She says it like it’s a joke, but truth sits under her words, sharp enough to cut.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Animals don’t judge. They don’t expect you to be calmer, quieter, or less. They just want consistency and care. I understand why she’d prefer them.
We head to the tack area. I reach for the saddle I’d planned to use on one of the calmer geldings.
Jane eyes it and snorts. “That one’s going to rub the withers.”
I pause. “What?”
She steps closer, running her hand along the underside, her fingers quick and sure. “See? The padding’s worn thin here. He’ll get sore in ten minutes.”
My stomach tightens, not because she’s wrong, but because she’s so right so fast.
I’ve worked with horses my whole life. I know tack. I know equipment, but Jane reads it like instinct.
I switch saddles without arguing, pride and possessiveness curling low in my gut. Not the kind of possessiveness that wantsto cage her, but the kind that wants the world to recognize what I saw the second she walked on stage: that she’s fire.
And anyone who tries to dim that fire will have to go through me.
Chapter 6
Jane
I don’t know how to exist in someone else’s space without earning it.
That’s what I keep thinking as I watch Tex saddle the horses, his movements economical and sure. He doesn’t waste energy. Doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t fill silence with noise just to prove he’s there.
I fidget constantly. I fill every silence I can reach. I’ve spent my whole life taking up space as loudly as possible because the alternative of being overlooked feels worse than being too much.
But Tex doesn’t seem to mind.
He hasn’t told me to calm down. Hasn’t suggested I take a breath, or take a moment, or think before I speak. He just... lets me be.
I love it, but it’s disorienting.
“You ready?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.
“Born ready,” I say, because that’s what I always say, even when I’m not.
He nods and holds out the reins.
I take them, and our fingers brush. His hand is warm. Steady. Everything I’m not.
“I’ll be right behind you,” he says.
It shouldn't mean anything. It’s a practical statement. We’re riding out to check fences, and he’s letting me lead because I know horses better than half his ranch hands.
Right behind you.
When he says things like that, something tightens in my chest, because he’s not just giving me space to move, he’s watching my back while I do.
I swing up onto the mare, my movements fluid and controlled, and settle into the saddle like I was born there, one hand on the horn.
Horses make sense. They don’t play games. Don’t expect you to be quieter or calmer or less. They just want you to be present.
I can do that. With horses.
