wouldn't do as he said. "I told you to hold the rope!"
Trent reached out, grabbing my wrist with his good hand and yanking it from where I'd tucked it behind my other arm. His grip was tight, and I yelped, gasping when a tingling surge of ley-line energy darted between us.
"Hey!" I shouted, jerking away, and his fingers let go.
"I wanted to know how much you could hold," he said smugly. "My dad says you're dangerous, but I've seen cats that can hold more than you."
"You little turd! You did that on purpose!" Then my eyes widened. "Holy cow! You are a witch!"
"No I'm not," he said quickly, as if he'd made a mistake. "I'm better than a crappy little witch like you."
My mouth dropped open, and I got mad. "What do you mean, crappy little witch! You think you're so hot? If you're not a witch, then you're nothing but a stinking little human!"
He glanced at me, almost in relief. "I'm still better than you," he said, his cheeks flushed. "Faster."
"I'm sick, you moron!"
"I bet you can't even hear that bell ringing from camp," he added. My anger hesitated and I listened, wondering if he was just making it up.
"I bet you can't smell the bread baking either," Trent said, trusting his horse to stand there beside me as he went to get a bridle. "You are so blind that I bet I could sneak right into your cabin and take the ring off your finger and you'd never know."
"I don't wear a ring, Einstein," I said snottily. "And I bet I could take the pick right out of your pocket and you'd never feel it. And I bet I can hold more ever-after than you!" My pulse had gotten fast, and I felt out of breath. "And I'm not holding your stinking horse!" I added, going dizzy. "I wouldn't ride that nag of yours if he was the last animal on earth!"
My vision wavered, and I quit talking, content to just stand there with my knees unlocked and careful to just breathe for a moment. Crap, I did not want to pass out in front of Trent.
"Yeah?" Trent said, his back to me as he brushed his horse out and put a bareback pad on him. "Well, he wouldn't let you. He doesn't like witches."
"I bet he would," I muttered, feeling my heart start to slow. "He let me in his box, okay. He's not so tough, and neither are you. You're a wimp," I said, wanting to hurt him. "Why do you let Stanley beat up on you like that? All you have to do is stand up to him once and he wouldn't hurt you every year."
Trent flushed bright red, which made his hair stand out even more. Eyes fixed on his horse, he ignored me, and I knew I'd hit a sore spot. Served him right, spoiled brat. As I watched, arrogant, my hip cocked, he fumbled with the bit, needing to hold it with his other hand because of the cast. It was awkward, and the horse didn't like it, tossing his head and shifting.
Trent still hadn't said anything, and feeling bad now for the Stanley comment, I edged closer. There was no way he was going to get that bit in. "I'll get it," I offered softly, and his jaw clenched.
"I don't need your help," he said, then swore when his horse backed up, tossing his head and threatening to bolt. The bit dropped, and Trent scrambled to keep his horse from running back to his stall.
I swooped forward to pick up the bit before his horse stepped on it. "What is your problem?" I crabbed. "I know you can set a bit. Let me do it this time. Unless you want Sta-a-a-an-le-e-e-ey to help you?" I drawled his name, making it girly.
Trent had his hand on his horse's neck, and the animal calmed, standing with a pleasant posture and ears nicely pricked - looking at me and the bit. "You think you can do it?" he said caustically. "Go ahead and try. Don't come crying to me if he bites your fingers off."
I eyed Trent, half expecting him to pinch his own horse to prove I couldn't do it. I'd bridled my horse every time I went riding. This was my third year here, and though I wasn't an expert, a good horse would take a bit with no problem.
Cooing and talking to the horse to distract it, I wrangled the bit