“Okay,” he finally says. “But if you’re tired?—”
“I’m not,” I cut in.
He studies me a moment longer, then nods. “Eat first.”
“I can eat on horseback.”
“Jane.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but his tone shifts. “Eat. Then we go. Deal?”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because it’s not a command, it’s an offer. He’s giving me the option to accept or push back.
“Deal.” A tightness inside me unclenches because, for once, someone isn’t managing me. They’re asking.
He makes breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. We eat quietly, and it’s strange how easy it is now. Like last night broke something open, and the mess of me throwing up in the snow stripped away the performance.
When we’re done, Tex pulls on his coat and grabs his gloves. I follow suit, tugging my hat down over my braid.
Outside, the cold slaps me awake, but the winter sun is brighter today, pale and clean.
Tex leads me toward the barn, and my stomach clenches with the memory of humiliation. I expect the ranch hands to be there, smirking, looking at me like the girl who couldn’t handle whiskey and a cigar.
But the morning is calm. Men are working, but no one looks twice at me. No one laughs.
Maybe Tex said something. Or maybe Havenridge isn’t the kind of place that keeps score like that. Either way, the relief makes my shoulders drop.
We saddle up two horses. Tex chooses a steady gelding for himself and, without asking, hands me the reins of a mare that looks like pure attitude.
She’s tall and strong, her ears pinned as if she’d bite someone just for breathing wrong.
I grin despite myself. “Oh, youdotrust me.”
Tex’s gaze flicks to the mare. “She likes you.”
“Because she’s smart.”
“Because she’s stubborn,” he corrects.
“Same thing,” I reply, swinging up one-handed.
The mare shifts beneath me, testing me. I settle into my seat, calm and sure. She exhales as if she’s satisfied and walks forward without being asked.
Tex watches, and I can feel his attention like heat on my skin.
“What?” I demand.
He blinks as if he forgot he was staring. “Nothin’.”
“Liar.”
His mouth twitches. “You’re... competent.”
I snort. “Wow. High praise.”
“I meant it,” he says gruffly. “You belong up here.”
My chest does that stupid ache again. I’ve belonged in male spaces my whole life, proved myself in barns, corrals, and kitchens full of calloused hands and laughter. But belonging because I earned it isn’t the same as belonging because someone wants me there. Tex isn’t grading my performance. He’s just... watching me be.
We ride out across the south pasture. Snow crunches beneath the horses’ hooves. The world opens wide, white, and endless, and for a moment, I can breathe without my brain over-analyzing everything.
