“Iamfine.”
“Sure,” she said, and started plating bacon like she wasn’t watching me at all.
We served breakfast. I switched into host mode, polite and friendly enough to make people comfortable without inviting them into my actual life.
The Scots were easy, honestly. Excited. Full of questions about the mountains and the horses and whether Colorado always looked like a postcard.
Dex did most of the talking on behalf of the group. He had that smooth, calm competence that made people relax without realizing it.
Graham sat a little apart, eating like he didn’t taste anything, cap pulled low. He didn’t look at me much, but I could feel him tracking me across the room. It made my skin feel too tight.
Which was inconvenient.
Denise swept in at eight-thirty with her laptop and her bright smile, dropping a stack of papers on the counter.
“Good morning, everyone!” she chirped. “You’re all set for your riding assessment at nine. I printed extra copies of the waivers, just in case.”
She turned to me, softer. “Also, I reminded everybody last night at dinner. No filming staff without consent. They understand.”
I kept my expression neutral, but I appreciated that Denise had handled it without making it weird. She could be a lot, but she was good with guests. She liked people. She liked making things feel seamless.
“Thanks,” I said.
Denise beamed. “Of course. Oh, and the locks are all working normally now. Taylor double-checked the firmware update.”
My eyes flicked to her. “Good.”
“No more surprise visitors,” Denise added with a little laugh, already repackaging a security failure into a cocktail party anecdote.
I gave her a tight nod and started clearing plates, because if I opened my mouth, what came out wouldn’t be thanks.
At nine,I gathered the four of them outside and led them toward the arena. I fitted helmets, checked boots, and delivered the basic rules.
“If you’re inexperienced or nervous,” I said, “tell me. Nervous riders get calmer horses. Nervous riders who pretend they’re fine get a horse that will humble them publicly.”
Dex grinned. Olivia looked unfazed. Jamie suddenly looked less brave.
Graham said nothing, but his weight settled lower in his stance, hips dropping, shoulders loosening, the way people stand when they’ve spent real time around animals and know you don’t approach with tension in your body.
I noticed. Filed it. Moved on.
We walked into the arena, and I watched how each of them approached the horses. Dex had quiet confidence, kept a respectful distance. Olivia came to hers like a negotiation, assessing before committing. Jamie hung back, arms crossed, trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.
When I got to Graham, I kept it simple.
“Riding experience?”
“I’ve ridden,” he said.
“That’s not an answer.”
A flicker at the corner of his mouth, like he respected that I wasn’t letting him slide.
“Grew up around horses during holidays,” he said, quieter. “I’m not… useless.”
I should’ve rolled my eyes. Instead, my brain offered an image of him as a boy somewhere cold and green and wide, learning to sit a saddle like it was part of his DNA, and I resented the hell out of my imagination for having the time.
“Fine,” I said briskly. “You’re on Brutus.”
