Love Her Better (Kaid Ranch Shifters Book 4) Read online

  “Okay, yay! Are the horses slow? That I’ll be riding?”

  “I’ll start you off on my favorite horse, Trinity. She’s my lazy girl, but I have a feeling you will eventually want something with a little more pep in her step. I usually graduate my students to one of my younger mares after that. I have two that will actually trot when you ask them to. Trinity? She would just turn around and look at you like you lost your mind if you kicked her to trot. You’re about as safe as you can be on a horse like Trinity.”

  Anita laughed. “Okay, it sounds like me and Trinity will be fast friends. I don’t like trotting either.”

  Cassidy giggled and looked at her scheduling calendar. “When do you want to start? I have a one-hour opening at five o’clock tomorrow if you’re serious about getting in the saddle. You could see if you like it here.”

  “Oh, my gosh, yes! After I get off work, I could just come straight there. I’m so excited.”

  “I’m excited to meet you! Just make sure you wear jeans and shoes you don’t care about too much. Lots of horse crap around here to step in.”

  “I just got a new pair of boots!”

  “Okay, we’re gonna break them in tomorrow.”

  “Eeee, I’ll see you then! Thank you so much!”

  She smiled and marked Anita down on the calendar. “You’re so welcome.”

  “You have real good manners,” the man said as she hung up the phone.

  “Me? Oh, I’m just a country girl. I wouldn’t know what fork to eat a salad with on a fancy table, but I do believe in ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am.’”

  He looked confused. Okay, she was trying to be professional, but she couldn’t help but check him out. Sam was built like a tank, his muscles stretching the cotton material of his navy shirt. Trim waist and powerful legs, boots with mud and shit on them. And that face. All scarred up, but it belonged on the cover of Cattleman Weekly.

  “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Sam. Sam Kaid. If I had friends, they would just call me Sam.”

  She thought he was joking, so she let off a laugh, but his face stayed perfectly stoic. “Kaid. Like the Kaid Brother’s Ranch?”

  “That’s my brother’s ranch. I’m just staying there for now.”

  Damn. She had a Kaid in her barn. That was like royalty around here. “If you’re a Kaid, what help could you need from me with a horse? You have the resources there.”

  “I have brothers. And their wives. They ain’t resources.”

  Huh. “Well, what can I do for you then?”

  He inhaled deep and sat up a little straighter. “I need you to teach me and my horse some manners. Or maybe teach me some manners, and then teach me to teach my horse some manners.”

  This might’ve been the weirdest conversation she’d ever had. Teach a grown man manners?

  “I got my horse outside. I just got him last week. His name’s Asshole. My brother bought him for me from an auction. Said he reminded him of me. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” The man frowned and gritted his teeth. It made his perfectly chiseled jaw clench, and she could see the beginnings of a dimple.

  She was one hundred percent sure she’d never seen a finer man than him.

  Be cool.

  She cleared her throat and stood. Sam Kaid looked her up and down. “Wranglers,” he murmured.

  Cassidy looked down at herself. Yep, she had, in fact, pulled on her favorite pair this morning in a rush. He knew his jeans.

  “You like my Wranglers?” she asked.

  He shrugged up one shoulder. “I don’t know if I like anything.”

  She shouldn’t have fished for a compliment, nor be surprised at the sting his little rejection of that compliment caused, but she ducked her gaze to the desk and busied herself with writing Anita onto the schedule. Again.

  “You already wrote that,” he pointed out as she traced Anita’s name.

  Oh, poke me in the eye with a spoon. She plastered on a smile and put down the pen. I said ‘be cool,’ not ‘be lame.’ “Let’s go see your horse, shall we?”

  “Asshole. His name’s Asshole.”

  He led the way out the door into the barn. She’d made herself an office from the extra tack room in the back of the barn.

  He walked silently beside her for a few steps before he said, “You wear a braid and a hat.”

  She couldn’t tell if he liked them or hated them and didn’t know how to respond, so she just nodded her head.

  Bang, bang!

  Jesus, the horse he had trailered was pissed. The closer they got, the more he kicked. She could barely see him through the fancy white trailer with the Kaid Brother’s Ranch logo down the side of it.

  “Okay, problem number one, he probably doesn’t trailer well.”

  “You mean get into the trailer? No. I had to chase him in with a four-wheeler, and he taught me a lesson.” Sam lifted the short sleeve of his shirt and showed her a massive bruise that was already in the green stages of healing.

  “Geez. That must’ve hurt so bad when you got it.”

  “I got it an hour ago. It still hurts.”

  An hour ago? That bruise was a week old, at least.

  “My brothers stood around the corral, trying to give me advice, and I wanted to kill them both. And their dipshit friend, Bryson.”

  “Well, I understand that. I want to kill my brother half the time, too. I suppose that’s how siblings are.”

  “But you’re good,” he uttered, frowning down at her. “You wouldn’t kill nobody. I can tell.”

  “Well, I wasn’t being serious. I fight with my brother but, no, I wouldn’t actually kill him.”

  He got a faraway look on his face as he stared at the bucking, screaming horse through the slats in the trailer. “I could kill my brothers.”

  Awesome.

  “So, you want this horse to be rideable?” she asked. “Training like this will be spendy.”

  “Does the engine in your Chevelle turn over?” Sam asked, pointing to her dad’s old project car on blocks in front of the house.

  “Uuuuh, honestly, I don’t know. I barely even notice it’s still there. It was my dad’s car he was supposed to fix up with me and my brother, but he never got around to it.”

  “Why not?”

  Cassidy forced a smile. “He passed away a long time ago.”

  “Not long enough. Your smile is sad.”

  She didn’t like this. Didn’t like him looking at her so close. Didn’t like him seeing her.

  “This horse will likely need months of work. It’ll be $150 a month to board him here. That covers the stall and food and me cleaning him out and all his care. And it’ll be another $200 a month to train him. He’s dangerous right now. It’s gonna take some time to earn his trust.”

  “What color were you and your dad gonna paint that Chevelle?” he asked.

  Flustered, she gripped one of the slats on the trailer and leaned her weight on it. Sam lurched forward and yanked her hand off the trailer just before there was a resounding boom! from the horse’s hoof right where her hand had been.

  He held her wrist for an extra two seconds, his eyes wide as he searched her face, and then he dropped her hand like a hot poker and wiped his fingers on his jeans. “Asshole has been waiting for you to do that. That’s why he got quiet.”

  He’d really wiped his jeans after touching her. She felt very not-pretty right now.

  “Well, it’s terrifying you know what he’s thinking, but also he’s so mistrustful that he wants to attack and hurt people like that.”

  “What color?”

  She sighed. “He wanted it red with white racing stripes. My brother wanted it Blue.”

  “What color did you want it?”

  A tiny smile loosed itself from her lips. “Matte black.”

  “Mmmmm,” he hummed in approval. He almost, almost, had a smile on his face. She bet he looked even better when he smiled. That dimple had peeked out just a little again.

/>   “How about I bring in his food, clean out his stall, and take care of him in the mornings, but I’ll pay for rent on the stall. And you train me how to train him. In exchange, I’ll fix up your Chevelle. I’ll make sure it ends up matte black.”

  She frowned at the old car. “The parts are expensive.”

  “I can get them for cheap.”

  “It’s still going to cost more in labor and parts than it would for me to train your horse.”

  Sam shrugged. “I like building cars.” He frowned. “Or I used to. Maybe I’ll remember more.” He straightened up. “I’m gonna put him in there, okay?” He pointed to an empty corral at the side of the barn that she rarely used.

  “That would actually work well for him.” Bang! “He’s a bit of a beast, isn’t he?” she asked, curious on what color he was. This was a tough horse right here. Probably wild as hell. Possibly abused and mistrustful of humans.

  He sauntered around the trailer to the driver’s side of a jacked-up navy blue Ford F-350. “Oh,” he said, before he climbed in. “Thank you so much.”

  The words had come out robotic, and he didn’t even look her in the eyes, only stared at the ground.

  “You’re welcome so much.”

  What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

  Chapter Three

  She had freckles. Pretty freckles.

  Her eyes were the color of good whiskey, and her hair was short and dark. It was a good brown, like the color of chocolate the candy scientists made the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups with. Her lips were full, and she kept painting on that Chapstick shit girls liked. Smelled like vanilla. Probably tasted good. Her short hair was in two little braids peeking out from under a purple and tan Wrangler hat. It matched her plum-purple tank top. There were sparkles on the boobs in the shape of some logo he didn’t give a shit about because…boobs.

  If she were a horse, she would go for the most money at auction.

  She had her arms draped over the railing of the corral Asshole was currently running around and bucking in so, to appear normal, he did the same.

  “Your fingernails are all chipped up,” he said, gesturing to the blue nail polish that was barely holding onto her nails.

  She frowned at them and then shoved her hands in her pockets. “Um, I haven’t had a chance to paint them lately. It’s been a little busy around here.”

  “Busy how?”

  She was watching the horse with a thoughtful look. “It’s the warm season, and people like taking lessons and doing trail rides when it’s pretty like this. And taking care of everything around here is probably a three-person job. My brother is supposed to be helping…but…”

  “He better be fuckin’ dead,” he ground out.

  “W-what?” she asked.

  “If he ain’t here helping you? And he’s supposed to be? He better be fuckin’ dead.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “He’s halfway dead, I guess you could say.”

  Sam jerked his attention away from the bucking, screaming horse. “He’s sick?”

  “In a way. He likes to drink.”

  “How does drinking make you sick?”

  She shrugged up a shoulder. “He’s drinking himself to death. He’s my biggest stress. He started drinkin’ in high school and it got worse when my dad passed away, and he calls me at nights when he needs a ride home from the bar, or sometimes when he just wants to talk, but he’s not so nice when he’s drinking. And now, when I see my phone light up in the middle of the night, sometimes I don’t want to answer it, because he might call me names, or talk about things I just want to forget. And that’s sad. I should always want to pick up my brother’s calls. He’s family. Anyway, I’m real tired today because I was up talking to him at two in the morning, and then I had to drive into town and pick him up because the bartender took his keys to keep him from driving home drunk. And sometimes I feel like I’m the only adult left in my family, and that gets heavy. I wish he was steady so I could’ve leaned on someone when our dad died. I don’t know why I just told you all that.”

  “What’s your brother’s name?”

  “Brody.”

  “Well Brody shouldn’t be calling you names. Alcohol don’t excuse it, and you don’t deserve that. Is he an alcoholic?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Forget I told you all that. I just blabbed on an on, and those aren’t your problems. I have a theory about your horse. I think someone hurt him. You see that little white lettering on his neck? Right under his mane?”

  Sam squinted and, yep, there it was. It looked like a white tattoo. “I see it.”

  “He was wild. From an Oregon herd, looks like. He was probably king of a herd for a long time, but got rounded up and landed in an auction. His coloring is unique. See how he’s all gray and brown, black socks and face, but his color fades to that speckled white blanket on his ass?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Varnish appaloosa. They get good attention at the wild horse auctions. And he’s big, built phenomenal, moves gracefully with power behind each step. Probably someone bought him who didn’t know what they were getting into, bought him right after he was gelded, and he was king enough to keep his attitude. And then they hurt him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “That’s what he’s been telling us this entire time he’s been in here. And in the trailer. Watch what he does every time he comes close to us.”

  And right then, Asshole circled toward them, gave them his hind end, and kicked back at them.

  “Look at his eyes.”

  They were rolling in his head, and Sam could see the whites. “He looks pissed.”

  “No. Horses are all different, like men. Some men turn violent when they are afraid, and it comes off as being a badass. Everyone’s reactions are unique to them. Horses are the same. Look how much he’s sweating. He’s stressed, and there’s nothing here to hurt him. He’s in a safe corral that’s been overgrown with grass to eat.” She gestured to the trough that was filling with water from the hose. “He has water. Nothing is trying to harm him. He’s not pissed, Sam. He’s scared.”

  That. That was what he wished he could do. “You understand animals. You can talk to them, and they can talk to you.”

  “I think I understand animals better than I understand humans.”

  He didn’t know why, but a wave of relief washed through him.

  This was a very special woman. Tough, obviously, to run a place like this and train horses, but soft in the middle. She wasn’t angry at a horse kicking at her, but listened to what he was trying to tell her.

  Bumps rippled up his arms, and he jerked back from the corral fence. Staring down at his arm, at the bumps there, he whispered, “What is happening?”

  “You got chills.”

  They lowered, and his skin went back to normal. “What does that mean? I’m sick?”

  “No, Sam. You get chills when you feel something deeply. Or have déjà vu. Or something scares you.” She gave him the ghost of a smile. “I think you felt something.”

  Sam backed away. She was a genius or a witch. She made sense, and nothing…nothing…ever made sense.

  “I’m gonna go,” he murmured, lowering his gaze so she wouldn’t see how light his eyes were probably getting. His wolf eyes scared people. He didn’t want her to be scared. “I’ll be here at five in the morning.” He turned and walked toward the truck he’d borrowed from Wes.

  “I don’t wake up until six,” she called after him.

  “I’ll be here at six then.” He yanked open the door to the truck and settled behind the wheel. Cassidy…Cas…was staring after him, her head angled, her eyes hidden by the shadow of the bill of her hat. For a couple seconds, he stared back at her through the tinted window. Had he ever felt this before? An understanding with another person? A connection? Maybe in his old life when he’d been human, but he didn’t remember much from then.

  She waved. It was just two of her fingers, chipped blue paint, and a little wiggle, but i
t made his heart pound faster. She was waving goodbye to him. Why was that such a big deal?

  Perhaps because she wasn’t running away screaming. He swallowed hard and pulled away. It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he remembered he should’ve waved back. Because manners.

  He had a feeling Cassidy—Cas—was going to teach him a lot about a lot.

  Chapter Four

  The blaring alarm Cassidy had hit snooze on two times wasn’t what woke her up. It was a different sound. Loud. So loud.

  She cracked her eyes open to darkness and sat up in bed.

  There it was again.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  Clutching the blanket to her chest, she called out, “Hello?” Oh, my God, someone was trying to break into her house! Why would she tell them hello?

  The front door opened. Shit! Had she locked it last night?

  She flew into action, kicked out of the covers she’d been ensnared in, rolled off the bed, and yanked out a gun case from underneath. Her dad’s shotgun was a comforting weight in her hands, and she loaded two shells and cracked it closed, bolted out of her room and down the hallway. It was dark, but she could still make out the silhouette of a man in her kitchen.

  Panicked, she lifted the gun and aimed.

  “You better not miss, woman. My hide is tough as leather, and I got a mean streak that will only get pissed off if I get hurt.”

  Chest heaving, she eased her finger away from the trigger. “Sam?”

  “I made breakfast burritos.”

  “What in the actual fuck are you doing in here?” she yelled, flipping on the lights.

  “I have Instagram now.”

  “W-what? What does that have to do with why you are breaking into my house at the ass-crack of dawn?”

  “I saw a meme that said you’re supposed to feed girls. They’re nicer that way.”

  For lack of words, she just stared at him all dressed in Wranglers that sat low on his trim waist, a white T-shirt poking out from under a worn black jacket. His hair was black as pitch in this light and mussed on top perfectly as if he’d used gel. His dark beard looked so damn good, and his eyes were a strange color of soft gold. Geez, she was still half-asleep. His white cowboy hat was sitting on the kitchen counter, right next to a few Tupperware containers of food.