Everyone scattered after training. Chace muttered something about checking the north fence line. Addie disappeared toward her house without a word. And Eli—
Eli walked away.
I've been finding things to do ever since. Mucking stalls. Organizing tack. Sweeping until the concrete shows through years of scuff marks.
Anything to avoid the fact that I watched him leave and didn't follow.
The sun slants low through the barn doors now. My shirt sticks to my back. I've been at this for hours and I still can't settle.
Chace's voice keeps echoing.Jesus Christ, will you two just fuck already and put us all out of our misery.
The way Eli's jaw tightened before he walked away without looking back.
The way I let him.
I lean against the stall door, breathing hard even though I haven't done anything that warrants it.
He's done chasing me.
He stepped back in the shed. He walked away today. That wasn't distance. That was a line.
He's waiting for me to choose.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
I pull it out, expecting Shae or maybe Mae. Instead, it's a number I don't recognize. Local area code.
The voicemail notification pops up, followed by a text.
Hi Hazel, this is Kara from Red Fern Stables. Heard you might be taking boarders again. Any chance you have openings? Also, are you really showing at Fall Classic? Call me.
I stare at the screen.
Red Fern isn't some backyard operation. They're county-over, professional, the kind of place that has waiting lists and references. If they're asking, it means people are watching.
It means the show isn't just hope anymore.
I hit play on the voicemail.
Kara's voice is bright, businesslike. Three horses. Timelines. Feeding schedules. "We've been hearing good things," she saysat the end. "Word's getting around that Clark Ranch is back in business."
The voicemail ends.
I lower the phone and look out at the ranch. The barn. The pasture. The house sitting solid in the afternoon light.
This isn't hypothetical anymore.
My thumb hovers before I type back.Yes, call me. We're rebuilding capacity now.
I hit send.
The choice feels small. Practical.
But my body doesn't relax.
I head toward the house. Mae needs to know about this.
I find her in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that's probably gone cold. She's staring out the window, calculating something in her head.
