He grinned. “Ah, little doll, there you go, sinning again. You keep that up, and you might end up a heathen like me.”

  Between his grin, calling me little doll again, and teasing me, I was unable not to smile. No one had ever made me feel like he did. Which was very bad, but it still felt like … like I imagined flying would feel. Scary. Exciting. Breathtaking.

  “You make me nervous,” I admitted.

  I was afraid that might offend him. I realized I shouldn’t have said it.

  “Good,” he replied.

  I was watching him chew again and tried to find anything else to look at. But what had he meant by good? Was he warning me? Telling me to keep my distance? But he was here beside me. I hadn’t sought him out.

  “You like riding horses,” he said then, and my eyes widened in surprise.

  “Yes, but how did you know that?”

  I’d been riding since I was nine years old. One of the members of the church had stables with quarter horses. She gave lessons and had offered them to me for free. I had fallen in love with horses and riding the very first day.

  “You ever been on a thoroughbred?” he asked me without answering my question.

  I shook my head. “I’ve only ridden quarter horses.”

  He finished off his third cookie, and then I watched in fascination as his tongue flicked over his lower lip. Oh my.

  “Quarter horses are fast. You race them?”

  I blinked and jerked my gaze back up to his. There was an amused gleam in their dark depths. I had to stop staring at him like a weirdo. He had to be used to it though.

  “Um, yes. Barrell racing,” I told him.

  “You any good?”

  I bit my bottom lip and tried not to look smug. “I ranked fourth in first division this season. In Georgia, I mean.”

  There was a slight curve to his lips. “Impressive.”

  I shrugged. His family owned champion thoroughbreds. That was all I had really known of the Shephards until I went trying to find out who Thatcher was. I had never seen their stables or even driven by them. Most folks didn’t drive back down the road that led by their house.

  “Thanks.”

  He put the bag with the last cookie in my lap. “It’ll be dark soon. Better walk on back home while there is still light out.”

  I stared up at him as he stood.

  “See you around, little doll,” he said, then walked off, leaving me there to watch him go.

  Two days later, a box of lemon crinkle cookies was left on our front porch.

  • Three •

  “Don’t recall inviting anyone.”

  Thatcher

  Present Day

  Leaning against the concrete wall of what had once been an old firehouse storm shelter, I took a deep pull from my cigarette as I studied the pansy-ass bastard hanging by his wrists from the ceiling. He’d pissed his pants and I found that pathetic. Both of his eyes were so swollen that I didn’t know if he could still see me or not. I wasn’t sure just yet what I was going to do with him. He should be thankful he was still alive.

  If I hadn’t been keeping tabs on him and he’d made her cry, then he’d be dead. This punishment would have never happened. But seeing as how I was the one who had caught him fucking some bitch after calling Capri, I hadn’t snapped … completely. I was just triggered enough to make him wish he’d left her the fuck alone. My head stayed clear for the most part. Sure, I had jerked him off the woman he’d mounted and dragged him from the cheap-ass hotel room, but I hadn’t slit his throat.

  Flicking my ashes, I considered leaving him here and letting fate have its hand. It was what I was leaning toward, but I knew he’d die. I might as well kill him now if that was the case.

  “Why?” he croaked out.

  Taking another pull from my cigarette I thought about that answer. I’d not said much to him. I wasn’t one to waste words. I found most shit that came out of people’s mouths was pointless.

  I took the cigarette from between my lips and studied him for a moment. Probably best that he knew why he was here. What lesson would he learn if I didn’t teach him?

  “You’ve spent the past three weeks leading Capri on. Flirting with her. Making her think you’re into her,” I told him.

  “I was—I am,” he stammered.

  My body tensed, and I had to take another pull from the nicotine that no longer took the edge off like it once had. Now, it was just a fucking habit.

  “Might want to be real careful with the words you choose to use,” I warned him.

  Even I couldn’t be sure what would make me react. The knife I kept in my left boot was too close for me to slide out and use.

  “We’re not in an exclusive relationship.” The pleading tone didn’t help my mood.

  I continued to use my smoke as a calming technique the best I could. That stupid bastard was pushing me. When I took a step toward him, he flinched as if I had hit him. Typically, I got a high from teaching lessons, causing pain. But right now, I was too focused on remaining sane.

  “You’re fucking sluts you picked up at bars and then getting close to Capri.” I shook my head as a shiver of disgust curled inside me. “I can’t have that.” I took the cigarette from my mouth and dropped it onto the floor before covering it with my boot. “I can’t have that,” I repeated.

  He said nothing, but the way he trembled as I took another step closer to him told me he could still see. I ran the pad of my thumb over my bottom lip as the bristle from my unshaved face reminded me that I needed to shave. Maybe I’d grow it out. Try the beard shit.

  “I didn’t know she was, uh, important to you,” he babbled.

  That was the conundrum. One I had yet to figure out. There was little that caused any real reaction from me. When I had been a kid, my father had found humor in it while my mother looked at me like she was frightened. I had often wondered if my lack of emotion was why she never treated me like she did my brother. Our mother’s adoration of Sebastian never bothered me, but as a kid, I’d noted her lack of interaction with me.

  Until the day Capri’s gray eyes met mine with a pleading, panicked look as Beauden held her with his hand around her throat, I’d never experienced rage. It was my first real emotion. And she was the one who had drawn it out of me.

  “You’ll have to stay away from her,” I said, walking around him as I examined all the injuries I’d inflicted. “If you want to live, that is.”

  “I’ll stay away. I won’t come back to work. I’ll quit.” The words came out of his mouth in rushed gibberish. “I won’t tell anyone about this.”

  My lips curled in a cold, amused snarl. As if I had any concern as to who he told.

  The sound of footsteps was faint, as if whoever was coming down here didn’t want me to hear them. There were several pairs. I scowled and reached for another cigarette. They were like a bunch of damn women. Didn’t they have better shit to do? I lit the cigarette but kept the lighter in my hand as I waited for them to come barreling in here to the rescue.

  King walked through the door first, and I inhaled some of the smoke as I stared at him. His eyes swung to the bastard hanging up beside me, then back to me. “What the fuck, Thatch?” he said, shaking his head.

  Sebastian, Storm, and Wells all entered behind him.

  “Don’t recall inviting anyone,” I replied with the new cigarette clamped tightly in my mouth. “This was a private party.”

  “Fuck,” Sebastian muttered as he stared at the stablehand.

  Storm was studying me, as if trying to solve a puzzle. I’d helped him with his female. He owed me one, and he fucking knew it.

  As for Wells, I didn’t care for him. Never had. I didn’t even bother to glance his way.

  “Please tell me this isn’t about the jockey.” King sounded put out.

  “She’s got a name,” I said, annoyed that he kept forgetting to use it.

  “Help,” JB begged.

  Turning to look at him, I was surprised that he was that stupid. Flicking my lighter, I ran it across his cheek, and he cried out in pain.

  “Thatch! Jesus, stop it!” King’s frustration made me smirk.

  I flicked my gaze back at him. The smell of JB’s burned flesh appeased me.

  Slipping the lighter back into my pocket, I glanced over at my brother. The concern in his eyes was a shame. He was too fucking sensitive. Always had been.

  “He’s slow. I had to give him a reminder that I decide if he lives or dies. Your arrival doesn’t change that.”

  King ran a hand through his hair, and he shifted is gaze to the man beside me. “Please tell me he did something to deserve this. That it’s not because he was flirting with the jock—Capri.”

  I should have known they’d figure it out. Even though I had kept my distance since she had begun coming to the stables to train with Bloodline, Storm had made the mistake of yelling at her. For a moment, I saw nothing but the red haze of fury and attacked him. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep from hurting him. If Capri hadn’t been watching me, I didn’t think I could have stopped my reaction. Her presence was the only thing that seemed to stabilize me. That moment had been enough to give me away to the others.

  “I told him. Storm didn’t,” Sebastian admitted.

  I’d already known that. Storm was loyal when he felt he owed someone. Sebastian, on the other hand, thought I needed saving from myself. You’d think, after all these years, he would have figured out no one could save me. If JB lived, it would be because I’d decided he could. Not because they’d come in like the fucking calvary.

  “I didn’t know,” the moron blurted out beside me. “She talked to me first—”

  The back of my hand hit his jaw hard enough that his head snapped to the side, then fell limp.

  “FUCK!” King shouted behind me.

  I turned back to them. “I didn’t say he could talk.”

  King shook his head and glared at me. “Thatch, this shit is messed up. You can’t kill him for flirting with her.”

  I took the cigarette from my teeth. “That’s not why he’s here.”

  “Then, tell me something that makes this okay,” he pleaded.

  I sighed, glancing over at the others. Sebastian was looking at JB in horror. It wasn’t like I’d killed him. Just shut him up for a bit. He’d come to eventually. Wells stood back with his arms crossed over his chest, watching everything with that wide-eyed look of his. Storm, however, was looking at me. He was harder to read. We both knew that if the fucker had flirted with Briar, he’d be strung up. As insane as Storm had been acting lately, JB might have already been dead.

  “I found him fucking some bitch he’d picked up at a bar,” I explained, not that it was their business. “He shouldn’t have flirted with Capri if he was going to fuck around.” Yeah, it didn’t sound sane, saying it out loud either.

  King raised his eyebrows as he stared at me as if I had grown another head. “This is about him fucking someone else?”

  I nodded putting the cigarette back between my lips and inhaled the smoke that was gonna be what eventually killed me, wishing he’d shut the fuck up.

  “You can’t kill him for that,” King said, sounding like he was ready to have me committed.

  “Didn’t really plan on it. I debated it, sure, but he needed to be taught a lesson.”

  King’s brows drew together. “What lesson was that exactly?”

  I took the cigarette from my mouth and put it out on JB’s arm. His body jerked, and he moaned, then lifted his head.

  “There. See, he’s awake,” I said, giving my brother a sadistic grin before turning back to the bastard still groaning. “He needed to learn not to make Capri think he’s something he is not.”

  JB’s head did something weird that I thought was meant to be a nod.

  I cut my eyes back over to King. “I think he got the message.”

  Wells let out a short laugh. “Ya think?”

  My eyes shot to him, and Sebastian shoved his arm.

  “Shut up,” he hissed at Wells, who looked nervous.

  His eyes swung to King, as if he thought King could save him if I really wanted to do anything to him. How the fuck he and Wilder were related, I didn’t know. Wilder I’d take a bullet for.

  “Can we let him down and take him home?” King asked me.

  I shrugged. “I’m not taking him anywhere.”

  King let out a weary-sounding sigh. “Can I take him home?”

  I stuck a new cigarette back between my teeth. “Do what the fuck you want,” I told him, then headed for the door.

  Wells stepped out of the way quickly.

  “If this is how you’re gonna react, we need to let Capri go,” King called out behind me.

  I stopped my teeth from sinking into the butt of the cigarette.

  “Guys will flirt with her. You can’t teach them all a lesson. We won’t have any stablehands left,” Sebastian added.

  I took a deep breath and tried to remember these men were family. The demon inside me didn’t seem to give a fuck about that though. It was me who had to overpower the simmer threatening to take control.

  “She stays,” I bit out.

  No one said anything. The silence was only making things worse.

  I spun around and slammed my hand against the wall. “SHE STAYS!” I roared, not recognizing my own voice.

  King nodded. “Okay. She stays. I’m going to make sure every male who steps on the property is aware she is off-limits though.”

  Probably a wise idea. I didn’t say anything more. I had to leave before I did something I shouldn’t. I might not take it out on them, but the stablehand would die. King was really intent on that not happening. Leaving was best.

  • Four •

  “How has Thatcher been treating you?”

  Capri

  Had I done something wrong? I racked my brain to try and figure out what I could have said or done last week to make everyone seem as if they couldn’t get away from me quick enough.

  Monday, I had thought it was just me being touchy over the fact that JB never called or texted over the weekend. But by Thursday, I realized it had only gotten weirder. I would apologize if I knew what I needed to apologize for.

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I watched Jim, one of the stablehands who oversaw Bloodline’s daily routine, walk away with the horse, and I replayed our brief interaction. Jim had always been friendly. He had been married for ten years, and he had two daughters and one son. The boy was his youngest and only two years old. Normally, I’d ask about the kids, and he’d tell me something funny that one of them had done.

  But he had given me a tight smile when I asked him today, replied, “Great,” then gotten away from me as quickly as possible.

  Miller, the head trainer, had even been more standoffish with me. He’d spoken to me very little and talked to Christopher, the stable’s best exercise rider, more than me about Bloodline. I was the one who would be riding him next week, not Christopher.

  Letting out a frustrated sigh, I turned my attention toward the corral, where Thatcher had Zephyr. I wanted on that horse so bad. He was beautiful. I’d watched his sire race in the Derby the year he won. It had been on television, of course. I’d never gotten to actually go to the Kentucky Derby. I probably could have gotten tickets, but I wanted to go as a jockey. Sitting in the stands and watching wasn’t my dream. It was being down there on the track.

  My focus shifted from the horse to the man on it. I had seen him every day I’d been here this week. Each time, I tried to work up the nerve to speak to him, but I never managed it. The cookies that had been left at my door on Friday night were still a mystery. The thought that he could have left them seemed ridiculous now. As did the idea that there had been someone in my backyard. My imagination had gotten the best of me.

  “You think you’re ready for the Breeders’ Cup?” King’s deep voice startled me.

  “Uh, yes. I mean, Mr. Shephard hasn’t told me if I’m riding Bloodline in the Breeders’ yet,” I replied, trying not to get my hopes up.

  He wasn’t looking at me as he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and a black cowboy hat pulled down to shade his eyes. His focus was on Thatcher and Zephyr.

  “Not Bloodline. Zephyr,” he said, then briefly glanced at me before looking away again.

  My heart rate picked up as my chest tightened.

  Was he serious? Did he think Stellan Shephard was going to let me ride Zephyr in the Breeders’ Cup? We had months to prepare, as it wasn’t until November.

  I nodded finally, afraid to gush like I wanted to and sound unprofessional.

  “Yes,” I said, then realized that had come out a little gush-like. Oops.

  The corner of his mouth tugged up. “When Thatcher is ready, he’ll start having you ride Zephyr. But for now, focus on Bloodline. You two have the Belmont Derby Invitational next week, and Bloodline will be leaving in a couple of days to travel up there. He’s your only concern at the moment.”

  I nodded. This was my first race on a Shephard Ranch horse. The thrill of being a jockey, riding for the Shephards, was major. Almost as good as riding in the Kentucky Derby would be.

  I glanced around, and there was still no sign of JB. I had asked Jim about him, and he’d mumbled that he didn’t know before attempting to get away from me. King would probably know.

  “Um, do you, uh, know where JB has been? I mean, I haven’t seen him in a while, and I was wondering if he was sick or something.”

  King’s jaw ticced as if he were tensing up.

  Did he not like JB? Maybe he’d done something wrong, and I hadn’t heard about it. That didn’t seem like JB though.

  “He quit,” King said.

  Why had he quit? I thought he liked working here. Was it me? Had I misread his flirting and come on too strong? Oh God. Was that why the others wouldn’t talk to me? They had all liked JB.