I cut the thought dead, heat rising up my neck.
“You like what you see, Brooks?” Dylan’s voice is thick with sleep, but the smirk is wide awake. He knows exactly where my gaze is fixed.
My eyes snap up to his face, cheeks on fire. I cross my arms and snort, trying to look unaffected. “Relax. I’ve seen bigger.”
“Now you’re just lying to both of us,” he says with a low chuckle, grabbing a pillow and casually dropping it to his lap as he swings his legs around into a sitting position, one hand scrubbing through his hair, the other anchoring the pillow in place. “You always wake people up with full body scans and sarcasm, or am I just special?”
“The only thing you are is late.” I turn away, needing to look anywhere but at Dylan’s body. “You’ve got five minutes. And if you’re not outside by then, I’m leaving without you.”
“Promise?” he calls after me.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply as I head down to the kitchen to take Mama up on her offer of coffee—when really, what I need right now is an ice bath after whatever the hellthatwas between us.
Unreliable.I cling to the word, hoping it’ll cool the heat still pulsing through my body.
It doesn’t help. Not when my mind’s replaying Dylan, practically naked in his bed, that damn smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Not when my body is still humming with the heat of something I have no business wanting.
Ten minutes later, Dylan and I do a good job of pretending everything is normal, like he didn’t oversleep and we didn’t just exchange words that felt a whole lot more like flirting than fighting.
We lead the foal into the trailer. The five-month-old colt has a midnight-black coat, long legs, and a personality more curious than skittish. His ears flick at every sound, nostrils flaring as he takes in the world with wide brown eyes. With parents like Logan and Willow, he’s got all the right instincts—quick on his feet, smart, responsive. A future cutting horse with real potential.
The excitement of auction day is always laced with something heavier. Saying goodbye never gets easier. These horses are family.And for one awful moment, I wonder,What if this is my last auction?The thought hits like a hoof to the ribs.
“I’m driving,” I say, stepping around to the driver’s side before Dylan can argue.
But he just tosses me the keys. “Works for me.”
I blink. “Huh.”
“What?” he asks, the teasing tone he used in his bedroom gone.
“I figured you’d be the type of man to insist on driving.”
He shrugs. “I’ve never driven with a trailer before. I want to practice around the ranch before I take it out on the road. Assuming you’re not planning any sudden braking today?”
My grip tightens on the keys, but I let the jab slide and climb in.
We drive in silence. It’s awkward. In that way that feels like we’re both one breath away from fighting some more. Awkward in a way that makes me want to saddle up and ride hard into the hills until the noise in my head quiets down. The only thing that’s ever worked.
Then Dylan pulls a thermos from the bag at his feet and places two cups in the holders, pouring coffee into both.
“Figured we could use the boost.”
I glance over, surprised. “Thanks.”
“So,” Dylan starts. “Tell me everything I need to know about this auction.”
“It’s all about knowing when to sell and who to sell to,” I explain. “Some trainers prefer foals young so they can break them in themselves and tailor their training from the start. Others want them older, with groundwork already done—haltered, saddled, and used to commands. Timing’s a big factor, too. Buyers are always thinking ahead to the next rodeo season or their breeding schedules. The bidding can get heated—especially if it’s a foal like ours with good bloodlines in events like cutting or barrel racing.”
“So we’re not buying today?” Dylan asks.
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You’ve already got your hands full, remember? Later down the line, if you decide to keep the horses, you’ll need to think about expanding—new mares for breeding or maybe a stud stallion to bring in fresh bloodlines. For now, though, we’re here to sell.”
I try not to think about the “if” in my comment and how it seems to hang between us like an unanswered question.
He nods, staring into the distance for a while before speaking again. “Madison would’ve loved today.”
I smile at the thought. “Yeah. She would.” But there’s hesitation in my voice I can’t quite swallow, and I know Dylan picks up on it.
