Page 46 of Burned & Bound

“I have a fucking place to stay,” I snapped. “Sort of.”

“Can I ask whatsort ofmeans?”

“I live with the horses I work with.”

“So, you live in a barn.”

“A stable,” I corrected.Like that was any better to most people.

“Okay.” He paused as the waiter dropped off his food as well as another glass of water for me. When we were alone, he said, “This comes from a place of understanding because I’ve been there, West, but stability is the key to you working this program successfully. Wanting it is important but stability is everything if you want to make real progress. Without it, relapse is a lot closer than you might realize.”

Nothing about that surprised me. I wouldn’t know stability if it hit me in the fucking face. I was used to laying low, panicking with every change, and just dealing with all the crap life threw at me. Hell, life on the ranch was probably the closest thing to stable I’d had since prison. I may have been sleeping with the goddamn horses, but at least I had a routine to follow. That part felt good—or at least as close to feeling good as I could get.

“Yeah,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.

”I know some programs that are great for helping people get back on their feet if you need help.”

“I don’t need help.”I was so tired of everyone thinkingI did.

“Learning to accept help takes quite a bit of courage,” Bobby said. “It makes us stronger.”

“Are you a walking motivational poster?” I demanded. We were navigating a little too close to shit I didn’t want to talk about or deal with.

“I have a whole collection of them.” He grinned, undeterred by my attitude. “Let’s get you through your first ninety days and I’ll give you a motivational poster.”

“I don’t want one,” I replied.And where the hell would I hang one anyway?The horses wouldn’t give a fuck about some goddamn motivational poster. Neither did I. “Does that mean you’ll be my fucking sponsor?”

“Yeah, we’re going to get you through this, West,” he told me. “One day at a time.”

“One day at a time,” I repeated under my breath.One miserable fucking day at a time.

CHAPTER 32

jackson

You trust him,” Icommented, watching the way Thunder Jack wandered openly in a corral with Bailey. I sat on a fence with West as we kept an eye on the two. I’d known that Thunder Jack was big, but I hadn’t realized just how huge the horse was. He made Bailey look small as fuck.

“He ain’t going to hurt anyone,” West said around a mouthful of food. I glanced at him and noted how half his sandwich was already gone. While he still didn’t eat a lot of food, I did notice the way he readily ate whenever we did meals together.That had to be a good sign, right?

“You’re doing good with him.” That much was true. I was the first to admit that Thunder Jack was a lost cause—at least, he had been. But with West’s guidance, the horse was taking a positive turn. There was still a lot of life left in him, which I hadn’t been able to see.

“He just needed to feel like he was safe, that’s all,” he dismissed. “Animals are simpler than people think. They need to be cared for, have their needs met, and know they’re safe. Do that and you’ll see a whole new side of them.”

“That’s true,” I agreed softly. His gaze tracked how Thunder Jack moved around the corral while Bailey just wandered about doing her own thing. She couldn’t be bothered with his existence, not that he seemed to mind. “You always did have a way with horses.”

Well, not just horses. West had a way with all animals. There was just something about him that had animals flocking to him when we were kids. I couldn’t begin to count the number of neighborhood dogs that went missing only to be found hanging out with West in the fields. And when my mom started bringing home horses? They may have been her horses, but they responded better to West than anyone else.

“Horses are easy,” West said around another big bite. “It’s people that suck, and the horses know it.”

“Why the hell haven’t you gotten on any of them?” I asked. The fact that West had yet to ride any of the horses—especially Bailey—surprised me. At first, I’d thought it was a drunk-sober thing, but I wasn’t convinced. His withdrawal symptoms were waning, which meant he’d be fine on the back of any horse. Considering how he’d practically lived on the back of a horse growing up, I was curious why he hadn’t yet.

“Just haven’t figured it out yet.” He shrugged.

“Oh, come on. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“It’s not. I haven’t fucking figured it out yet.”

“You know how to ride a goddamn horse.”