Last Chance Rebel. Maisey Yates

than he had imagined it could. Everyone knew what she’d been through, more or less. She wore the evidence of that time all those years ago on her skin. He didn’t. And sure, he had left town, had left his family, but if he didn’t want anyone to know, then they wouldn’t know.

      Rebecca didn’t have that luxury.

      Her response surprised him more than his own did. “Good.”

      “What you mean?”

      “I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t really want anyone knowing my business. At first, I didn’t talk about it because of the hush money your dad paid. But, at this point, I’m just more comfortable with people not knowing the particulars.”

      “Why is that?” He was genuinely curious. Curious as to what she got out of hiding the details. She could point at him, scream at him and have him strung up in the town square if she wanted to. And yet, she seemed to have no interest in it.

      Well, she seemed to have an interest in screaming at him, but mostly in private.

      “Maybe I don’t have a choice about whether or not people know I was in an accident. It’s pretty obvious. But I don’t need people to know everything about me. I don’t need them all up in that.”

      “Distance,” he said. “I get that.”

      “It’s hard to get privacy in this damn town.”

      “Why are you here then?” He looked up, his eyes connecting with the wall that separated them.

      “Because it’s my home. Why should I leave just because people are difficult? Or because you made things hard for me?”

      She really was stubborn. And angry. He couldn’t blame her for either. “I suppose you shouldn’t have to.”

      “I love it here,” she said, stubborn. “And I’m proud of everything I’ve accomplished. People like me... We’re not supposed to be able to end up owning businesses.”

      “People like you?”

      “Poor people.” Her answer was simple and to the point.

      “Who says that?”

      “Everyone. Though, sometimes especially other poor people. It seems like people don’t want you to get too far ahead of yourself sometimes. Don’t want you to be too ambitious. They say it’s because you’ll only be disappointed, but sometimes I think it’s just because they’re afraid of being left behind.”

      She was more comfortable with this. A discussion that wasn’t focused specifically on her.

      “But you did it anyway.”

      She laughed. “Well, I’m not exactly rich. But my business supports itself, and I have a house. I don’t know what else you really need.”

      “A fancier house? Fancy car, vacations to tropical islands.”

      “I live alone, I own a truck and can you imagine me on a tropical island? It’s not like I’m going to wander around in a bikini.” There was that bitter edge to her voice again.

      “So you’re content. That’s pretty unusual.”

      There was a long silence. “Yeah,” she said finally, “I guess I am. More content than a lot of people.”

      “But also sort of angry.”

      “I’ve earned that.”

      He finished up with the stall and walked out into the main part of the stable at the same time Rebecca did.

      “All right,” he said, “why don’t I help you get the first one saddled up?”

      She glared at him. “I don’t need help with tack, thank you.”

      “Well, since you don’t have a lot of time, what if I go ahead and get Deuce ready and we’ll go on a ride together.”

      He could tell that she had no interest in that whatsoever, but that she also couldn’t figure out a position from which to argue. She didn’t have that much time, and she wanted both of the horses ridden, so she might as well accept his help. He could see all of that in the slight contortions of her facial muscles, her dark brows snapping together, the corners of her lips tugging down in a frown. That frown pulled at the scar tissue on one side of her face and he felt an answering pull inside of himself.

      “It’s settled then,” he said, knowing that in Rebecca’s estimation it was far from settled, but that she wasn’t going to argue.

      They got the horses ready to go and he watched as she got herself into the saddle effortlessly. She had been sore yesterday, but she seemed much better today, which was a relief to him. Watching her limp, knowing that he was the cause of it... Well, it really was no more than he deserved. And in this instance, he was the cause of it in more than one way. But she was also refusing to do this a different way.

      “Where did you ride yesterday?” he asked, bringing his horse alongside hers as they headed up on the trail that went behind his house.

      “I just went up this way,” she said, gesturing ahead. “I like the view. And... I like to ride. I don’t have a horse right now so...so this is nice.”

      He could tell those words nearly choked her, so he didn’t acknowledge them. “How long have you lived up here?”

      “I bought my house about a year ago. Before that, I lived with my brother, Jonathan.”

      “What about your mom?” He wondered about her, because she had been the other person in the accident. Though, he knew she hadn’t been injured. At least, not to the degree that Rebecca had been.

      “She’s not around,” Rebecca said, the words short and clipped, and clearly not an invitation for investigation.

      “Sorry about that,” he said.

      “I’m not.” He could tell that she was. But hey, he knew all about complicated relationships with family.

      The trail wound upward, going through a grove of evergreen trees, narrowing slightly and getting rockier. He hadn’t ridden out this way before, since he’d only just moved here. He missed being outdoors. It was the only therapy he’d ever gotten, and it had been more effective than talking to some doctor ever could have been.

      When he’d first left Copper Ridge he’d had half a mind to work himself to death. And then, he’d more or less tried to ride himself to death in amateur rodeo events. Getting on the backs of bulls he had no business getting near, participating in a down and dirty, unregulated version of the sport.

      It had never been about the money. It had just been about daring fate. It was what he’d been doing ever since he’d left. But he hadn’t found an answer there, and he sure as hell hadn’t found peace. So here he was in plan B. And he wasn’t really finding this all that much better.

      Right now was okay.

      “You like to ride,” he said, not a question, because it was clear from her ease on the horse and from the mildly more serene set of her shoulders that she was enjoying herself.

      “People are terrible. They judge you based on how you look, they leave you, broken and bloody in some cases. Horses don’t. Horses are forever.”

      “Oh, come on now, Rebecca. The horse would happily leave you broken and bloody in the right circumstances.”

      “Maybe they’d leave you. Horses are excellent judges of character.”

      “Is that so?”

      “I’ve gotten a lot more scars from people than I’ve gotten from horses.”

      He let that go. Let the barb hit. He had no call to be defensive, or to protest. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the trail ahead. He moved easily with the horse’s gait as he picked up the pace to get up the side of a rocky hill that spilled them out of the trees and into a clearing.

      The