“What the fuck are you doing on Hope’s horse?” I said out loud.
No one answered.
Because no one could hear me over the chaos.
Willa kept pleading with the damn horse like it had a conscience.
“Jamie, please! Just one minute, okay? One little minute—please!”
Jamie didn’t give a shit. Not about her, not about Hope, not aboutanything.
I stood by the window, too drunk to tell if this was some weird city-riding technique I’d never seen before… or if Willa just figured this was how she’d make me fall for her again.
“Cash! CASH!” she yelled. “Hey! Hellooo!”
And then—because why the fuck not—Jamie trotted straight through the closed gate like it wasn’t even there and headed up toward the porch.
I laughed. Loud. Couldn’t help it.
That horse fucking loved me.
He stopped dead in front of the door. Not beside it. Not near it.Rightin front of it. Like a fricking trained soldier.
And somehow—miraculously—Willa, still hanging halfway out of the saddle, managed to stretch her arm far enough to grab the handle.
“Hey! Hi! Cash, we’re coming in, if that’s alright!”
At that point, it was getting real hard to stay mad.
The door creaked open, and there I was.
Standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, pieces of pie dish still on the floor behind me.
And Jamie—smartest damn ex-rodeo horse I ever owned—had officially brought her home.
“Sorry to bother you, Cash,” Willa said, completely calm.
Like shehadn’tjust ridden my ex’s horse straight into the center of my damn living room.
I let her finish whatever speech she’d rehearsed on the way over.
“I just need you to know this isn’t what it looks like.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “You mean the part where you stole my ex’s horse and didn’t stop till you reached my carpet? Because if he shits on it, you’re cleaning it up.”
“Of course. Consider it handled,” she said, nodding like this was a normal Tuesday. “So, anyway—sorry again. Everything just happened so fast and… would you maybe help me down before she bolts again?”
“That’s the one thing I’m not worried about,” I muttered, stepping closer. “Horses are more reliable than most people.”
She winced. “Okay, yeah. I caught that one.”
Somehow—don’t ask me how—she managed to twist out of the saddle and tumble straight onto the couch with a half-graceful, half-suicidal thump.
“Jesus,” she muttered. “Didn’t think I’d survive that.”
“What surprises me,” I said, arms still crossed, “is that after one day of pony lessons, you thought you were ready to ride Dalmore’s most notorious stud.”
“It wasn’t the plan,” she said. “But you disappeared so fast, it felt like the only option left was…”
