because she had the nicest rack he’d seen in a while, and he really liked looking at her ass when she walked. He was that basic.
“Yes,” she said, a wealth of subtext beneath the agreement.
Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe she just wanted to see the horses. Maybe he was a pervert.
“You said you barrel race,” he said, heading toward the front door, hoping some of the fresh air would dispel some of the tension between them. “You doing much of it now?”
“No,” she said, walking onto the porch just ahead of him, taking the steps two at a time down to the driveway. And yeah, he watched her ass.
“Why not?”
“My horse is at my dad’s house.”
“And you aren’t.”
She looked over her shoulder, her blond curls bouncing. She was eternally bouncy, even when she was annoyed. “Right. Because, massive falling-out.”
“So you said. So what happened? He cancel your credit card?”
“Do you honestly think that’s the only thing I could possibly worry about? My fingernails, a credit card. Some rich bitch must’ve screwed you over good.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “Why would you say that?”
“Come on. You didn’t just wake up one morning deciding that girls like me are ridiculous. Someone taught you. I’m rich, but I’m not stupid. You’re right, my life has been pretty easy. And a lot of people are nice to me because of where I come from. A lot of it’s fake, and I’m aware of that. But being wealthy doesn’t automatically mean people are nice to you. A lot of people resent you for it. You think you’re the first person to hate me on sight? I already told you, you aren’t that original.”
He wasn’t in the mood to talk about Denise. But then, he never was. Still, the path of least resistance in this case was to tell just enough of the story to satisfy her curiosity. “My ex-wife.”
That stopped her in her tracks. “You were married?”
“Yeah. For a couple of years.” Three years. Closer to four. He remembered every single one, because it was easy to mark them with Callie’s age.
He gritted his teeth.
“To a rich girl. Who had daddy and credit card issues, I take it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Predictable.”
“You keep saying I am.”
“It has nothing to do with a slashed credit card,” she said. “I don’t... My father isn’t who I thought he was.”
“I know how that goes.”
“Your ex-wife?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded, bringing himself into step with her. “The very same.”
“You know what it’s like. And you know that sometimes you have to leave.”
Except he wouldn’t have left. “That’s true,” he said, even though in his case it absolutely wasn’t.
“It was pretty bad,” she said, kicking a rock.
“Are you going to hint around about it, or are you going to tell me?”
“Why would I tell you?”
He treated her to his best smile, the kind that got him laid more often than not. “Because I’m the bartender. Everyone tells me their secrets.”
“When they’re drunk. I’m not drunk. Unless you spiked my coffee.”
“I don’t give out free alcohol. Plus, I don’t let my employees drink on the job. You are technically on the job.” Which he said more as a reminder to himself. Because he also didn’t allow himself to check out his employees’ asses.
“I don’t think I can tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she said, “you hate me. Why should I trust you with my secrets?”
“I don’t hate you.”
He didn’t like her. Not beyond the look of her anyway. But he’d hired her, and he was taking her to see his horses. So, obviously he didn’t hate her.
“Well,” she said, “you are not Team Sierra.”
“In fairness, if I’m team anything, I’m probably just Team Tits and Beer.”
“They appreciate your support, I’m sure. Not enough love happening for boobs and brew.”
“I have all the love in the world.”
She upped her pace, walking a few steps ahead of him. “My dad had an affair.”
“That sucks.” It did. He could barely have a conversation with his dad these days, mostly because he didn’t know how to talk to him. Didn’t know how to pick the undesirable words out of his vocabulary anymore, didn’t know what topics to bring up. His dad had no idea what Ace served at his bar, but in fairness, Ace had no idea what his father’s latest sermon was about.
Or any of his sermons for the past seventeen years.
“Yeah. It sucks,” she said. She stopped, turning to face him. “It really sucks.”
“Were you close to him?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to be close to my dad. Which I guess is kind of a red flag when you think about it. But...” She paused, angling toward the mountains. She closed her eyes for a second, the breeze catching hold of her hair and tangling it around her face. “He was my hero.”
She opened her eyes, turning back to Ace. “I don’t suppose he can be that anymore. And I don’t know how to talk to him when he’s something else. He was Superman. To me. He couldn’t do anything wrong. I remember hugging his leg because it was the only thing I could reach. And even though I grew, he stayed this giant. Really, he’s just a man. And I... I don’t really know how to deal with that.”
He tried to imagine that there was a bar top between them, and a little more alcohol on her end. And then he tried to figure out what he would say in that situation. Well, he probably wouldn’t say much of anything. He would just nod and pour another drink. But that wasn’t an option here.
Apparently, he counted on alcohol being a crutch even when he wasn’t the one drinking it.
“People surprise you,” he said finally. “In terrible ways.” He’d said as much to her the night he’d driven her home. That people were liars and couldn’t be trusted. A grim life motto, maybe, but it kept him grounded.
“Thanks, Ace. I feel like I should really get that put on a T-shirt.”
