A Change of Pace by JM Cartwright

cardboard.
    Ridge ducked his head and made a face. “Yeah. We were.” He could feel his cheeks burning.
    “I can just picture it. You had to stand out like a sore thumb.” Drew set the saddle on a rack, then came to stand close to Ridge. “Pretty thing like you. Bound to get hit on the minute you walk in the place.” He used two fingers to lift Ridge’s chin. “Bet you didn’t know whether to shit or wind your watch.”
    “Um.” He stared into Drew’s turquoise eyes. “It was kind of fun for a while, but--”
    “But?”
    “But, I just didn’t find anybody there that I... uh, that interested me.”
    “How about now?” The fingers left his chin and slid around to cup the back of his head. “Anybody interest you?”
    “Uh-huh.” He whispered it just before their lips met. They pressed together, then back, tongues tangling for a brief moment. “Somebody for sure does.”
    Smirking briefly, Drew kissed him again, hands dropping down to grip his ass, pulling him in tight.
    “Ah-hem.” A throat was cleared nearby.
    Drew tensed, cursing under his breath. He pushed Ridge back a couple of paces.
    Ridge blinked in confusion. He looked over to see a man dressed in riding gear standing in the doorway, grinning at them.
    “George.” Drew’s tone was short. He took another step away from Ridge. “I thought you were in the arena.” His tone was accusing.
    Guh. Ridge shuffled his feet, a little put off and not quite sure what to do. The current of Drew’s anger was flowing over him.
    “I was.” George’s voice was smooth, with the faintest of accents. “Well, well. So who’s your friend?” He moved into the tack room, his smile kind.
    “My friend was just leaving.” Voice sharp, Drew stared at Ridge, his intent obvious, an imperious eyebrow raised meaningfully.
    Ridge darted a quick look under his brows at the stranger, then at Drew. What the hell? His stomach clenched at the hard, closed look of Drew’s face. Okay, then. Turning away, he walked around the newcomer, shoulders hunched. Shoving his hands in his front pockets, he trudged slowly back to his truck.
    Asshole.
    ***
    “That was unkind, my friend.” George’s voice was soft.
    “Stay out of it, George.” Drew eyed the other man, pissed at himself. He knew better than to be caught unaware. Especially in an area where he didn’t know anybody. Except George. “Just stick to training my horse. That’s all I need from you.” He and George had an unwritten understanding, gained after they’d knocked heads a few times back in the beginning. George knew damned well that Drew liked to keep his private life just that -- private.
    George watched him closely. “I’ve never known you to bring anyone you’re involved with to the barn.” The trainer pondered for a moment, and Drew gritted his teeth as he watched George thinking. He could almost hear the wheels turning.
    “Ahhhh,” Even after twenty years in the States, George could still sound very European. “This one is important, yes?”
    Drew turned sharply away. “Just stay out of my business,” he repeated.

Chapter 7
    When you feel dog-tired at night, it might be because you growled all day long.
    Ridge Huntington
    “There. That ought to do it.” With a satisfied sigh, Ridge put down the sander he’d just shut off. His dusty fingers flipped up the safety goggles he wore, then pulled down his particulate mask. A reluctant smile formed on his lips as he smoothed a hand over the wood slab he had been working, appreciating the complex edging. Finally. He’d gotten the curved edge of the desktop just the way he wanted it.
    There was certainly plenty of work to keep him busy, if his mind would just stay focused on the job. But damned if it didn’t circle back to a certain son of a bitch named Drew Cunningham. Grunting in disgust at his tendency to obsess, he stretched and twisted his back, trying to release the tension in the muscles. He still had a repair to do in the inn’s kitchen as