I walked Juniper back toward the fence, stopping a few feet from where Waverly stood. Up close, I could see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the sun-worn lines at the corners of her eyes that came from spending most of her life outdoors. She looked like someone who had earned every callus on her hands.
"I'm not training a horse for you," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't trust Kincaids."
"You don't know me."
"I know your family."
"So did I, once." Waverly's mouth pulled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Doesn't mean I agree with everything they've done."
That comment hit different than I expected. I studied her for a long moment, looking for the angle, the play, the thing she wasn't saying. But all I saw was a competitor who was tired of being defined by someone else's grudge.
"Even if I wanted to help you," I said slowly, "which I don't—training a barrel horse takes time. Weeks. Maybe months, depending on what you're starting with. You think your family's going to be fine with you spending that much time on Hollister land?"
"I think my family doesn't get a vote in how I run my career."
"You're sure about that?"
"I'm sure I prefer earning things the hard way."
She said it like it was a fact, not a philosophy. Like she'd tested it enough times to know it was true.
I wanted to dismiss her. Send her back to her truck, back across the ridge, back to whatever Kincaid trainer could give her a decent horse and keep the valley from talking. But something about the way she stood there—making no apologies with no hesitation, just steady confidence in who she was and what she wanted—made it harder to write her off than it should have been.
"I'm not saying yes," I said.
"I didn't ask you to."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Introducing myself." Waverly stepped back from the rail and nodded toward Juniper. "Ice that hip tonight. She'll feel better tomorrow."
She turned and walked back toward her truck, her boots crunching on the gravel, that long braid swinging between her shoulder blades. She didn't look back. Didn't wait for me to respond. Just climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and pulled the trailer out of the lot like she'd accomplished exactly what she came to do.
I stood there holding Juniper's reins, watching the Kincaid brand disappear down the road.
Two things settled in my chest at the same time.
One: she was a Kincaid. Which meant working with her would stir up trouble I didn't need and couldn't afford.
Two: she might be the most dangerous competitor I'd ever met.
And I wasn't entirely sure which one of those facts bothered me more.
