Winners by Allyson Young

“I’ll come by early tomorrow, Mr. Roberts. And after my field work
if you want.”
    “I want.” The older man gave her an
even look and moved to let her step from the box stall. She sketched a smile
and went out to her vehicle, tired to death. Her cell buzzed, and she fished it
from her pocket. There were several missed texts, and she vaguely recalled
hearing the signal while she was working on the horse. Crap . Both Craig and Ashton were on her case, probably worried
sick. She never worried them needlessly, and this was one of those times they’d
have to come to expect. She tried to reason with them, tried to explain how
important this career was to her, but they continued to voice their concerns
and pressure her to give up the “risky” calls. Sometimes she’d get frustrated
and remind them it was her choice. Just as she’d chosen them. That tended to shut things down pretty quick, although it upset her to upset
them. She texted back a short reply, the better to
reassure them and head out right way. At George Roberts. Emerg foaling.
    As she lifted the trunk to throw
her stuff inside, a feminine voice spoke her name. “Sinclair Renton. All grown up.”
    Lord, it was her. Melinda Roberts. Of the once upon a time one
of Craig and Ashton’s women Melinda Roberts. The one she’d seen them
… do, giving Sinclair a window into their sexual predilections. Any joy of
saving the mare and her offspring faded away as Sinclair pasted a neutral
expression on her face. Time she faced this particular demon she had no right
to fear. Craig and Ash belonged to her, and that solid fact clarified her
thoughts and warmed her heart.
    “Hi, Melinda.”
    “I hear you’re back living on the
ranch.” The older woman’s hair shone in the yard lights, and her heavily made
up face loomed too close to Sinclair’s. She could smell a heavy, exotic perfume
and wondered if eau d’ foaling compared.
    “For a few months
now.”
    “Living with
Craig and Ashton.”
    “I am.” Definitely
not going to deny it.
    Melinda tilted her head, her eyes
narrowing. She huffed, and her lips quirked in a nasty smile. Had she thought
Sinclair would deny the inference? The woman had another think coming.
    “Those boys are fine. Now I’m back,
I thought I’d stop by and see them. Catch up on old times .”
    “Better call first.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “We appreciate some notice from
visitors. You know, so we’re prepared to entertain company. We tend to enjoy
our time together.”
    “What are you doing here ?” Melinda clearly was regrouping,
and Sinclair could almost see the wheels turning in the other woman’s head.
    “I attended your father’s mare. The one foaling.”
    “Are you a vet?”
    “Not for a couple of years.”
    “My father uses Doc Webber.”
    “I guess he wasn’t available.”
Sinclair kept her tone casual, and after a sharp glance, Melinda left the
topic. What was done was done.
    The conversation died. Sinclair had
no interest in asking Melinda anything about her life, past or present, and
wanted to get gone before the woman delved deeper. And Sinclair spelled things
out in an unladylike fashion. She slammed the trunk and stepped past Melinda,
reaching for the front door handle.
    “Do you like their brand of kink?”
    So much for a
strategic retreat, not that she wasn’t up for the battle. Being with
Craig and Ash had given her confidence, not to mention a terrific boost to her
self- esteem. And she had made it through some grueling years at university.
    Sinclair supposed it was best to
have this conversation in the yard, and not at say, the local restaurant, or
the pharmacy, or even the library, although Melinda didn’t look the type to
read. And she didn’t doubt the woman would ask her the same question wherever,
because the nastiness emanating from Melinda was tangible. As she considered
her response, a big motor revved up the drive, and she recognized the sound—Ashton’s
truck needed a tune-up.
    She wasn’t