Probably because Austen was texting his ex-not-quite girlfriend, Sheri Fast. Not quite girlfriend, but definitely ex, if the hostile tone of her text was any indicator. "Whoa. Shit. No. God dammit." The last came in one of those slow motion howls that got big laughs on TV, but sent the fear of broken bones through the person crying out. His impact with the parched late August earth of southwestern Montana blasted the breath from his lungs like a kid popping a blown-up paper sack. The ringing in his ears and bright shards of light dancing across his vision made him wonder if someone had set off a bomb nearby. Was that what made his horse shy? "No," his half-functioning subconscious shouted. "Snake!" He shot to his wobbly legs like a drunken pledge and looked around. No coiled rattler ready to strike. Thank God. No horse, either. "Mother f—" He mumbled the rest of the epithet. His mother had been on his case for cursing in front of Emilee and Hunter, his twin sister's kids who were staying at the Zabrinski family homestead until Mia got her life back on track—or moved home—whichever came first.
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