Chapter 4 Colton

CHAPTER 4

Colton

THE GUYS GIVE me crap all the way to Frank's. It's not like I don't deserve it. My molars grit together as I remember the way she stared back at me with steely resolve before her bottom lip trembled and her shoulders sagged when she turned away.

Guilt chews at my insides. If she was sticking around for a while, maybe I'd get the opportunity to apologize or at least show her I'm not a complete jerk. But she'll be out of Nebraska before I get the chance to figure out the exact shade of brown of her eyes.

I do my best to forget about the Prairie Princess as Dad goes over the trip itinerary. I almost manage it, but there's a lingering feeling of regret I can't seem to shake.

After the staff meeting and dinner wrap up, Dad and I head back to the wagon yard to finish up work for the night. Our side of the parking lot is empty except for Dad's truck, but there are a handful of cars parked in the lot behind Darby Grand Hotel. Judging from the models and license plates, most of them are rentals. Out here, we usually get two types of visitors: those who are "just passing through" on their way to Wyoming and back and those who are here for one of the Oregon Trail Adventure Co.'s excursion packages. This early in the season, we only offer the seven-day/six-night package, but at summer's peak, we might have up to four different groups out on the trail at one time.

Dad disappears into the office and I head out into the back paddock to bring Ollie in for the night. Ollie's our old pack mule who isn't much for traveling along the trail anymore but none of us can stand the thought of parting with him. Now he spends his retirement grazing in the field behind the hotel and nipping the other animals if they get too close. He's cantankerous and grumpy, which is probably why I love him so much.

When he sees me, Ollie lets out an unhappy bray. I'm not sure he'll ever forgive me for getting us lost in Briarwood Pass when I was ten. It was my first time tagging along with Dad on an excursion, and while the rest of the party was packing up and heading to Fort Bellows, I was chasing after a cluster of monarch butterflies.

I climb up the weathered wooden fence and ease over the side. "Hey, there, Ollie," I coax, holding out a carrot I'd planned to give Chance. "I've got a nice, crunchy treat for you."

Ollie eyes up the carrot, blinks, and then gives me a nice view of his backside. It's never a good thing to be on the kicking side of a mule, so I circle around so we're face to face. "As much as I'd love to do this all night…" Digging into my shirt pocket, I pull out the only other thing that might entice Ollie to cooperate: sugar cubes.

I let him take one while I slide a halter over his head and gently guide him toward the stables. He trots along after me, occasionally stopping as if to remind me who's really in charge. Good old Ollie.

Once he's squared away, I make my way to Chance's stall, nearly bumping into Jake Harding as I round the corner.

"Whoa," I say as my boots skid over some straw.

What the hell's he doing back here? Last I heard, he'd transferred to the University of Nebraska and had landed himself a nice internship at his uncle's wealth management company in Lincoln.

"Colton Walker," he says with an air of superiority. Some things never change. "Still mucking the stalls?"

Jake Harding, still being an asshole? He's just another conceited jerk who goes through life trying to do as little work as possible. He still looks the part of a stable hand, but he's come a long way from Carhartt and Levi's. The rhinestone buttons on his shirt and the creases on his jeans are more runway than rodeo.

Jake leans against the wall like he's a male model and gives a lazy yawn while he watches me work.

Stepping around him, I unlatch the door to Chance's stall and pull the carrot out of my pocket. Maybe if I ignore Jake, he'll go away.

Or not.

He steps into the stall behind me and kicks a clump of straw with the silver-tipped toe of his polished cowboy boot. Definitely not the kind of boot you wear to muck stalls.

"I didn't know you were back in town," I say, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to release some of the building tension.

"Just for a few days. MacKenzie's birthday is tomorrow and I wanted to surprise her."

Hearing her name doesn't pinch the way it used to, and I realize it's been a while since I've given her any thought. I guess it's true what they say about time healing wounds. Not that I was particularly crushed when we broke it off.

"Wish her happy birthday for me," I say. And I mean it.

Bottom line is Jake and I have never been friends. We didn't much like each other before I started dating his sister, MacKenzie, and nothing much changed after she and I broke up. I think he enjoys trying to get a rise out of me, and damn but it's hard not to take the bait sometimes.

"Heard Andrew got thrown from his horse a few weeks ago and can't run the Pony Express route this week. Figured I'd lend my services while I'm in town and Captain Walker took me up on the offer."

Jake's never been the kind to do something purely out of the kindness of his heart. Especially not work. "What's in it for you?" I ask.

Chance nuzzles my pocket and I slip him a sugar cube. He keeps his big brown eyes on Jake as he chews, as if he trusts him even less than I do.

Jake crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a wily smirk. "Carrie Mae is working up at Fort Bellows this summer. I heard she went from sweet to sexy."

Maybe, but she didn't go from smart to stupid.

Before he left for college, Jake was known for being a smooth-talking player. For some reason, every girl thought she was going to be the one to keep Jake's attention, but after a few weeks—maybe a few months, at most—he'd move on to the next best thing. He might have moved on from Darby, but his reputation hasn't, and I can't imagine Carrie Mae falling for any of his crap now when she didn't before.

"You could just drive up to Fort Bellows to see her, you know."

Jake shakes his head like I'm a helpless cause. "Anyone can just drive up to see her. But showing up with the wagon train, dressed like a Pony Express rider with a special delivery just for her…that's how it's done."

"Right," I say, because who am I to question his methods? As slimy as they are, somehow they work for him.

Plus, he's not the one going around insulting tourists. I force away the memory of the Prairie Princess. No use in stewing over it.

"What are you planning on bringing her?" I ask.

"Does it even matter?" Jake smooths his hair down. "You're looking at the whole package and I always deliver."

The Italian beef with extra hots I scarfed down at Frank's roils in my stomach. I think I might be sick.