"I don't want plenty." Waverly didn't move from the fence. "I want the best."
"Flattery won’t work on me."
"Good. I don't use it."
Juniper shifted beneath me again, her ears flicking toward Waverly like she was trying to figure out whether this stranger was a threat or just another distraction. I steadied the mare with my legs and turned her back toward the center of the arena.
"This conversation's over," I said.
"She's favoring her right hind."
I pulled Juniper to a stop.
Waverly was still standing at the rail, arms crossed now, her eyes on the horse.
"What?"
"Your mare. She's compensating for something in the right hind. She’s not lame, not yet. But she's carrying more weight on the left to balance it out." Waverly tilted her head slightly, studying Juniper's stance. "Probably tight through the hip. Have you been working her hard this week?"
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I looked down at Juniper and ran my eyes over her frame. Then I dismounted and moved to her right side, running my hand down her flank and over the curve of her hip. There was tension there. It wasn’t obvious and not something most people would catch just by watching. But it was there.
I straightened and looked back at Waverly.
She met my gaze without blinking.
“You just got here,” I said.
“Maybe.” She nodded toward the mare. “But I’ve been here long enough."
"Long enough for what?"
"For me to see she’s protecting that right side. You keep pushing her through turns and she’ll start compensating."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
"You're observant," I said finally.
"I'm a barrel racer. Observation's part of the job."
"And you think that gives you leverage?"
"I think it means I know what I'm talking about." Waverly dropped her arms and stepped closer to the rail. "I lost my last horse to a tendon injury. Vet said she'd heal, but not enough to run the kind of times I need to stay competitive. So I'm looking for a new partner, and I'm not interested in settling for second-best just because my last name makes people uncomfortable."
"Your last name doesn't make me uncomfortable," I said. "It makes you a liability."
"To who?"
"To my reputation. To this ranch. To the people who trust me to keep Hollister horses in Hollister hands."
Waverly clucked her tongue. "Sounds like a lot of pressure."
"It is."
"Then maybe you should care more about the quality of the work than the name on the trailer."
The words came out sharp, but not angry. She wasn't trying to pick a fight. She was making a point, and she was making it well.
