“I’m going to die in Alaska. We’re going to get lost, and my horse is going to eat me to survive.”
Abruptly, they came to a split in the path, and Mugs stopped without warning, pitching Zoey forward onto his neck, saddle horn digging into her stomach.
An equine ear flicked back as if in question. “Oh, now you want my opinion? Now?”
She was not concerned. She was cool, calm, collected. This was all okay. Death by being lost and eaten by the only carnivorous horse in Alaska was okay. Deep, soothing breaths. Deep, soothing—
When her phone rang, Zoey nearly lost her reins in her desperation to answer it. “Hello? Lana, thank goodness.”
“I just heard the best story about you.” Lana’s voice cut in and out among the sounds of voices and music in the background.
“Lana, listen to me. My horse went rogue.”
“What did you say? It’s hard to hear you. I think she’s on her adventure still.”
“My horse went rogue! I think he’s plotting against me. Lana, I need you to teach me how to ride.”
“That’s what the guides are for, love. Besides, those trail horses don’t care you’re up there. They just follow the line.”
“Well, mine’s having an existential crisis and just quit his job. I can’t figure out how to get him turned around.”
“It’ll stop eventually, then hop off and ask for your money back. We’re all at the Tourist Trap. Meet us here when you’re done.” Even with the terrible reception, Zoey could hear Lana cracking up. “Graham says you attacked him.”
“I didn’t! It’s complicated.” Even here, in the middle of the wilderness with nothing but Mugs around, Zoey could feel her face and neck heat up with embarrassment. “There was a misunderstanding.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” His warm, sexy chuckle in the background only made things worse. “Let me talk to her.”
“Graham wants to talk to you.”
“Lana, no. Don’t you dare pass over the—”
“Hey there, Zoey Bear. How’s my favorite ballbuster?”
Distracted by his flirty tone, Zoey failed to get her leg out of the way when Mugs drifted too close to a tree trunk. With a squeak, Zoey hung up the phone, scrambling for the reins.
Lana promptly called her back, but there was no way Zoey was going to answer. If Mugs wanted to scrape her off, Zoey had bigger concerns than a hot diner owner.
Carnivorous or not, she’d rather be lost with the horse than without him.
“This was not on the plan, Mugs. Him, you, any of this.”
Mugs ignored her and continued with the kind of resolve only a twenty-year-old barn-soured trail horse with polka dots could maintain. The trail was more peaceful without her companions, but Zoey’s stomach stayed twisted with nerves until the barn finally came into view in the distance. Mugs saw it too, his flattened ears finally perking up. With renewed enthusiasm, the Appaloosa surged into what might have been a trot at an earlier point in his life but now mostly consisted of several strides of lumbering faster, then a jerky slowing to accommodate his freaked-out passenger.
Then, instead of helpfully returning to stall sixteen, Mugs did what Mugs did best. He walked up to one of the massive rolled bales of hay, stuck his face in muzzle-deep, and he stayed there.
* * *
They didn’t give Zoey her money back. They did, however, give her a stern lecture about respect for the rules and the group and how leaving endangered not only herself but everyone on the trail.
Standing up for herself worked about as well as it ever did. There was just something about her that made people not take her seriously, which was super annoying when Zoey was not at fault here.
Her excuse—the horse made me do it—only would have worked if the riding outfit wasn’t convinced Mugs was the best horse on the planet and would never do what she was suggesting. Unsaddled and turned out to pasture by the time Zoey was done not getting reparations, the horse eyeballed her from around his mouthful of grass as she drove past.
“Well played, sir,” she muttered. “Well played.”
Once back at the resort, she met up with Lana and her cousin, who were just returning from the Tourist Trap. Both seemed to find the entire thing far funnier than she had. The closest either Montgomery got to sympathy was Killian saying he’d treat everyone to a night out on the town. Other than showering the smell of horse off her, Zoey had nothing better to do, so she agreed.
If anyone had asked, Zoey could have told them they wouldn’t be welcome at the small pool hall just off the main street running through town, the one with only the tiniest “open” sign in the window. She didn’t even know why they were there until she realized Lana had noticed the receipt Graham had written the car rental information on. But Killian and his crew were determined to do something “fun,” and in cruising the tiny town in his sleek black Lamborghini, nothing else so far had sufficed. Rick’s it would be.
Zoey didn’t know if he actually found a place to rent the thing or if Killian’s Lamborghini was shipped in for him to use, but either way, she felt more than awkward parking her rental car near his. She nearly lost a hip when Haleigh whipped into the spot next to them, squealing her Porsche SUV to a stop.
“I didn’t realize they even made Porsche SUVs,” Zoey murmured, earning an amused look from Lana as they headed toward the unmarked building, noticeable only for the number of cars out front and the sound of music playing inside.
Inside, the building was exactly what a dive pool hall should be, complete with dark wood paneling and a short bar at the far end of the room. Nearly every table was full, and the air smelled of pizza and thinly veiled hostility. Walking into Rick’s was like walking into the high school lunchroom at a new school. Everyone looked, but not one looked happy.
“Someone spilled the beans.”
The smooth, masculine rumble was familiar. The sharp edge to that smooth voice was not.
“Don’t be a grump, Graham,” Lana said breezily. “It’s a free country.”
Despite Zoey’s heels, she was still shorter than her companions and had to crane her neck to see the owner of the grumbling voice.
In a room full of strangers, Graham Barnett was a sight for sore eyes. Or just regular eyes. All eyes. All eyes enjoyed Graham Barnett, especially in dark jeans and a snug black T-shirt.
He’d pulled a ball cap down over his hair, cell phone and leather wallet tucked in his back pocket, and Zoey couldn’t keep herself from staring at the broad expanse of his muscled shoulders as Graham bent over his group’s pool table, taking—and making—a shot.