He leans toward Rusty’s ear. “Look, big guy, I… don’t know what I’m doing here, but if you don’t throw me, I promise you a treat when we get back.”
Rusty flicks an ear back, and this time, he stands still long enough for Dylan to mount. He looks about as comfortable as I’d probably be on a football field on game day, but when I nudge Bramble forward and we start to move, his shoulders drop and he settles into the sway of Rusty’s walk.
We ride around the fenced paddocks; the sun is warm on my shoulders. The horses move steadily beneath us, and Madison’s constant chatter keeps me smiling, even if that worry is still clawing at the back of my mind.
“What’s through those trees?” Mad asks.
“I’ll show you,” Dylan replies, walking Rusty through the spruce trees, looking like he’s remembering how to ride and liking it. We follow him through the shade of the trees, the smell of earth, and the fresh piney scent from the spruce needles, and when we step out into the sunlight again, I draw in a breath.
“Oh! You have a lake,” Madison shouts.
“It’s beautiful,” I say at the same time.
“We used to swim here a lot as kids.” There’s that almost smile again on Dylan’s face as we move around a sandy shoreline. “But I mostly use it now for my knee exercises. Thewater helps take the weight off my body. It’s real safe. I’ll take you for a swim next weekend if you like?”
Madison whoops with delight as we skirt the edge of the lake.
I bite down on my bottom lip, forcing out the words I don’t want to speak. “Just remember we’re only here for a short time, Mad. Don’t get too settled.”
I hate how her face falls at my warning and the silence that follows, but I need her to be prepared. Even Dylan’s expression tightens at my comment, and I wonder again if he’ll sell before then.
We guide the horses into the foothills. The land turns wilder—scrubby brush and tall grass alongside clusters of trees. The breeze picks up, smelling like wild sage and cooling the sweat at the back of my neck. Bramble’s hooves crunch over loose rock as we follow a narrow trail that winds between two boulders.
Dylan reins Rusty to a stop and nods toward a rocky rise off the path. Something about the way he sits in the saddle—broad shoulders, those muscular arms and tight jeans, one hand loose on the reins, like he was made for this—makes my mouth go dry. It’s infuriating how damn hot he is.
“Up there,” he says. “There’s a cave tucked into the side of that slope. I used to run away there anytime I got in trouble.”
Madison leans forward in her saddle, eyes wide. “A cave? That’s cool.”
“I’d last an hour before my snacks ran out, then sneak back to the ranch hoping Mama wasn’t still mad.”
“Mom ran away too,” Mad says as we take a path that turns us back toward the ranch. “She was going to be a doctor, but then she found out she was pregnant with me and ran away from medical school.” She says it so matter of fact. Typical Mad.
“Easiest decision I ever made. And you’re not the reason I’m not a doctor, Mad,” I remind her gently.
The truth is, I knew long before I saw that double line on the pregnancy test that medicine wasn’t for me. Maybe I’d always known but was too chicken to do anything about it. I’d spent my life on a conveyor belt—honor roll, AP classes, extracurriculars. Schedules that left me no time to breathe. I would’ve quit eventually—Madison just gave me the push I needed. She didn’t derail my life. She gave me the chance to build a new one.
“White coats and hospitals—doesn’t feel like you,” Dylan says, and something in his voice makes me glance over.
Our eyes meet. Something warm curls in the pit of my belly. There’s no scowl, no sharp retort, no wall up between us. Just him seeing me. And for a moment too long, I let him.
I force myself to look away, but the pull is still there, thrumming like a live wire just under my skin. I’m grateful when Madison breaks the moment.“Did you always want to play football, Dylan?”
He shakes his head. “You know what? I didn’t. I was just like you at your age. Obsessed with horses and ranching. I spent every second I could out on the ranch with my dad, doing any job he’d let me.I always dreamed of taking over the ranch one day, making it my own. Dad used to take us to the rodeo, and I’d sit up in the stands, watching the horses he bred take the ring. I remember looking at my dad’s face and the pride he had and thinking it must be the best feeling in the world.”
I watch Dylan swallow, the column of his throat shifting like he’s pushing the memories down.
When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “But then he died, and football was loud and demanding and didn’t give me time to think. It became everything.”
Mad looks thoughtful, staying quiet now. The only sound is the creak of the saddles and the hooves hitting the dry ground. I stare at Dylan, something catching in my chest. The way the last rays of sunlight hit his face makes him look younger, lessguarded. And the way he’s looking out over the land, lost to his thoughts and his past, I swear in that one moment I’ve never seen anyone look more like they belong on a horse.
And when I follow his gaze to the paddocks and the horses grazing in the light of the setting sun, it’s not Madison I need to remind that there’s less than four weeks before I’m out of a job and we’re out of a place to live. It’s me.
FOURTEEN
DYLAN
Saturday night games are my favorite. Biggest crowds. Loudest cheers. Electricity buzzes through the stadium, making your skin prickle and your pulse race. They’re rare. When the season starts, games are Thursdays, Sundays, or Mondays. And maybe because they’re rare, Saturday night games always feel like they have that extra drop of magic.
