10. Aiden

Chapter Ten

AIDEN

"Explain this," Tessa demanded, "because everyone looks crazy to me."

She was sitting beside Aiden on his lowered tailgate, holding a bag of trail mix in her lap and daintily selecting an occasional raisin to pop in her mouth. Her hair was longer and thicker than her brother's, tied in cute braids that poked out beneath her pom-pom hat and draped over her shoulders, and her makeup was expertly applied for a casual Saturday afternoon. She was a beautiful woman who'd already drawn a few glances sitting beside Aiden, but privately, he thought she looked like a little girl playing dress-up.

The weather was bright and crisp, filled with the kind of crystalline air that energized people with each breath. Better than a shot of B12. Fresh powder had fallen the night before, taking an eraser to the dirty sludge of Sweetwater's streets and wiping everything clean. Juncos and black-capped chickadees trilled from the bare tree branches, but townsfolk couldn't hear them over the loudest rendition of Devil Went Down to Georgia ever pumped from a two-hundred-watt speaker. Nobody was around to listen to birds, anyway; they were all gathered in the empty field behind the old Presbyterian church.

Vehicles were scattered like toy cars over the freshly plowed lot.The field was split into loosely organized chaos.Kids hopscotched over exposed power cords while crews in orange safety vests raised the scaffolding of a new open-air pavilion. Businesses were staking out spots along the perimeter for kitschy booths and food trucks. Participating events were marked with red flags, everything from children's snowmobile races to archery contests, but the skijoring practice had drawn the biggest crowd of onlookers. Most people had never heard of the sport, but mixing animals and speed was a guaranteed good time in any small town's book.

The scent of fry grease and cinnamon wafted from the diner down the road, making Aiden's stomach growl. He plunged his hand into the bag of trail mix and stuffed a fistful into his mouth.

"It's not complicated," Aiden explained with his mouth full. "See the course they carved out on that side of the field?"

"The one with the posts and the little red flags?"

He nodded. "That's the one. Skiers attach themselves to a tow rope held by a rider on horseback. That's what your brother is for; he's lightning at a full gallop. The riders pull the skier behind them as they race through the course. My job will be to make every jump and pick up those rings hanging off the posts—" He leaned close and pointed. "—without hitting any obstacles. Best time wins."

"Who the hell invented something like that?" Tessa asked, sounding both fascinated and appalled.

"Ah-ah, that's not the question," Aiden chided, ticking a mock-scolding finger at her. "The real question is—how drunk were they?"

Her laughter was an infectious, rolling sound, and Aiden was acutely aware of the way it drew attention from the men standing nearby. He looked Buck Carson dead in the eye, mean-mugging him until he glanced away in shame. The man was too old to be looking at young girls like that.

"Jesus, I think I understand why your brother never brought you into town much," he muttered.

"What?" Tessa asked, distracted by a group of girls who waved from across the field. She looked disinterestedly at the man Aiden was glaring at and laughed. "Oh, don't be silly. They're harmless, and I can take care of myself. Besides, they're all too scared of Seth to try anything."

"Scared, huh?" Aiden stroked his chin, thinking back on that day in the tack shop, and asked, "Anyone in particular?"

"No." But she glanced toward the Jensen brothers standing in the skijoring group when she said it. Riley Jensen was decked out in expensive-looking ski gear with a Go Pro strapped to his helmet, holding the reins of their black gelding while his brother, Ned, adjusted the tack. Every now and then, he glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure Tessa was watching.

Tessa dropped the bag of trail mix in Aiden's lap and jumped off the tailgate, blurting, "I heard Bethie Owens was back from college. I need to go say hi!"

Aiden chuckled as he watched her make her escape. Riley wasn't a bad kid. He took online classes at the same university Tessa attended, and he and his brother helped at the Triple M during calving season. At least he was in a suitable age bracket. So long as he treated Tessa right, Aiden wouldn't need to give him a beating.

He couldn't say the same for Tessa's brother. They'd left Seth over at the temporary stable and paddock where riders were warming up their horses, but Aiden could practically see the dark cloud over his head from here.

Seth had been cranky and short-tempered since he'd pulled up with his horse trailer. No, not quite that early. He'd smiled at first, the moment he'd climbed down from the cab of his beat-up farm truck and spotted Aiden waiting for him. It had been too long since Aiden last saw that smile, and damn, it was a killer.

The smile didn't last long once Buck Carson strolled by and snickered, "Didn't know the festival committee hired a clown."

The only thing that kept Aiden from going after him was Seth's restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Don't," Seth said roughly.

"Just a little free attitude adjustment," Aiden said, grinning ferally through his teeth. "It's practically a public service. People would thank me."

"I wouldn't."

Aiden reluctantly allowed the big mouth to keep his teeth, but it was impossible to ignore everyone. People Aiden had known all his life were suddenly keeping their distance and avoiding eye contact. Most weren't nasty about it like Buck; they seemed awkward and vaguely confused.

Still, it was disorienting for a man like Aiden, who was always the center of a crowd. People responded to his easy laughter; they sought it out and never noticed its almost manic edge. He hated being isolated.

Seth was different. He'd never worked to make people like him and wasn't afraid of being alone. He marched to the beat of his own drum, and for a while, Aiden was lucky enough to be allowed to march beside him—whatever the music.

Even Seth wasn't impervious to the whispers, though. Nobody liked being an outcast, not even someone as independent as Seth McCall.

"Having second thoughts, Princess?" Calvin Craig teased, strolling up with two cans of beer tucked under his arm. He leaned an elbow on the tailgate and passed Aiden a can, remarking casually, "You've been over here primping for so long that the other teams already finished their practice runs."

"Just saving the best for last," Aiden said with a wink, but he took the hint and started pulling on his snow gear.

Cal laughed and sipped his beer, gazing out at the competition with a wistful expression. Aiden figured he'd probably give his left nut to be out there with them. A bull rider never completely stopped thrill-seeking, even one who was happily retired like Cal. He and Aiden raised hell together back when they were kids, but a busted knee and protective lover had slowed Cal considerably over the past couple of years. He was a good man, a fellow ranch hand at the Triple M, and one of the few people to greet Seth by name and offer a handshake. But then, Cal had dropped out of high school and left town, so he'd missed the scandal and the aftermath. He hadn't been part of the seemingly unanimous decision to shun a man whose skills and knowledge had always put everyone else to shame. Even if he'd heard the rumors, and how could he not, Cal wasn't the type to let it change how he treated someone. After all, if anyone understood what it meant to be an outcast, it was Calvin Craig, the boy who ran off to join the rodeo.

"When was the last time you went skiing?" Cal asked dubiously, watching Aiden adjust the bindings on his borrowed skis and experiment with clipping into them.

"It's been a few years."

"And you think you're going to make that jump?" Cal jerked a thumb toward a slope that had been launching skiers into the stratosphere all morning. "Christ, you're an idiot."

"Right back atcha, buddy," Aiden said good-naturedly. "I'm not the one who tried to ride a bull named Coffin Maker."

Cal grinned like he'd been reminded of a particularly fond memory and saluted with his beer. Aiden saluted back and then drained his own can in a few practiced gulps. He tossed the empty can to Cal, who caught it one-handed.

"Better lay off the booze, Doyle," Mitch Ackerman cautioned, heading toward his truck with his skis hitched over one shoulder. "You'll need to keep your wits with a guy like Seth McCall pulling you."

Aiden's grin turned sharp. "Worry about yourself, Mitch, and the slack jaw doing the riding for you."

Mitch gave a dismissive snort through his nose. "Buck's been riding since he could walk."

Aiden bared his teeth and put an exaggerated, smug twist to his words, drawling, "If that's what you call riding, I feel sorry for your wife, ol' son."

Mitch's smirk faded. "I was just giving you a friendly warning."

"Yeah? Well, you can stuff it," Aiden said in his friendliest tone. "You wish you were half the cowboy Seth McCall is. He can ride circles around any man here."

He tried to step up to Mitch, but he'd forgotten that he was clipped into his skis. The only thing that saved him from falling on his ass was Cal's quick reflexes.

"Whatever you say." Mitch belted out a condescending laugh. "Just don't end up like his animals."

"What an asshole," Cal said, amused, watching as the other cowboy sauntered away. "You think he realizes he's not fooling anyone? We all shared the same locker room in gym class, so everyone already knows about his pea-sized balls."

Aiden gave an obliging laugh, but he couldn't shake off the rush of anger so easily. His skin itched with the overwhelming desire to stroll through the crowd bashing heads until the skeptical chatter died off and folks remembered how to mind their own business. Jealousy was a large part of the town's overreaction; it had to be. Seth had been out-working and out-cowboying grown men since before he'd hit puberty. It stung a man's pride to be schooled in his own industry by a kid whose voice was still cracking. But Aiden didn't have any pride, and Seth had been the cool, self-assured older boy when they met, so cowboying with him had been a dream come true. He didn't deserve to be treated this way. It was just…such a damn tragedy.

Cal looked at him kindly and said, "Don't let it get to you. Guys like Mitch think this town was made just for them, but it wasn't. The people who matter know that."

Aiden nodded grimly and tightened his gloves, but awareness was starting to prickle along the back of his neck. He glanced up and was instantly snared by Seth's watchful gaze. It wasn't a choice to go to him; he was drawn by a gravity stronger than he would ever be.

"You ready?" Aiden asked, clomping through the snow with his skis tucked under one arm and a fresh can of lager in each hand.

"It's not too late to change your mind," Seth said, standing beside a sorrel quarter horse and giving the tack one last check. He tugged at the cinch strap on the spare saddle he was using while his father's gear was in the shop.

"Sure, it is," Aiden said, patting the mare's glossy neck. "I want to see what this beauty can do. What's her name?"

"Diamond."

"What happened to Esta?"

"She was old. She died." Seth looked out into the distance and squinted in a way Aiden instantly recognized as a man struggling to keep his eyes from misting.

"Damn." Aiden gave Seth's shoulder a squeeze and mostly managed to ignore the sudden shock of hard muscle beneath his palm. "I'm sorry, Seth. I know you loved her just as much as I love Bandit."

Seth smiled at that, and Aiden knew he was thinking of the same thing he was. Lazy summer trail rides and fishing in Copper Creek while Esta and Bandit grazed on nearby clumps of wild rye.

"How's he doing?" Seth asked, lips curling fondly. "I always knew he'd make a great cow horse."

"He's at my mom's place, mostly," Aiden said evasively, setting down his skis and adjusting his snow goggles over his eyes.

"Mostly?" Seth's gaze was laser sharp on Aiden's face, cataloging every twitch of his expression. "Why isn't he working at the Triple M with you?"

"Oh, you know…" Aiden said vaguely, helping himself to the coiled tow rope Seth had attached to his saddle with a tie strap. He clipped one end of the rope into his harness and gave it an experimental tug. "Let's do this. Don't take it easy on me, okay?"

"Aiden—"

"It's fine!" Aiden clipped into his ski bindings with a vicious stomp, taking advantage of every distraction to avoid meeting Seth's eyes. "You want to stand here jawing all day, or do you want to race? Just keep your eye on the prize."

Seth gave him a narrow-eyed look and tugged suddenly on the tow rope, sending Aiden reeling into him. When he spoke, it was a low, warning breath in Aiden's ear. "Don't worry about me. You just focus on not breaking your neck."

"Bet," Aiden said with a breathless laugh.