"Yeah." He doesn't look at me. "Just a long day ahead."
That's not what this is, but I don't push. Don't know how.
"Addie's going to want to work on transitions today. I was thinking we could set up cones for the pattern, maybe—"
"Whatever you think is best."
The words are fine. His tone is fine.
But he's looking out the window when he says it. Not at me.
"Okay." I set my mug down. "We should go."
He drains his coffee and sets the mug in the sink. "Yeah."
He's out the door before I can say anything else.
I follow, chest tight, and climb into his truck without a word.
The drive to Clark Ranch is quiet.
Usually his hand finds my thigh within the first mile. Usually I lean into him, or he makes some comment about how I look half-asleep, or we talk about the day ahead. Small things. Easy things.
Today his hands stay on the wheel, ten and two, eyes on the road.
I sit with my coffee, watching the dark landscape pass through the window, and don't know how to bridge whatever gap opened up overnight.
The fence line between properties appears on the left. Dawson land ending, Clark land beginning. I've crossed this line a hundred times in the past few weeks until I stopped noticing where one ended and the other started.
Today I notice.
When we pull up to the barn, his truck barely stops before he's out, heading for the tack room without waiting for me.
I sit there for a second, hands wrapped around my mug, the engine ticking as it cools.
Something's wrong.
The words sit in my throat. I swallow them.
I get out and follow him inside.
The barn smells like hay and leather and horses settling into morning routines. The colt nickers when he hears us approaching his stall, head over the door, ears pricked forward.
Eli's already got the halter and lead in hand, movements efficient as he opens the stall door.
I step in beside him, reaching to run my hand down the colt's neck. "Hey, buddy. Ready to work?"
The colt leans into my touch, warm and solid. Eli clips the lead without looking at me.
"I'll take him out," he says.
"I can help—"
"I've got it."
Not sharp. Not mean.
Just final.
