Mae gives me a look that says she's not buying it. "I'm sure."
Hazel's face goes red. Mae laughs, the sound echoing off the rafters.
Six weeks ago, this would've made Hazel defensive. Skittish. Now she just rolls her eyes and reaches for a pastry. The family dynamic has shifted, settled into something that includes both of us.
We're halfway through the pastries when Addie's truck appears.
She hops out with more energy than anyone should have at this hour, still riding high from Fall Classic. She's got two more competitions lined up and can't stop talking about them.
"I need to adjust the colt's schedule," she says, pulling out her phone. "Can we add an extra session on Thursdays?"
"Yeah," Hazel says, already mentally rearranging the board. "We can make that work."
"Perfect." Addie grins at both of us. "You guys are good together."
She's not talking about training. We all know it.
My hand finds the small of Hazel's back automatically. She leans into me slightly.
We don't deny it.
The colt is still boarding here, thriving. Addie rides him three times a week. He's the proof of concept we needed—the success story that convinced the other boarders to come.
After Addie leaves and Mae heads back to the main house, Hazel and I take our lunch break in the barn. Sandwiches Mae packed this morning. We sit on hay bales, shoulders touching, comfortable in the silence.
My hand finds hers automatically.
"You happy?" I ask.
She looks at me. "Yeah. You?"
"Yeah."
Simple. True.
We sit there for a while, eating and watching dust motes drift through the shafts of sunlight. Then she remembers something.
"I talked to a potential client yesterday," she says. "Wants to board four horses."
"We have room."
We.Us.Ours.
The language of partnership.
Six weeks ago, those words felt dangerous. Like saying them out loud might scare her off. Now they're the easiest words I know.
Today we're just this—sitting in the barn eating sandwiches, making plans for paddocks and training schedules and all the ordinary things that make up a life together.
And that's enough.
***
By six that night, the work is done and we're sitting on the porch with whiskey for me and wine for her, watching the sun drop behind the mountains.
The temperature's dropped with the daylight. Cold enough that she pulls her jacket tighter, but neither of us suggests going inside. We just sit, watching the ranch settle into evening.
Clark Ranch spreads out in the distance. I can see the lights coming on in Mae's barn, her moving through her own evening routine. The horses are in their paddocks, content and settled. Closer, Dawson Ranch—my property, our property now—stretches out with fencelines that nearly touchClark land.
