CHAPTER 10

west

I went over the list in my head. One time. Two times. Three times. Fifteen times. The horses needed stuff—real things for the stables—and both buildings needed repair. How the fuck they’d let this shit go so bad was beyond me.

I would’ve thought Jackson cared, considering they were his mom’s, but I would’ve thought a lot of things about him. Instead, he was just a grumpy fucking asshole putting on a show for money. And he hated me.

That singular fact meant he would make my life hell when I handed him a list of shit he had to buy. I seriously contemplated just buying everything and making him pay me back, but I couldn’t afford it. I didn’t have a bank account and I sure as fuck didn’t have the cash for it. Hell, I even thought about asking Mickey to handle it but knew better.

Jackson fucking Myles was the damn obstacle I needed to conquer.

He was the whole reason I fussed around at the end of the day. Horses were groomed, fed, and out to pasture as the sun set. I’d get them in soon enough after I finished hauling in hay.

What the hell was taking him so long anyway?

I was ornery as fuck. Anxiety clawed at my insides, making me want to drink and vomit simultaneously. Maybe not simultaneously but in some random fucking order. I didn’t like fighting him. I didn’t like fighting anyone.

I was so fucking tired of always fighting. Stopping and breathing wasn’t an option, but I sure as fuck wished it was.

A loud huff and neigh behind me drew me out of my thoughts. I turned to find Bailey hanging her head over the fence and smiled. Something about Bailey softened me. Calmed me. All the horses did.

“Feeling left out?” I asked. Dropping the bale I was lugging, I approached her while tugging off my gloves. “Now, I know you ain’t useful for moving hay, so what do you need to be over here for anyway?”

She pushed her muzzle into my hands as I went to pet her. Seventeen years and this girl still fucking loved me. I touched my forehead to hers. I didn’t deserve to be loved like that.

Wheels on the gravel made me look up. Jackson’s fancy fucking truck bounced with the dips in the road as he drove up toward the stables—no doubt to check me on. He did a lot of that. Was a real wonder how the hell he got anything else done with all the unwanted attention he gave me.

“I’ll be back,” I whispered to Bailey, stroking her velvety nose. “I’m going to go piss off the boss.”

Not a hard feat to accomplish. I always pissed off the boss. I steeled myself for the backlash.

“You and me need to talk,” I told him. His boots had barely touched the ground when I made my move to speak. It was easier to come out of the gate hot and hard rather than ease into it with him. He’d stomp my ass if I waited him out.

“About what?” Jackson demanded. He slammed the door and crossed his arms.

Now or never. For the horses.

“I need supplies,” I said. Reaching into my back pocket, I took out the list and handed it to him. I didn’t say a fucking word as he looked it over. There was no need. Instead, I just braced for the backlash.

The man took his fucking time. Way longer than necessary for the requests I made. It was just another way for him to assert his fucking dominance and control. I knew men like him. They were all the same .

“Yes or no,” I snapped finally when the drawn-out silence became too much to handle. I was crawling out of my skin and ready to bolt. Or fight. Or something. “It ain’t that fucking hard.”

“No,” he replied. Of course.

“Fine.” I snatched back the list and started to storm away. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

Maybe I could prioritize the purchases and spread them out. I’d never qualify for a fucking loan, but maybe I could piece it together. I could go without.

“Like hell you will.” Jackson stormed after me. I didn’t stop until I was in the heart of the stable. “You don’t do shit to my fucking ranch without my permission.”

“And you need to take care of your fucking horses,” I countered. “The roof fucking leaks! Your stall mats are fucking shit and half the goddamn doors stick. Half the buckets out in the field are fucking leaking. The fencing is shit and needs to be fixed or replaced. The brushes are old as shit and missing a fuck ton of bristles. You have no hoof oil, detangler, conditioner, or clippers. The blankets are old as fuck—they’ll do but most of them have holes in them. You have no fucking sheets—waterproof or nighttime. Fly maintenance is a joke. What the hell have you been doing? This is fucking miserable! They’re animals! They deserve better than your stupid shit.”

I let out a strong huff of air at the end of my rant. I hadn’t meant to go off like that, but I got pissed. The horses didn’t deserve the bare minimum. Working horses or not, they needed to be taken care of the right way.

Jackson didn’t say a word as his gaze drifted over the stable. He walked in slow steps down the aisle, surveying each stall like it’d give him some magical fucking answer about what to do.

However, at the last stall, he stopped. Fuck.

Frowning, he pushed open the door. Double fuck.

“Are you sleeping in here?” he asked, brows furrowed together tight. I didn’t need to answer. It was pretty fucking obvious from the pile of blankets in the empty stall and my few clothes. “You have a fucking house! Go live there! Stop sleeping with my goddam horses.”

My stomach practically fell out at the mention of that house. No way in hell was I going back there .

“I don’t fucking care where I sleep.”

“I do! It’s an insurance liability. The last thing I fucking need is your dumb ass getting trampled and you fucking suing me over your own stupid choices!”

“Make me sign a fucking waiver,” I snapped. “I don’t fucking care. You don’t have a fucking say in what I do.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jackson snarled and stepped closer. Right into my personal space. My knees locked as I held my ground and damn near held my breath. Fucking hell. My heart rate spiked, pounding erratically in my ears. Not here. Not now. “My ranch, my rules. No more sleeping in my fucking stable.”

The urge to hit him was strong. I needed him to back the fuck up. I couldn’t breathe with him so fucking close. My stomach rolled violently as I counted back from ten.

“Fine,” I gritted out, hoping to hell he’d back up. I needed him to back away.

He didn’t. Not for another agonizing minute. When he did, I held my ground—chin up and expression empty.

“I’ll get your shit this week. Don’t let it fuck with your regular work,” he told me as he walked out.

I managed to keep it together long enough to know he was gone before my legs gave out. Stumbling, I caught myself in a stall door and sank to the ground. Air stuck to my lungs as I desperately tried to stave off the panic.

I could do this… I could do this…

The mantra played on repeat in my head, but who the hell was I kidding? I couldn’t do this. I never had before.

The spiral downward was familiar and awful. Breathing became impossible as the panic seized my entire body. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited it out. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do anyway.