“Daniel—”
“It’s not about yesterday.” A lie. It’s entirely about yesterday, but not the way she thinks. “You’re coordinating operations for a working ranch. You should know how to sit a horse.”
Her expression flickers. Fear, quickly masked. “I told you. I don’t ride.”
“I know.” I move toward her slowly, the way I’d approach a spooked animal. “That’s why I’m going to teach you.”
“I don’t?—”
“Delaney.” I stop three feet away. Close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. Close enough to smell her—something clean and warm that makes me want to bury my face in her neck. “Please.”
The word costs me. I don’t say please. I give orders, make decisions, handle things. But right now, with her looking at me like I’m a threat she’s calculating how to neutralize, I’ll beg if I have to.
Her eyes widen slightly. “Fine. One lesson. But if that horse tries to kill me, I’m blaming you.”
“Fair enough.”
I lead her to the horse’s stall. The gelding watches her approach with his good eye, ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring as he catches her scent.
“Delaney, meet Captain Winky. Captain Winky, this is Delaney. She’s going to be spending a lot of time around here, so be nice.”
Her mouth twitches. “Captain Winky? Let me guess. Tom’s idea.”
I shrug. “You know what he’s like when it comes to naming animals.”
“A goat called Cheese Puff, a rooster called Major Pecker, and now a horse named Captain Winky.” Delaney huffs a laugh and shakes her head. “Why’s he only got one eye?”
“Accident before I got him. Barbed wire.” I run a hand down Captain Winky’s neck, and he leans into the touch. “Took him two years to trust anyone enough to let them in his blind spot. Now he’s the steadiest horse on the ranch.”
She studies the gelding with her signature sharp gaze. “He’s big.”
“Fifteen hands. Not that big.” I grab a lead rope and clip it to Captain Winky’s halter. “Come on. We’ll start in the round pen.”
The walk to the arena is silent. Delaney’s tension is a physical thing—the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her hands keep curling into fists. She’s terrified. She’s furious about being terrified, and even more furious that I’m witnessing it.
I get that. I do.
In the round pen, I ground-tie Captain Winky and turn to face her. “First thing. Horses read emotion. If you’re scared, he knows. If you’re angry, he knows. The trick isn’t hiding it—it’s acknowledging it and choosing to trust anyway."
“That sounds like therapy, not riding lessons.”
“Maybe it’s both.”
Her jaw tightens. But she doesn’t leave.
I show her how to approach from Captain Winky’s good side, how to let him smell her hand before touching his neck. She’s stiff at first, flinching when he shifts his weight, but she doesn’t back away.
“Good,” I murmur. “Now, I’m going to help you mount. Left foot in the stirrup, grab the horn, swing your right leg over. I’ll spot you.”
“Spot me?”
“In case you lose your balance.”
She shoots me a look that says she knows exactly what I’m doing. But she moves to Captain Winky’s side, takes a breath, and puts her foot in the stirrup.
Her first attempt is awkward—she doesn’t push off hard enough and ends up hopping on one foot while Captain Winky stands patiently. I step in close, hands settling on her waist. The heat of her burns through the flannel.
“Again. Push off with your right foot, use your arms.”
