Chapter 9: A False Start: Chapter 9

The scrappy little dog runs in circles around me the second I let him out of his crate. His tail is like a string bean now that we’ve shaved him down and I swear that scrawny tail is wagging his entire body. He is positively vibrating with excitement. All because I brought him out and sat down on the clinic floor.

I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. I can’t help myself. He just had a leg amputated, but all he cares about is that I sat on the floor and talked to him in a baby voice.

“Who’s a good little boy? Huh?” The dog’s head quirks with intelligence. “Who is it?” He presses his ribcage down toward the ground and wiggles his tiny bum up in the air, like we’re playing a really fun game.

My palm slaps the ground in front of him and he pushes up to standing, tail tucked between his legs, and tears around the clinic like he’s the fanciest racehorse on this farm. Oblivious to the fact that he looks a little drunk with the way he’s weaving around.

I laugh. A full laugh that fills my chest. “Do you have the zoomies, Tripod?”

The door behind me pushes open, and Mira’s chuckle joins my own. “Tripod. I approve.”

“It suits him.” We smile at each other before Mira crouches down to scratch him behind the ears.

“How is Billie?” I ask eagerly.

Mira sighs as she sets her things down behind the front desk. “She’s good. The babies are good. The bad news is they’ve recommended full bed rest, and that’s going over about as well as you might think. Vaughn is in major over-protective mode, so I imagine there will be some battles there.”

I snort.

. Billie is a force to be reckoned with. Something tells me Vaughn is going to have his hands full. “Oof. Poor Vaughn.”

My sister-in-law crouches beside me, and Tripod instantly ambles over, still wiggling his entire body. “I’ve contacted other clinics and the local shelter. I even put up posters in town. No one has come to claim him. Poor little fella.”

A pinch squeezes my chest at the thought that no one is coming for this little dog. That no one misses him or wants him. Sadly, I can relate.

I have Stefan now. But he never came back for me. He got the fuck out of dodge the second he could and never really looked back. I understand why. God, at the time, I was more jealous than anything. I was a canary in a cage, and he was the hawk swooping around outside. So, while I can’t blame him for putting as much distance between our childhood home and his well-being, there’s still always this tiny packed-away part of me that’s sad I got left behind.

Angry even.

But I keep that part of me well hidden. It doesn’t serve me, and it certainly doesn’t fit into my plan to create a happy, life for myself.

My plan to erase my past and create a shiny new future. A secure career, white picket fence, two point five kids. I want the whole thing.

I realize I’ve zoned out, watching Mira pet the orphan pup. “So, what now?” I ask.

Her lips press together in a grim line. “Shelter, I guess? Maybe a rescue? If I weren’t so busy already, I’d keep him myself.”

I look down into the bulgy, brown orbs of his eyes. I wish I could too. I want so badly to not leave him behind. The bridge of my nose stings as I lay all my trauma out on a perfectly happy little dog. But I’ve got this little voice at the back of my head telling me I’m not ready to settle down yet. That I’ve got a few things to do still.

“How was your riding lesson?” Mira changes the subject entirely, and I’m not sad to let my brain travel in a different direction.

A slow grin spreads across my face. “It was amazing.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes light up, excited for me. “Griff was okay? I know he’s not much of a talker.”

I absently wonder if she knows why. Does Stefan know? Has anyone paid enough attention to him to even figure it out?

“He was great.” I nod. “I rode his horse, Spot. He only let me walk because he’s all high and mighty and shit.” Mira laughs. “But it was still amazing. We’re doing another after work tonight.”

She rubs my back in a sisterly way and beams down at me. “I’m so proud of you, Nadia.” I lean into her touch, thriving on it. I know people think Mira comes off a little prickly, but she’s been nothing but warm and protective of me. Since the very first time we met.

I know she’s my brother’s soulmate. But more than that, I think she was meant to come into my life as well.

“Are you going to apply?”

“For what?” Am I being intentionally oblivious? Yes, yes, I am.

And by the way she rolls her eyes, she knows it too. “Vet school, dumbass.”

I chuckle. “The window is open on my laptop, and I have spent a lot of time staring at it. Does that count?”

She nudges me. “Fill it out.”

“I… I don’t want to leave you in the lurch here. I basically just started again after ditching you to do my last program.”

“Hey. Look at me.” I do, and her fierce eyes bore into mine. “Don’t you ever apologize for going after what you want. Don’t you ever let anyone stand in your way. If they do, they don’t love you the way you deserve. And me? I love you. Apply. You have to try.”

That pinch in my chest is back, but for a completely different reason. I’m so lucky to have her and Stefan now. I may not have experienced unconditional love before turning eighteen and getting the hell out of Romania, but it’s better late than never.

The door swings open again, interrupting our sisterly moment and my chin jerks, following the sound.

Mira stands up immediately, but I’m stuck on the floor . . . at Griffin Sinclaire’s feet. Struck too dumb to move.

I keep telling myself that kiss two years ago was just that. A kiss. I’ve kissed a lot of boys. A lot of hot boys. But none of them have wriggled into my subconscious the way Griffin has.

Kneeling here, staring up at his unwavering gaze, not a shred of warmth on his face, I hate myself for still wanting him. I decide he’s more like a tick. All I did was brush up against a bush one night and he latched on. Now he’s stuck under my skin, poisoning me.

The good news is, I’ve pulled my fair share of ticks off animals in this line of work. So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll grab my imaginary tweezers and yank him out like a fucking bug.

“Hey.” I pat Tripod once more before pushing up to stand. Because over my dead body am I staying kneeling in front of him when he can’t even spare me a smile. “What’s up?”

His arms fold over his chest, and he scowls at me like he’s unimpressed. I don’t know what it takes to impress Griffin Sinclaire but based on the way he goes all stony around me, I’m going to guess that I’m not capable of it.

“Here to check on the dog.”

“Aww. Griffin, you’re so sweet.” Mira says lightly, walking back around the desk to sit at the computer. “As you can see, he’s doing fine. Dogs handle amputation pretty well, actually.” Her eyes scan the screen, and she clicks the mouse, probably breaking down the schedule for today as she continues. “I haven’t been able to track down an owner. So once the incision heals, I’ll start the process for placing him with a rescue.”

Griffin visibly jerks back. The corners of his mouth pull down farther than usual. Mira doesn’t notice; instead she casually carries on. “Actually, I have a favor to ask you guys.”

I arch a brow, not loving the sound of that.

Plural. Griffin and I together. I’m already suddenly dreading the riding lesson I’ve been looking forward to since yesterday. It seemed like he and I had made some headway. Until he strolled in here and scowled at me like I’m an annoying teenager.

Griffin just grunts as a way of saying, Rude.

“I’m double booked with what I had to reschedule after yesterday. Actually,” she worries her bottom lip against her teeth, “I’m more than double booked. I have a lameness consult down at the track, but everything else is out here. Nadia, would you be willing to go take a look? Video call me so I can see what’s going on?”

I shrug. “I mean, yeah. Of course. But I can do that on my own.”

She turns wide, pleading eyes to Griffin, and I almost laugh. She knows how to wield the doe eyes to get her way.

“Griffin, the owner of the horse at the track is . . . well, I don’t want to send Nadia in there alone. Go with her? I’ll make it up to you with dinner at our place tonight.”

“Hi.” I wave an arm between them. “I’m right here. I don’t need the crabby mountain man to accompany me.”

Griffin snorts, but Mira turns pleading eyes on me. “Nadia, this guy is not one of the good people in this business. I don’t even like going by myself, but at least I have a few years’ experience handling him.”

I turn on Griffin, his eyes dancing with amusement that isn’t reflected anywhere else on his body. Aside from his eyes, the guy is like a fucking statue. “Fine, but you can just stand there with crossed arms like you are right now. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

The brim of his hat tips down, his face disappearing behind it. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Mira’s body noticeably relaxes now that we have agreed to her request.

“But I don’t want dinner.” Griffin is staring at the little white dog sitting on the ground, wagging its tail and staring up at all of us like he speaks English, too. “I want the dog.”

Mira’s head tilts and a soft smile plays across her face. “You mean you’d like to adopt Tripod?”

“Dumb name,” he says, but he gives a decisive nod, signaling that, yes indeed, he would like to adopt the dog.

My face twists up in his direction. “You named your spotted horse . Who are you to talk about dumb names?”

“My dog, my name.” He doesn’t even look my way. He’s too busy staring at the dog. I wish I could see his face—his eyes—so I can figure out what’s running through his head right now. This big gruff man staring down at a small, fluffy, three-legged dog. They’re an odd pairing, that’s for sure.

It’s Mira’s turn to laugh now, shaking her head as she regards the stray dog. “Consider him yours, Griffin. He’ll need a couple more days at the clinic before you can take him.”

“Yup,” is all he says before he turns and strolls out of the clinic.

Like he just expects me to follow him.

“He’s kind of a dick, huh?” I say to Mira, rolling my eyes and expecting her to join in with my complaints.

But instead, she appears contemplative. “I don’t know. I think he’s kind of sweet, to be honest.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes at her before stomping out of the clinic toward his cocky swagger and killer ass topped off with proud broad shoulders.

Apparently, I’m the only person here who doesn’t have heart-eyes for Griffin Sinclaire and his quiet, gloomy persona.

“It’s lame. Limping like it’s broken.”

I instantly hate the man standing across from me. The way he’s dragging on a cigarette and then blowing the smoke in my general direction. The way he just referred to the horse tied up beside us as . Not to mention the way his eyes linger on my body, the smirk, the lick across the lips. I’m fully clothed, but this fucking guy makes me feel like someone served me to him on some sort of platter.

Yeah. I hate him. I recognize his type. He’s not new or original.

Suddenly, knowing that Griffin is standing behind me like some grouchy, unflinching sentinel doesn’t seem so ridiculous. Suddenly, I’m really fucking glad.

Was the drive into the city awkward and quiet? Yes. Does Griffin listen to terrible twangy country music? Also, yes.

I tried to talk to him.

And that was the last of our conversation for ninety goddamn minutes.

But in this moment, with this man eyeing me and treating his racehorse like an object rather than a living being, I confess to myself that having Griffin here is a relief.

“His hind fetlock is very swollen.” I crouch by the horse’s back leg, running my hand over the joint. “Easy, fella.”

The minute my hands touch the puffy area, I can feel the heat radiating from it.

“Have you been cold hosing this? Or icing?”

He sucks on his cigarette. “No.”

I stand and brush my hands off on my scrubs as I come back to the front of the horse. “Dr. Thorne wanted us to video call her so she can watch him move. Then I’ll take some X-rays, and she’ll follow up with you.”

“I’m not spending that kind of money on this horse. Racing career is about over. Made some good money. I’ll ship him if that’s the case.”

My brow furrows. “Ship him?”

“Auction. Meat. Lawn ornament. Makes no difference to me.”

Angry tears spring up in my eyes as my gaze travels over the beautiful horse’s seal-brown coat, highlighted with dapples across his haunches. Blinking rapidly to maintain my composure, I run a palm over his velvety nose, the long white snip that covers it.

His eyes flutter shut at the tenderness of my touch and my heart twists. “This could be something very minor. We could investigate further before you take such a drastic measure.”

The man throws his head back and laughs. It’s raspy, and he sounds out of breath. Hopefully, his cigarettes will take him out.

It’s a cruel thought. But my mind is a cruel place some days. I should feel bad about it, but after all the shit I’ve seen assholes like this do—I don’t.

My molars grind against each other as I struggle to maintain some professional composure. Two years ago, I’d have gone off on this guy. My temper would have taken over and made me say things I shouldn’t. Obviously, I still think them, though, and if thoughts could kill a person, this guy would be toast.

“Oh, little girl, you’ve got some things to learn about this business.” He steps toward me as his eyes rake over my body hungrily. It makes my skin crawl. And then he props a nicotine-stained hand on my shoulder. “I could teach them to you sometime if you w—”

“Hands off if you plan on keeping them.” Griffin’s voice rumbles from behind me. Right now, it’s gritty in a whole different way, almost like it’s rusty from years of not being used. But still velvety, still full and warm. He’s standing much closer than he was mere moments ago.

The man just smirks. He drops his hand but doesn’t peel his gaze from my tits.

I hear two thumps of Griffin’s boots and then his hand is wrapping softly around my elbow, pulling me behind the shield of his broad body as he hisses out, “Eyes up here, asshole.”

I want to be angry with Griffin for intervening when he promised he wouldn’t. He was supposed to stand there and look grumpy. But now, with his body providing a wall of protective muscle between myself and the man with the greasy hair and wandering eyes, I sigh in relief.

I want so badly to be capable, and brave, and self-assured. But the fact of the matter is, deep down, men like this me. Men like my father, ones with anger that simmers just barely concealed beneath the surface. Ones that know there are infrequently consequences for their actions.

If I let my mind wander down that path I would realize that, on a subconscious level, men scare me in general.

“Easy, Cowboy.” The man cackles, amused and not deterred. “Just letting blondie here know the realities of life. Racehorses come and go. The bottom line is what I’m focused on.”

I watch Griffin’s body go tense before me. A vein in the side of his neck throbs and his fingers curl in on themselves.

He usually seems so unaffected, but right now, he looks like he’s ready to explode. Without even thinking, I reach one trembling hand forward and trail it down the center of his lower back. I watch the gray fabric of his T-shirt fold beneath my touch and Griffin’s body goes still.

An ache crawls up my arm at the contact, burrowing itself at the inner part of my elbow. With a small gasp, I pull back, rotating my wrist to soothe the sparks. But Griffin is still staring the other man down, so I hook two fingers into the side loop of his jeans and give a sharp tug back.

His head flicks to the side, his eyes finding mine over the crest of his shoulder. Eyes that were amused earlier today but are pure chaos right now.

“Don’t do something stupid,” I whisper, imploring him to take it down a notch. On one hand, having someone come to my defense is a new experience. On the other, the glint of violence in his eyes scares me a little bit. “Please.” I tug again.

He blinks in response. Which I subconsciously add to his range of non-verbal reactions.

“We’ll let Dr. Thorne know,” he bites out before turning around and shepherding me down the row of stalls. His calloused hand falls at the back of my neck, giving me a comforting squeeze, but he doesn’t give up his position behind me, blocking the greasy owner from seeing me at all as we retreat.

I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline, someone swooping in to protect me, or the fact that poor horse is going to be sold for meat after giving all his best racing years to an asshole, but the tears I held back start to flow, silently trailing down my face and dripping off the apples of my cheeks.

When we hit the sun outside, I hustle away from Griffin toward the Gold Rush Ranch truck that’s parked at the end of the alleyway. My escape vehicle. It’s like my feet can’t get me there fast enough. But when my hand wraps around the handle, I stop. My opposite palm lands against the glass of the window and I drop my head, trying to gather my composure before I have to spend another hour and a half in the small space with Griffin.

The man who kissed me brainless once, and I was supposed to have forgotten.

“You okay?”

He’s not touching me anymore, but he might as well be. I can feel that simple squeeze on my neck like a brand. Any time he touches me, my skin hums with pleasure.

I hate it. I hate it because he turned me away and because he had to be best friends with one of the few people in the world I would hurt.

I hate him for being the only man who’s lit me up the way he did. And I hate him even more for being the only man I really can’t pursue.

And I hate that I can’t save that horse in there.

“No.” It comes out as a sob despite my best efforts to control my voice.

“Guy is a prick.” He spits the word out like he wants to hurt it.

“That horse. Griff—Griffin.” My voice cracks over his name. “That poor horse.”

I’m fucking falling apart, and I can’t even explain why. I’m overwhelmed with crushing sadness. And anger.

“For fuck’s sake,” he barks out before I hear him spin on his heel to leave.

I’m too embarrassed to even turn around. Instead, I close my eyes and attempt to center myself, to get a grip on my emotions.

The girl I want to become should be pissed that Griffin stepped in and went all caveman on that sleaze bag.

But I’m not pissed. I’m relieved.

I don’t know how many minutes pass as I stand there breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, giving myself an internal pep talk.

All I know is that the uneven clopping of hooves pulls me out of the safe space I’ve created in my brain. And when I spin to see who’s coming my way, I see Griffin.

Leading the beautiful and sore, dark bay horse beside him.

“What are you doing?” I sniff as he struts straight up to me, holding out the tattered red rope that’s attached to the gelding’s leather halter.

“Here.” He can barely hold my gaze.

I take the rope, confusion etched on my features. “Why?”

“Because he’s yours now.”

“What?” Disbelief paints my tone as my head swivels between the broody horse and the broody man who just handed him to me. “You bought me a horse?”

“He’s sorta broken.”

My eyes flit down to the pink skin at the center of the horse’s white nose as emotion wells up in me again, my brain stumbling along, trying to make sense of the last fifteen minutes of my life.

I don’t know what to say to his comment, so all I say as I stroke my new horse’s nose is, “That’s okay. So am I.”