“Stealing Hope’s horse.”
“I didn’t steal him,” Willa shot back. “It’stechnicallypossible I may have exaggerated my riding skills, and—thanks to Hope’s generosity—borrowedhim.”
She didn’t grin this time.
Just looked at me from the couch, hair a mess, chest still rising like she hadn’t fully caught her breath.
“I panicked,” she said. “And you left.”
I didn’t answer.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
But that didn’t mean I was ready to let her off the hook.
“Let me get this straight. You lied to my ex, stole her damn horse, rode her through town in the middle of the night, and nearly broke your neck trying to reach my front door?”
Willa lifted a hand.
“I prefer the term… improvisational problem solving.”
I didn’t laugh.
Didn’t move.
Just looked at her—this wild, completely unpredictable woman lying on my couch like she belonged there.
And for a second, I almost forgot why I was mad.
Almost.
“So what was so damn important?”
She didn’t answer. Just held up her phone.
A video.
She hit play.
There she was—on the bull.
Holding steady. Rick’s voice in the background, yelling something over the cheering.
I saw the look on her face.
The way she glanced toward the phone—toward me.
Her eyes lit up.
And for a second, none of the rest of it mattered.
She hadn’t fallen.
She’d actually done it.
And whether I wanted to or not… I was proud of her.
“I did it,” she said softly.
