Unofficial,” Matt muttered. “It’s,
like, three people.”
“Not according to this,” Craig said, pointing to the member box. “Looks like a good part of them are women.” Craig looped an arm over the back of the chair. “So this roping gig is a good way to meet chicks.”
Matt fought the urge to reach out and turn off the computer.
Craig started typing again. “It looks like your knee is going to hold you back. There’s some question as to whether you’ll even compete.”
“I’ll compete.” Matt’s decision was made. Beer. He opened it behind the fridge door and poured it into an opaque glass, not wanting to set a bad example.
“On the Montana circuit?” Craig asked without looking at him. “Because according to this article in the Montana Standard, you won’t make it.”
“They don’t know jack.”
“Read what this Madison guy says about you.”
Matt set down the glass with a clunk and crossed the small kitchen to read over Craig’s shoulder, trying not to focus too closely on his half brother’s smirking face. He knew why Ryan trash-talked him—it was, in fact, his own fault—but that didn’t make it any easier to take.
After he’d discovered his father’s infidelity, he’d wanted to rage and hammer on the old man, but couldn’t because of his mother. So he’d drawn into himself and took out his frustrations the only way he could—by competing with his brother and beating him as often as possible. He was the better son and he made no secret of his disdain for Ryan Madison. A little over a year after Matt had made his gut-wrenching discovery, Ryan had cornered him at a rodeo and asked what the hell the deal was—why Matt seemed to hate him so much.
Matt couldn’t recall exactly what he’d said, but he’d gauged it to hurt as much as possible. He’d been successful, too, because a split second later, Ryan had punched him square in the jaw. A couple of their roping buddies had seen the action and rushed in to drag them apart before their coaches saw them fighting and, after that, it was game on. Ryan became an ever fiercer competitor and he also lost no opportunity to get a dig in at Matt. Usually subtle, something that those who were familiar with their rivalry would understand, never anything that made Ryan look like a jerk, more’s the pity. It was easier to contend with a jerk.