The colt moves clean. No hesitation. No rough edges.
Three weeks of work showing in every stride.
Renee asks questions. Smart ones. About training timelines. Feeding protocols. Turnout schedules. Insurance. Vet access.
About stability.
I answer carefully. Honestly. I talk about training philosophy, about long-term care, about building something sustainable instead of flashy. I don't mention how close we are to the edge. I don't mention how badly we need her to say yes.
At one point, she glances at Eli.
"You work closely together?" she asks.
The question lands heavier than it should.
"Every day," I say, maybe a beat too quickly. "He's been training with us since before I got here. Knows the operation inside and out."
Eli looks at me then. Just a glance. But something in his expression shifts, like he understands the weight behind her question. The implication that stability means more than just good horses and clean stalls.
It means people who stay.
Renee watches Addie bring the colt through a tight turn, then nods slowly. "Impressive. Really impressive."
My chest loosens slightly.
"I'd like to think on it," she continues. "I'll be in touch by end of week."
Relief hits me. Not a yes, but not a no either.
"That works," I say. "Take whatever time you need."
She smiles, more genuine this time. "I appreciate that. You'll hear from me soon."
We shake hands again and I walk her back to her car, making small talk about the drive and the weather and Fall Classic. She asks about the show, about Addie's experience, about whether we'll be taking on more riders after.
I give her optimistic answers. Careful ones.
When her truck finally pulls away, dust settling in its wake, the ranch exhales.
Addie whoops from the pen, sliding off the colt and throwing her arms around my neck before I can brace for it. "Did you see her face? She was sold. Completely sold."
"Not yet," I say, laughing despite myself. "But we're close."
"Close enough." Addie grins. "Mae's going to lose her mind."
Eli meets my eyes over Addie's shoulder. Something unspoken passes between us.
This matters.
Everything matters.
Addie heads toward the barn to cool the colt, still buzzing with energy, and the pen goes quiet. The sun sits low now, casting everything gold. My pulse is still too fast, adrenaline not quite settled.
I turn to face him, leaning back against the fence. The movement puts me right in front of him and he doesn't step back. Just looks down at me, that barely-there smirk still playing at his mouth.
"Something you want to say?" I ask.
"Not particularly."
