Tacker (Arizona Vengeance #5)(9)

I get one last smile from Nora before she turns around and walks away.

And I wonder if she’ll report this to Dominik.

I’m thinking she will… and that he’ll think it’s funny as hell.


For the next forty minutes, I break my back cleaning out the stalls. Given the cast on my left wrist, it was a little difficult to find a rhythm to my work, but I eventually got it figured out. I’d use my right arm only to do a scoop-scrape under the pile of shit, then I’d prop the shaft of the shovel on top of the cast on my left arm, using it to lift the load to the wheelbarrow.

After the first stall was complete, the smell of shit became less noxious. I tell myself this is a good workout, and I won’t have to go to the gym later.

Just as I’m finishing the last stall, the older man I’d seen hanging out near the paddock leads one of the horses inside the barn, guiding it into one of the clean stalls strewn with fresh hay. To me, he lifts his chin and makes a grunting sound of acknowledgment.

Ignoring him, I finish my task.

When I’m done, I return the wheelbarrow and shovel to where Nora collected them from. As if she timed it perfectly, she comes strolling into the barn then. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. I hadn’t come dressed for manual labor, but the jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes worked fine. Of course, I could use a long, hot, and soapy shower right now.

With a smile, Nora starts striding the length of the barn, peering over the doors of each stall to inspect them. I have no clue whether my work will be up to her standards… because I don’t know what her standards are.

All I know is this woman is responsible for reporting back to team management on how well I’m complying, so I’ve got to play her game right now.

Oddly, even though this is not how I would have liked to spend my afternoon, I still find this preferable to Gordon Dumfries by a million miles.

“Great job,” she praises as she moves my way. “What days do you think will be good for you to start sessions with me? You need to do twice a week, right?”

“Um… yeah,” I mutter, pulling my phone out of my back pocket to check my schedule. “It’s going to vary week to week, depending on away games, but I’m not going to start traveling with the team for two weeks yet. So working around practices, it looks like I can do any days between noon and five PM.”

“Let’s make it Wednesdays and Fridays then,” she replies, and I wonder if she’ll remember that. She doesn’t bother to check any schedule. “So on Friday, just so you know what to expect, I want you to be ready to share.”

My gut tightens at the prospect. Because I’ve gotten good at being a sullen asshole over the last fifteen months, I have to battle back my urge to fight against her. So I press my lips flat, forcing myself to stay quiet.

It does no good, though. She can see by the expression on my face that I don’t like any of this.

“Tacker,” she says softly, reaching out to put a hand on my forearm in a reassuring manner. “I know you think this is going to be awful, and, yes, some of it will be… especially if you haven’t talked about your pain yet. But I promise you, there are brighter days ahead. With a little care and devotion to the counseling, to opening yourself up and purging your demons… you can find the sun again. And love and happiness. You can find worth in smiling again—”

Jesus Christ. I wince from the pain her hokey-ass words are causing me right now. Sunshine, optimism, and a Pollyanna attitude is not the way to reach me.

“Fuck,” I snarl as I shake my head in disbelief. “Do you really believe that word vomit you’re handing me? No one can be that fucking optimistic.”

“I think you’ll find I am—”

I cut her off again. “Look… I’ve got to do the fucking counseling and it seems like I’m stuck with you since Carlson just paid you a buttload of money to take me on. And I get I have to share and make some progress, but you can pack up that sunshine, lollipops, and rainbow shit right now. It’s lost on me. Never going to get there, and you’re a fool to think you can make it happen.”

Nora’s mouth sags a little in disbelief, and I can actually see I’ve hurt her feelings deep within her eyes.

I have a flash of guilt, but I push it aside.

Nora merely inclines her head, a subtle acknowledgment she has heard my complaints. Taking a step backward, she says, “I’ll see you Friday. Three PM.”

Then she pivots on her heel and walks out of the barn, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which are bordering on a mix of guilt and disgust.

“I’m going to give you a pass on that one,” I hear a voice say from the stall. It’s a heavy Latino accent, the words coarse and gruff. I’d forgotten about the old man in there with the horse.

He steps out, eyes hard from under the brim of his straw hat. “You talk to Nora like that again, and I’m going to whip your ass, muchacho.”

“Won’t be an issue if she keeps that hippie love and sunshine shit to herself,” I mutter, not cowed in the slightest by his threat.

“Be honest with yourself,” he answers, stepping fully out of the stall and latching the door closed. “That’s not really what you object to.”

“Pardon?” I ask, slightly offended he’s trying to shrink me.