I watch her, the way her hands stay still, the way she doesn’t soften the edges of what she’s offering.
“My rate is high,” she adds. “Higher than most people like.”
“Name it,” I say.
She does calmly, without flinching. The number is more than I expected. It feels solid and not open for negotiation. I don’t argue. Instead, I smile.
“Done.”
That gets her attention. She studies me like she’s recalibrating, like she expected resistance and didn’t get it.
“You didn’t even blink,” she says.
“I’m willing to pay for real results. I know you said you can’t promise anything. But I watched my horse watch you out on that track when he was cooling down. I’ve got a feeling you’re a solid bet,” I reply.
Her lips move into a smile.
“I’ll start tomorrow,” she says. “If you don’t change my mind.”
“I’ll be here with a check if you can give me some type of invoice,” I say.
She stands, picking up her cup, already finished with it. “Good, I can do that. Who should I invoice it to?”
“Put it in my ranch name which is Cole Ranch.”
When she walks past me, that familiar caution I’ve learned to associate with beautiful women resurfaces. One moment I think she’s just the thing my horse needs. The next, I wonder if I’m not being taken again by a woman who seems harmless. My gut twists a little and I decide to chalk it up to bad coffee.
We both head outside the office and barn. Walking together around the corner of the barn, Nicole pauses near the paddock. She stands with arms folded and watches as Red Ledger circles the fence line, still wound tight from the morning. She doesn’t speak.
The kid is leading Ledger, trying to keep the colt from snapping at him, but Nicole just watches, hands in her pockets, feet planted like she’s part of the ground. Ledger slows, then stops, turning his whole body in our direction. Ears forward,nostrils flared, coat slicked to a shine even under the weak spring sun. The kid looks at me like he expects me to say something, but I keep quiet. This is Nicole’s moment, not mine.
She doesn’t move closer to the fence and doesn’t call out. She just stands there, watching. Ledger’s ears flick again, locked on her. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Ledger drops his head and takes a step toward her, careful as if the ground has changed.
Nicole’s eyes don’t shift. She waits. The colt hesitates, then walks another step. The lead rope tugs, the kid pulling back out of habit, but Nicole lifts a hand — palm out. It’s not an aggressive gesture, just a gentle warning — and the kid stops. Ledger’s eyes flick up to her, then back to the hand, then down the line of his own body.
He licks his lips, lowers his head another inch, and stands. Just stands. “Smart horse,” Nicole says, not taking her eyes off of him.
She says to me in a lower tone, “He’s not stubborn, just feeling misguided … perhaps not understood.”
If anyone else said that, I’d call it sentimental. Coming from her, it feels more like a diagnosis. The kid looks at me. “You want him back in the stall?” I shake my head. “Yes, if you could. This is Nicole. She’s going to begin training and working with him tomorrow.”
The kid gives a little nod to Nicole and leads Ledger away, walking slower, like he understands something’s changed but can’t quite name it. Nicole keeps watching the horse until he disappears into the barn. Then she looks at me, expression unreadable, but the line of her jaw says she just made a decision.
“You want to watch the first session?” she says. “It won’t look like much. Most of it is standing around.”
“I want to see every minute,” I tell her.
She tips her chin, accepting, and pushes off the fence. “I’ll get here early. I don’t do an audience, but you can watch from the equipment room window if you want.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, and she doesn’t look back as she heads down the gravel path. She’s already in another gear, mind somewhere else. I walk the barn aisle, watching the way she moves as she goes. I know two things with absolute certainty: I want her in a way I can’t have her. And whatever she’s about to do with that horse is going to change more than just his future.
Chapter 4
Nicole
I’m in the tack room finishing when the door unexpectedly opens behind me. I turn to see Harrison holding a cardboard carrier with two cups inside. He’s being careful with it. He must not totally trust lids. He sets the coffee down on the bench.
“Morning,” Harrison says.
