"Just like riding a bike," he said with a wink.
The horses milled in the large pen, needing to be sorted—young ones to the training pen, breeding mares to another, the few they'd keep as ranch horses to a third.
I took a breath and let muscle memory take over. Reading horses was like reading people—look for the tells, the body language, the subtle signs that revealed temperament and potential.
"That roan," I called to Hunter, pointing with my stick. "She's got good lines, but she's favoring her right front. Might want Doc to check her."
Hunter nodded, already moving to separate her.
"The black gelding's got heart," I added, watching a young horse that kept trying to establish dominance. "He's pushy now, but that's spirit, not mean. He'd make a good ranch horse with the right training."
"See?" Clay laughed. "Still got it!"
I moved through the horses, remembering the dance of it, the way you had to be calm but authoritative, gentle but firm. It was coming back, all of it, like Dallas had been the dream and this was waking up.
Then a horse spooked—a young mare, probably her first time being brought in. She reared, striking out with her front hooves, and suddenly she was coming straight at me.
I didn't have time to think. Just reacted, stepping aside while raising the stick to create a barrier, using my voice low and steady to redirect her energy.
But Wyatt was already there, moving between me and the horse, his rope flying to catch her before she could cause real chaos. He brought her under control in seconds, his hands steady and sure.
"Thanks," I said, breathless from adrenaline.
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment, everyone else faded away. "You okay?” He was just as breathless as me, green eyes dark with worry.
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
There was something in his voice—concern that went beyond professional courtesy. And underneath my skin, I could still feel the ghost of last night, the memory of his hands, his mouth, the desperate way we'd come together.
"I'm sure," I managed.
He nodded once, then turned back to the horses, but not before I caught something in his eyes. Heat. Memory. Maybe regret.
The sorting continued, everyone falling back into the rhythm of work. I stayed to help finish, partly from pride, partly becauseleaving felt like admitting defeat. But mostly because even with this awkward tension, even with all the unresolved everything between us, this felt right. Being here, doing this work, being part of something larger than profit margins and corporate ladders.
"Not bad for a city girl," Tyler said, sidling up beside me as the last horses were sorted.
"I was working horses before you were out of middle school," I replied, not unkindly but firmly enough to establish boundaries.
Clay laughed. "She's got you there, Tyler boy."
As the crowd dispersed and the hands started working with individual horses, I found myself standing at the fence, watching. Wyatt had taken the young stallion that had been causing trouble, working him in the round pen with a patience that made my chest ache.
"He's good at that," Maggie said, appearing beside me. "Always has been. Can take the wildest horse and turn it into something special."
"Yeah," I agreed quietly. "He can."
"Shame he can't do the same with people," she added, and when I looked at her, her expression was knowing. "Some things, once they're broken, stay that way."
She walked away before I could respond, leaving me to watch Wyatt work, the afternoon sun painting everything golden. He moved the horse through its paces, building trust with every gesture, every word.
My phone buzzed again. Mark. Again.
This time I answered:Everything's fine. Just busy with work.
It was a lie wrapped in truth. Nothing was fine. I was standing here watching my first love gentle a wild horse, my body still humming from last night's mistake, my heart cracking open in ways I'd thought Dallas had sealed shut.
