"I drove into town for a drink." I set the glass down. "You just happened to be here."
He didn’t respond right away. Someone fed the jukebox at the back of the room, and a slow Luke Bryan song started playing.
"I gave you my answer this afternoon," he said.
"You gave me a reason that had nothing to do with the horses and everything to do with my last name." I tried to keep my frustration from seeping into my voice. "That tells me your answer wasn't really about the work."
"It's always about the work."
"Then prove it."
He took another slow sip of his beer.
"You're supposed to be the best trainer in the county," I said. "Maybe in the state, if you believe what people say. The man who can look at a green horse and see what it's going to be before it knows itself." I picked up my whiskey again and stared at the amber liquid. "If that's true, then evaluating horses for a barrel racer shouldn't be a problem. Unless it's not actually about the work."
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. The two men at the table nearest us had gone quiet. A woman at the end of the bar was looking at her phone but not scrolling.
Tanner stared at me for a long moment, not reacting, just processing. "You're doing this here on purpose."
"I'm having a drink." I held his gaze. "You're the one making it complicated."
His thumb moved along the side of his beer glass, back and forth. That was the only tell he gave that I was getting to him.
"I won't train your horse." His voice came out calm and deliberate, like he’d actually thought about it and wasn’t willing to negotiate. "That's not changing. But I can look at what you're considering before you buy something wrong and waste a season on it. That's all I can offer."
Instant relief gave way to excitement, but I didn’t let it show. "That's all I need."
"I don’t want any Kincaid business coming through my ranch. No flags, no trailers, none of it."
"My horses have my name on them. Not my cousin's."
He studied me the way he'd studied the mare earlier in the day, like he was searching for weakness. "Fine.”
That one word was all I wanted to hear. I didn't smile and didn't push my luck. Just picked up my glass and finished the last of the whiskey.
"I'll be in touch," I said.
Tanner shook his head slightly like he was already full of regret. "Can’t wait."
I bit back a grin as I set some cash next to my glass, then stood and pulled my jacket tight around my shoulders.
Tanner turned back to face the bar and picked up his beer. We didn't shake hands. Around Mustang Mountain, a man’s—or woman’s—word still counted for something.
I walked back toward the door, making sure to keep the same pace I’d used on the way in. Behind me, it felt like the whole bar let out a collective breath. The jukebox blared a fast-paced country song. Conversations picked up again, and someone by the pool table let out a loud laugh.
By morning, whatever people thought they'd witnessed tonight would already be something bigger. That was fine. I’d gotten what I needed and was willing to suffer the consequences.
The cold hit me the moment I stepped outside. Spring was coming to Mustang Mountain, but not quite yet. The chill in the air was sharp enough to cut through the warmth of the whiskey. I pulled my jacket even tighter as I made my way over to my truck.
I didn't look back. I'd gotten what I came for. Tanner Hollister had agreed to look at horses with me. He’d qualified it six ways to Sunday, sure, but the answer was yes. That was enough. More than I'd had this afternoon when he'd turned me down flat.
But as I walked toward the truck, the keys already in my hand, a weight settled over me that hadn't been there before. I’d put myself out there to get what I wanted, but it had cost me something. I’d painted a big red target on my back and made myself the center of attention. Not the good kind that came with winning a run or placing in the top three at a rodeo. Not the kind I'd earned. This kind of attention had everything to do with being seen in the wrong place with the wrong person.
I unlocked the door and climbed in, setting my bag on the passenger seat. Through the windshield, I could see the bar—small, familiar, unremarkable except for the fact that it held the entire social structure of this valley inside its four walls. Everyone who mattered was in there or knew someone who was. And they'd all just watched a Kincaid walk up to a Hollister and get him to change his mind.
It didn't matter that it was about horses. Didn't matter that it was business. What mattered was that it happened, and everyone who'd seen it would be talking about it.
I turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. The drive back toward the main road was quiet. Until my phone buzzed in the cupholder.
