I parked near the barn, killed the engine, and sat for a moment in the quiet.Part of me expected him to come out, watch me unload, ask how it went, and stand close enough that I'd know he meant what he said before I left.
But the yard stayed empty.
I climbed out, stretched the stiffness from my back, and headed for the trailer.Rio shifted inside, pawing lightly at the floor, ready to be done with the road.I lowered the ramp, clipped the lead, and backed him out slowly.
"Come on, big guy," I murmured."Let's get you settled."
He followed without fuss, his head low and relaxed.He was a good horse.Not Calla, but we'd built enough trust over the past several weeks that he was familiar and capable.
I led him toward the barn, my boots crunching on gravel, and pushed the door open with my shoulder.
And stopped.
Because standing in the third stall, tail swishing lazily, head turned toward me like she'd been waiting?—
Was my horse.
My breath left me all at once."Calla?"
She nickered, soft and familiar, and my knees nearly buckled.
I didn't think, just dropped Rio's lead and crossed the aisle in three long strides, my hands reaching for her before my brain caught up.She leaned into my touch, warm and solid and real, and I pressed my forehead against her neck, breathing her in.
"How—" My voice cracked.I pulled back, my fingers tangling in her mane, my heart hammering."What?—"
"You're back."
I spun.
Dawson stood in the doorway, backlit by the late sun, his shoulders relaxed but his gaze locked on me like he'd been tracking my reaction from the start.
"What did you do?"I managed.
He stepped inside, closing the distance slowly.
"I followed up on the contract holding her," he said."Called the outfit.Asked questions.Turned out they were more willing to negotiate than litigate once someone applied pressure in the right places."
I stared at him, my pulse still racing."You got her back."
"You got her back," he corrected."I just found the opening."
My throat tightened."Dawson?—"
"There's more."
That stopped me cold.
He didn't look apologetic.Didn't look uncertain.Just steady in that way that meant he'd already made the decision and wasn't second-guessing it.
"What kind of more?"I asked carefully.
"I traded the bay mare."
The words landed quiet and final.For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Mesa.The three-year-old he'd been working since winter.The one with the clean movement and the solid temperament and the future he'd been building toward.The one I'd watched him gentle in the round pen weeks ago, patient and precise and completely in control.
"You traded Mesa," I repeated, needing him to confirm it.
