"You might try adjusting her shoeing. Slight lift on the right side can compensate for the weakness, take some pressure off."
"I— huh." That was actually a good suggestion. One I hadn't considered. "I'll talk to the farrier."
Jack nodded and kept walking, like he hadn't just casually demonstrated more equine expertise in thirty seconds than some hands showed in a month.
This was going to be a problem.
We moved through the breeding stock next, and that's where things got really unfair. Because Jack didn't just understand horses—he understood breeding. When I talked about the bloodlines we were working with, he asked about temperament inheritance. When I mentioned our goals for the program, he brought up specific sire lines from Montana that would complement our mares' strengths.
"The Raven Spur line out of Bozeman," he said, examining one of our best mares with that steady, assessing gaze. "They produce horses with good bone and better sense. Calm under pressure. The kind of temperament you want for working stock."
"You know that line?"
Something flickered across his face—there and gone so fast I almost missed it. "My family bred from it. Before."
Before. The word hung in the air, heavy with things unsaid. I wanted to ask. Wanted to push. But something in his expression told me not to.
"The stallion auctions in Fort Worth next month," I said instead. "There's supposed to be a Raven-Spur-line stud on the block. Good papers, solid temperament reports."
Jack's eyes sharpened with interest. "You've been researching."
"I've been dreaming," I corrected, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "The horse program has been my first love since I was a kid. But I run operations for the whole ranch, and that means making hard choices about where resources go. The cattle expansion is what's going to secure our future—Ivy's breeding program is going to put Blackwood beef on the map. So that's where I've been directing investment." I heard the frustration creep into my voice despite my best efforts. "But horses... horses are what I'd build if I could build anything."
"Horses are your passion," Jack finished quietly.
I looked away, a small lump in my throat forming. "Something like that."
"There's nothing wrong with having passion, Maggie."
The way he said my name—low, familiar, like he had every right to it—sent a shiver down my spine that had no business being there.
"Let's keep moving," I said. "Lot more ground to cover."
Midmorning, Wyatt found us.
I'd been showing Jack the training paddock, watching him work with a green-broke filly who'd been giving everyone trouble for weeks. She was head-shy and jittery, the kind of nervous that lived under the skin—spooked by shadows, touch, her own thoughts. Three different hands had tried with her. None had gotten close.
Jack didn't rush her.
He didn't crowd her space or try to prove anything. He stood loose and relaxed, shoulders easy, weight settled like he belonged there. One hand stayed low and open, palm up, the other resting at his side like it wasn't itching to take control. He spoke softly—not commands, not reassurances. Just a steady murmur, pitched low enough that it felt like it was meant for her alone.
The filly danced at first. Tossed her head. Tested him.
He waited.
When she finally stepped forward, it was on her terms. Nose dipping. Breath huffing warm against his skin. Jack didn't move—didn't flinch, didn't reach—just let her decide. When his fingers finally brushed her muzzle, it was slow and deliberate, like he understood exactly how much pressure was too much.
Twenty minutes in, she was standing square. Calm. Eating out of his palm like she'd known him her whole life.
I leaned against the fence, forgetting entirely why I was there, watching the way his hands moved—sure and patient, never forcing, always offering. Watching the way his body angled just enough to invite trust, the way he breathed with her, matched her rhythm, brought her down with him.
It was... beautiful.
And deeply unfair how watching him do something so gentle made my chest feel tight and my thoughts go places they absolutely shouldn't on a workday.
Wyatt's voice cut through the moment, sharp and loud against the quiet spell Jack had woven, and I blinked like I'd just been caught staring at something private.
Because that's what it felt like.
