A year ago, I was still letting someone else tell me whatour futurelooked like. Listening while she talked about financial opportunity and legacy like those words couldn’t be twisted into weapons. She loved sayingwe. We should invest. We should expand. We should take a chance. Turns out,wemostly meantme.
I pull up near the main barn and cut the engine, sitting there longer than necessary, just recalling the pain. I had made her my everything. She discarded me like I was nothing.
I trusted her judgment. That was the first mistake. The second was believing loyalty worked the same way in everyone’s world. On a ranch, a man’s word still means something. You break it, you don’t get invited back. In racing, people smile while they knife you, then ask why you’re bleeding.
I didn’t see it coming. The way she moved my money without asking. The way she talked to other men like I wasalready a footnote. The way she came home late smelling like someone else’s cologne and told me I was being paranoid.
I believed her … until I couldn’t.
I step out of the truck and shut the door harder than I need to. The sound echoes off the barn, sharp in the still air. One of the cattle lifts its head, watching me like it’s trying to decide if I’m worth the attention. I am, I think. Just not for long.
Nicole isn’t like her. I know that already. It’s obvious in the way she moves, the way she doesn’t sell herself or soften her edges. Nicole seems like the kind of woman that doesn’t need saving. She also doesn’t needme.
I don’t want a relationship. Not now. Not ever, if I’m being honest. I don’t want to build another future on trust that can be leveraged against me. I don’t want to lie awake wondering who’s spending my money or destroying my name when my back’s turned.
I want things I can count. Land. Livestock. Contracts that don’t pretend to love you. And yet, I’ve never wanted to watch someone work the way I wanted to watch Nicole today. I want to understand how she sees things. I’d like to be close enough to feel that calm again, without touching it. These thoughts are dangerous territory.
I head toward the house, kick my boots off by the door, and pour myself a glass of water. My phone sits on the counter. Her number is already in there. I don’t touch it.
I lean back against the counter instead and stare out the window toward the land that’s never betrayed me. Red Ledger will be better tomorrow. I know that. He won’t be fixed or finished, but better. And if Nicole can do that with a horse like him without force, then she knows something I don’t.
I finish the water and set the glass down, decision settling slow and deliberate in my chest.
I’ll keep this professional. I’ll watch and pay. I won’t cross lines. Because the horse isn’t the only thing in my life that’s been burned. And I’m not looking for love … ever again.
Chapter 6
Nicole
Morning ideas always seem so fresh and new. I have what I would call an adaptable plan with my new pupil. After spending a good amount of time with Red Ledger yesterday, he’s showing promise.
The air is cooler when I step into the barn, the light still pale and undecided. Red Ledger is awake, ears flicking when he hears my boots. He doesn’t move toward me. He doesn’t pin himself to the back of the stall either. That’s progress.
I take it slow. Same routine and things I did yesterday to calm him and get acquainted. Horses like him need to know the rules won’t change just because the day has. After long strokes with his brush, he allows me to halter him.
“Ready for some exercise?”
He snorts like he knows and I open the stall door and lead him outside. Glancing toward the viewing window before I enter the round pen, I see that Harrison is here to watch. That matters more than he knows. I’m glad he has this high level of interest. Still, I need him to stay in the background only.
Red Ledger works quietly this morning. He tests once. It’s just a small hesitation when I ask him to move out. But I don’t correct it. I wait. He chooses forward on his own.
When I finally step out of the round pen, dust clinging to my boots, Harrison is already on his feet. He doesn’t comment on what he saw. He waits until we’re back in the tack room, the door closed.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Yes,” I reply, setting my gloves down.
“What’s the harm in me watching closer?” His tone is careful. Not defensive, but curious. “Where he can see me.”
I don’t answer right away. I grab a bottle of water first, drink, let my breathing settle.
“It’s not harm,” I say finally. “It’s distraction.”
He tilts his head slightly.
“Horses like him read everything,” I continue. “Energy, expectation, pressure. If you’re close enough to matter, he’ll split his attention between us.”
“And that’s bad?”
