Jas rushed out the door, brushed past Chase, and headed down the aisle.
“Hey.” Chase fell into step beside her. “What were you doing in a stall with Reaves?”
“You know that creep? He’s one of your friends?” Jas demanded.
“Not even close.” He caught her arm and stopped her from walking away. “Reaves is a crook. You scared the pants off me when I saw you in there.”
Jas’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry. He scared the pants off me, too,” she admitted as her tears spilled over. For a second, they stood in the middle of the aisle, Jas silently crying, Chase standing close with his hand on her arm as horses and people filed past.
“Oh, this is so stupid,” Jas finally mumbled, wiping her cheeks with her fingers. “It’s not like I haven’t met jerks before.”
Chase dropped his hand. “I hope you don’t mean me. Though I guess the way I’ve been acting lately, I probably qualify.” He sounded so glum that Jas choked out a laugh.
Chase frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said lightly, as if she was joking. When she glanced at him, he was smiling at her. Embarrassed, she looked down at her tennis shoes.
You can’t let yourself like this guy
, she told herself.
It’s too risky
.
“So what
were
you doing in the stall with Reaves?” he asked.
“I wasn’t in the stall with
him
. I was with his horse.” Straightening, she looked back at the stall. The door was shut, as if the cowboy had left. Did he take the horse into the arena? “Oh, no, I hope he’s not being auctioned off already.” Without a second’s thought, Jas ran back to the stall. The big horse stood in the corner, his head still hidden in the shadows.
Jas hooked her fingers through the wire. Beside her, Chase tipped back his cap and squinted into the stall. “Okay, it’s a horse,” he acknowledged.
“A sick horse,” Jas corrected.
Chase looked down at her. “Lots of horses at the auction are sick.”
“But this horse can be fixed!”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Chase leaned one shoulder against the stall wall. “Most of them can be fixed, unless they’re really old or sofar gone that the only humane thing is to put them to sleep. That one in there’s no different.”
“But he
is
different!” Jas protested. “He’s probably a Warmblood or Thoroughbred, and he’s got great bone and conformation. With some TLC, he’d make somebody a hunter or dressage—”
Jerking upright, Chase smacked the wooden wall with his palm. “There you go again, talking about stuff that doesn’t mean a thing. Every horse at this auction is worth saving even if it will never win a ribbon.”
Jas propped her hands on her hips. “That’s so narrow-minded! You could save that horse in there, fix him up, resell him for big bucks, and then use the money to save ten Goldies.”
“We don’t sell the horses for profit!” he argued right back. “We adopt them out and make sure they go to homes where the people love them for what they are and not because they can jump a fence or run around a barrel.”
He jerked his thumb toward the horse in the stall. “That horse is in there because someone decided that since he couldn’t perform some award-winning feat, he wasn’t valuable anymore. He’s being sold for meat because some stuck-up horse snob like
you
owned him!”
Blue eyes flashing, Chase yanked his cap brim low, then spun around and stormed down the aisle.
Openmouthed, Jas stared after him.
You’re wrong!
she wanted to shout. Only suddenly, horribly, she realized he wasn’t. Even though every inch of her loved horses, after living at High Meadows Farm for five years, where only the perfect horses were raised and kept, she had turned into another Hugh Robicheaux.
With a groan, Jas sank back against the stall wall. Chase was right. She
was
a horse snob.
“Jas? What’s going on?” Miss Hahn came up, a concerned look on her face. “Chase just barreled
“Hey.” Chase fell into step beside her. “What were you doing in a stall with Reaves?”
“You know that creep? He’s one of your friends?” Jas demanded.
“Not even close.” He caught her arm and stopped her from walking away. “Reaves is a crook. You scared the pants off me when I saw you in there.”
Jas’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry. He scared the pants off me, too,” she admitted as her tears spilled over. For a second, they stood in the middle of the aisle, Jas silently crying, Chase standing close with his hand on her arm as horses and people filed past.
“Oh, this is so stupid,” Jas finally mumbled, wiping her cheeks with her fingers. “It’s not like I haven’t met jerks before.”
Chase dropped his hand. “I hope you don’t mean me. Though I guess the way I’ve been acting lately, I probably qualify.” He sounded so glum that Jas choked out a laugh.
Chase frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said lightly, as if she was joking. When she glanced at him, he was smiling at her. Embarrassed, she looked down at her tennis shoes.
You can’t let yourself like this guy
, she told herself.
It’s too risky
.
“So what
were
you doing in the stall with Reaves?” he asked.
“I wasn’t in the stall with
him
. I was with his horse.” Straightening, she looked back at the stall. The door was shut, as if the cowboy had left. Did he take the horse into the arena? “Oh, no, I hope he’s not being auctioned off already.” Without a second’s thought, Jas ran back to the stall. The big horse stood in the corner, his head still hidden in the shadows.
Jas hooked her fingers through the wire. Beside her, Chase tipped back his cap and squinted into the stall. “Okay, it’s a horse,” he acknowledged.
“A sick horse,” Jas corrected.
Chase looked down at her. “Lots of horses at the auction are sick.”
“But this horse can be fixed!”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Chase leaned one shoulder against the stall wall. “Most of them can be fixed, unless they’re really old or sofar gone that the only humane thing is to put them to sleep. That one in there’s no different.”
“But he
is
different!” Jas protested. “He’s probably a Warmblood or Thoroughbred, and he’s got great bone and conformation. With some TLC, he’d make somebody a hunter or dressage—”
Jerking upright, Chase smacked the wooden wall with his palm. “There you go again, talking about stuff that doesn’t mean a thing. Every horse at this auction is worth saving even if it will never win a ribbon.”
Jas propped her hands on her hips. “That’s so narrow-minded! You could save that horse in there, fix him up, resell him for big bucks, and then use the money to save ten Goldies.”
“We don’t sell the horses for profit!” he argued right back. “We adopt them out and make sure they go to homes where the people love them for what they are and not because they can jump a fence or run around a barrel.”
He jerked his thumb toward the horse in the stall. “That horse is in there because someone decided that since he couldn’t perform some award-winning feat, he wasn’t valuable anymore. He’s being sold for meat because some stuck-up horse snob like
you
owned him!”
Blue eyes flashing, Chase yanked his cap brim low, then spun around and stormed down the aisle.
Openmouthed, Jas stared after him.
You’re wrong!
she wanted to shout. Only suddenly, horribly, she realized he wasn’t. Even though every inch of her loved horses, after living at High Meadows Farm for five years, where only the perfect horses were raised and kept, she had turned into another Hugh Robicheaux.
With a groan, Jas sank back against the stall wall. Chase was right. She
was
a horse snob.
“Jas? What’s going on?” Miss Hahn came up, a concerned look on her face. “Chase just barreled
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