Chapter 12
Nicole
The restaurant is lively with conversation and the clink of glasses, the kind of place that knows how to host a celebration. It’s upscale with linen tablecloths and candlelight. A long table filled with people who understand exactly how rare a second-place finish can be for a horse no one expected to place at all.
Jupiter Rising earned this. But so did the owner, jockey and me. I remind myself of that as I take my seat.
Harrison sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him through the thin space between our chairs. He looks different tonight. Not unrecognizable — just refined. I like the clean lines of his dark jacket. He has no tie, just an open collar. The kind of man who doesn’t need a suit to look dressed well.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice. I’ve always liked him in boots and denim. That version of Harrison fits the land he works and the animals he manages. But this version — the one who belongs just as easily at a white-tablecloth dinner — adds a layer I hadn’t fully accounted for.
I force my attention back to the table as Margaret Hale lifts her glass, her smile proud and bright. She speaks warmly about Jupiter Rising, about her late husband’s love for the sport, about how thrilled she is to see her instincts validated. She kindly recognizes me and the jockey, Rafael.
When she finishes, the table erupts in applause. I smile, genuine and full. This part matters to me. Seeing a horse I’ve trained do so well and watching our belief pay off.
And yet, I’m acutely aware of Harrison beside me, especially the way his knee shifts slightly closer beneath the table. I also notice the low sound he makes when he laughs at something someone across from us says.
I sip my wine, telling myself to stay present and professional. But that’s getting harder. I feel a pull toward him, but I have to pull the reins on my feelings.
As dinner progresses, conversation breaks into smaller pockets. Harrison turns toward me, his voice dropping just enough to feel private.
“You handled today so well,” he says. “Didn’t let it turn into a show.”
“I didn’t need to,” I reply. “The horse did the talking.”
He studies me for a moment. “You always this composed after a race?”
“Ask me again after dessert,” I say lightly.
His smile and gaze at me lingers. He looks content here beside me and my body notices. We fall into an easy rhythm after that of horse racing comments and shared observations. Occasionally, his arm brushes against mine when he reaches for his glass. It’s subtle and I wonder if it’s deliberate. Is it flirtation or tight quarters? At some point, the conversation drifts toward Red Ledger.
“I never meant to end up with him,” Harrison says, staring into his drink. “The horse, I mean.”
I glance at him. “You don’t sound unhappy about it.”
“I wasn’t happy at first.” He exhales slowly. “He came with … complications.”
I wait. I’ve learned that silence invites honesty far better than more questions.
“My ex-fiancé was the one who pushed the deal through,” he continues. “Convinced me it was smart and strategic. Turned out it was anything but.”
I keep my voice gentle. “That’s how you ended up saddled with Red Ledger.”
He snorts quietly. “That’s one way to put it.”
“And the other?”
He hesitates just a fraction, but enough that I feel it.
“She took me for a lot of money,” he says. “And when I finally caught on, I found out she’d also been seeing another rancher behind my back.”
Instantly, I feel the heaviness in his admission to me.
“Did you love her?” I ask.
“I did,” he says. “Immensely.”
Something tightens inside me. It’s not jealousy. It’s respect — the kind that comes from knowing a man is capable of depth, even if he guards it now.
