Fool Me Twice (13 page)

“Good girl,” I say, leaving one hand on the lead as I reach out, sliding my hand down her neck. She leans into me slightly as we continue down the concrete aisle, her horseshoes clip-clopping as we go.

The mare is one of several “loaner” horses that come in the weekend of the rodeo, to ensure we have enough fresh horses to put on a good show. About two-thirds of the rodeo competitors are ranch workers or friends of Mr. Ramsey, but several people from town come in and compete too. But it wouldn’t be enough of a show for the guests if we didn’t round out the roster ourselves.

I put the mare in an empty stall, one with a bucket of fresh water and clean shavings, and then return to the driveway, where I fetch four other horses, one by one, steadily filling up the empty west wing of the barn. Bailey drifts over as I shove the final stall door shut, the wheels screeching out in protest.

“Don’t look now, but Adam is walking toward us,” she says under her breath. I glance over, taking in the slight flush in her cheeks.

“Yeah, he’s helping with the horses but I get the feeling he doesn’t know what he’s doing. We’re kind of shorthanded this year without Tyler.”

“What happened to Tyler?”

“He broke his leg, remember? Anyway …” My voice trails off as he approaches.

“Hey, Adam,” I say brightly. “You need me to take the little guy?”

“This is one I can handle,” he says, stopping in front of us and giving the pony a friendly pat on the shoulder. “He’s a wild one, but I got it covered.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the horse raised one brow, as if to say
yeah, right
.

Adam tucks his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans, and the way he slings his hands, it tugs at his pants, revealing the edge of his hunter-green boxers. I don’t miss that Bailey’s eyes dart down to check him out, and then she leans against the wall. “Are you riding today?”

Adam glances over at her like he just noticed she’s standing there. “No, not much of a rider. Just helping out at the ticket booth.”

“So am I!” she says, her enthusiasm apparent.

“Uh, great,” he says. “Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” she says. Any guy in a thirty-foot radius is normally pulled in by her flirting. It’s as if she’s a magnet.

“Anyway,” he says, glancing down at his dirty boots. “I gotta get back to work. Catch up with you ladies later,” he says as he strolls away, those same work boots thunking on the cement walkways.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Bailey says, watching him go. “Blue jeans never looked so good.”

“You are insufferable,” I say.

“And yet you can’t help but love me, right?” She watches him until he disappears around the corner, and then turns to me. “At least he’s doing the booth with me. I’ll finally get the chance to talk to him for more than two seconds. And then, of course, he’ll be smitten by my inner brilliance.”

“Your inner brilliance,” I say.

“Yeah. I mean for some reason it’s not insta-love for him. So I’m going to be all conversational, or whatever, and prove I’m not just beauty, I’m brains too. And then he’ll realize we’re fated to make out.”

I roll my eyes as I walk away, waving to her over my shoulder as I meander down the long concrete aisle and out the back of the barn, wondering if Landon has discovered his belt buckle yet.

I’m walking back to my cabin, planning to grab a water bottle before the crowds arrive and everything on campus goes crazy, when the sound of a slamming door jars me from my stupor.

I turn in the direction of the noise, just in time to see Landon bounding down the sidewalk.

In an instant, the blood drains from my limbs. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his fists are clenched so hard his lower arms are tight, the muscles well defined. He’s on the warpath, his eyes blazing with more fury than I ever thought possible.

This can’t be over the belt buckle … can it?

“Landon.” I stop in the middle of the walkway, watching as he bounds down the sidewalk, a man on a mission. It’s like he doesn’t see me, just continues toward the stables.

“Landon!” I scurry after him, grabbing his arm and yanking. “Stop!”

He whirls, his eyes on fire. “What!”

The air leaves my lungs. I’ve never seen him angry at all, let
alone this enraged. “I just—” I swallow, looking down at my feet. But as I do so, a dash of rainbow paint and glitter catches my eye. His fists aren’t just clenched. He’s got something in his grip. I reach forward, to grab the buckle, but he yanks it away.

“I don’t have time right now.” He goes to shove his way past me, but I don’t move.

Instead, I push back with both hands. “Stop.”

He hesitates, his chest heaving, his rage coming off him in waves.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He stares past me, toward the stable, and I wish he would just meet my eyes.

“I told Brooks about my lucky buckle yesterday, and now he’s made a mockery of it. It’s
ruined
. I’m going to find him and destroy him.” He steps around me, continuing his path to the stables, and my heart climbs right into my throat.

It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. And with his deadly expression, that someone was about to be Brooks, one of the other guys who participate in the roping event.

I race back around, planting myself in front of him. “Stop!”

“Mack, I swear to God, you’ve gotta get out of my way.
Now
,” Landon says, pushing past me once again.

I grab his sleeve and yank. “I mean it.
Stop
.”

“No. Brooks—”

“It wasn’t Brooks!” I shout, my voice echoing off the nearby cabins.

His eyes finally meet mine, searching them, as my words register. His expression goes from one of cold fury to bitter disbelief. He’s actually disappointed in me. It’s there, in
his eyes, plain as day. “Tell me it wasn’t you. Promise me it wasn’t you.”

I want to deny it. I want to say someone else covered that entire buckle in rainbow paint, turned it from a cowboy roping a calf into a wizard roping a unicorn, complete with the stars and the moon, but the words die in my throat. His eyes are alight, not just with anger, but something deeper, something darker. Something I’ve never seen before.

Betrayal. I’ve destroyed something so much more meaningful than just a silly lucky charm.

I try to swallow around the boulder suddenly lodged in my throat, but it’s impossible. “It was …” I take in a jagged breath. “It was me.”

The words come out on a whisper of air, yet somehow they deflate him. He shakes his head, backing away from me.

“I didn’t know it was so important to you,” I say, suddenly filled with such overwhelming remorse, my feet feel heavy as I chase after him. “I’m sorry. It was just a joke.”

His jaw is clenched so hard I half expect his teeth to crack. The impenetrable Landon is shaken, angry, inside out and backward. But he doesn’t speak, just stands there, his chest heaving.

“Why are you so upset?” I ask, stepping closer. Relief swoops through me when he doesn’t retreat any farther. Instead, he allows me to touch his arm.

He doesn’t answer at first, and I fear I’ve lost him. But then he rakes in a deep breath, those shoulders going from stiff to drooping.

I slide my hand across his arm, looping my hands behind
him and leaning in, until I’m embracing him, my arms around his waist, leaning against his chest. He doesn’t respond immediately, but finally, he lets his arms encircle my shoulders. And we’re standing there, in the middle of the workers’ cabins, as he shudders, letting go of the rage that has just consumed him.

“It was my dad’s,” he finally whispers against my ear, too low for anyone else to hear, even if they’d been standing three feet away.

Sorrow and regret swoop through me, so intense I want to flee, go back to my cabin and burrow my head in my pillows.

His father’s
.

I am a first-class jerk.

“He won it at his last rodeo, before he left us, and I found it in some of his stuff that my mom boxed up,” he says, his breath hot on my skin. “I’ve done every event wearing it.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I say, my stomach twisting painfully. “I had no idea.”

He doesn’t tell me it’s okay. He doesn’t say he forgives me. Instead, we just stand there, me rubbing his back, listening to the jagged edges of his breathing.

“I’m sure I can get the paint off,” I say, but I’m not as sure as I try to sound. I don’t know what kind of metal it is, or whether the paint I used could eat away at the finish. I didn’t think beyond the decorating.

“It’s fine,” he says, but his voice has turned hollow, and it’s like he’s retreating.

I’ve hurt him.

Deeply.

“Landon, I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine.” He looks down at the buckle, then whirls away from me, grunting as he throws, with every ounce of strength, and the buckle sails through the air, into the rocks and tumble-weeds. “It’s stupid anyway. I shouldn’t be hanging on to anything from the loser who left us.”

And then he walks away, and I’m left standing there, completely off-kilter.

Chapter Eighteen

At any moment it’ll be death by rattlesnake bite, because I keep turning over rocks and digging around in crevices. I’m filthy, from head to toe, and my fingers are split and bloody from digging into the weeds.

It takes me nearly an hour to find the buckle.

Cars have been pulling into the grounds for the last twenty minutes, and if I don’t hurry, I’m going to miss the opening ceremonies. Mr. Ramsey will kill me. But now I’m so relieved I can’t bring myself to care. I clench the buckle in my hand, racing back to the cabin, hope and fear and a thousand things whirling through me.

I have to fix this
. I don’t know why. I should be gleeful that I hurt him so much. But that tiny triumphant voice in my head is so drowned out by regret that I can’t listen to it.

The Landon I saw, vulnerable and raw and hurt, has to go away. I’ll give anything to return him to his cocky, comedic,
debate-master self. I’m afraid to acknowledge what that even means, how my feelings for him have shifted so abruptly.

I bound into our cabin, slamming the door open and rushing into the bathroom. I grab the first tub of toiletries I find and dump it upside down. Bailey’s cosmetics tumble out onto the floor.

And then I see it.

Nail polish remover.

I grab the bottle and rush to the kitchen, yanking a few paper towels off the dispenser and plunking down on the barstool. I put a bunch of nail polish remover on the paper towel, but just before I touch it to the buckle, I pause.

What if I make it worse? What if I ruin it forever and he can’t forgive me? The remorse pumping through my veins is terrifying.

I don’t want to hurt Landon. Not like this.

Oh God, for some stupid reason I care about him. This is bad. Really, really bad.

I wipe furiously at the buckle, willing the paint to disappear, to reclaim what the buckle used to be. Nothing happens, and I cry out, tears threatening to spill over.

But then the tiniest bit smudges away, revealing the gleaming silver again. And I sniff back the tears, wiping with renewed vigor, as more of the buckle reveals itself. Ten minutes later, when the stupid unicorn and wizard are gone and it’s just the silver and gold again, I could faint with relief.

Instead I stand so fast the stool falls to the floor, and then I run from our cabin, leaving a hurricane-size mess behind.

I find Landon in Storm’s stall. He’s leaning into the horse but not speaking. I want to rush in, show him I fixed the buckle, but I find myself staring, watching the way his hand rubs lazy circles on Storm’s neck. Landon buries his face in the horse’s mane, and I watch his shoulders rise and fall.

And now I can’t remember why I hated him so much.

“Landon?” I say, unable to play voyeur on this private scene any longer.

He stiffens, knowing I’ve caught him in a moment I wasn’t supposed to see. His shoulders rise and fall a few times, and then steady, and he turns to me, his eyes dry, accusing.

“I’m sorry,” I say, holding out the gleaming buckle.

He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Is it …”

“Fixed. I think. I don’t know, I might’ve ruined the finish.”

He runs a thumb over the surface, studying the contours, the contrast of the gold and silver. “Thank you.”

“I was the one who wrecked it in the first place.”

“You didn’t know.”

I didn’t. Two summers together and I had no idea the buckle belonged to his long-absent father.

“I should’ve.”

The silence stretches on. And then, “No. You couldn’t have. I hardly talk about him. I don’t even know why I did at the restaurant the other day. It’s better to act like he never existed in the first place.”

“Why?”

“Because I shouldn’t care about the guy who left us behind, let alone his old buckle.” He chews on his lip. “Wanting Daddy back is something little kids do. I’m old enough to know better.”

I shove the door open wider at that, and step into the stall. He looks up, and his eyes are misty. “Oh, Landon,” I say, stepping forward. He finally turns away from Storm and leans into me, wrapping me up so close it’s like we’re the same person. “Everyone wants their parents in their life. No matter how old they get.”