I glanced down to see a text from my cousin, Slade.
Slade: Heard you were at Ace's.
I didn't pick it up. Another buzz came.
Slade: Call me when you get a chance.
I clenched my jaw and kept driving.
Slade didn't ask questions he didn't already know the answer to. If he was texting, that meant someone had already reached out to him… probably someone who'd watched me walk through the door in the first place. Small towns worked like that. Information moved faster than people did, transferred from one conversation to the next before the door even closed behind you. And Slade was the kind of man people called first.
I thought about Tanner sitting at that bar, finishing his beer like nothing had changed. Like the room hadn't just cataloged every second of our conversation and started writing the story before we'd even finished talking. He knew how this worked. Had to. He'd grown up in it the same as I had. That's why he'd said no the first time.
Not because he didn't think I was capable. Not because he doubted my skill or my horses. Because he knew what would happen the moment he said yes. The second a Hollister and a Kincaid worked together, even on something as straightforward as evaluating a damn horse, it became a thing. And knowing that, I'd pushed him into it anyway.
The road curved, taking me past the old mill and the turnoff toward the Iron Spur Ranch where my cousins lived. I didn't take it. Not yet. I kept going, following the line of fence posts and open pasture until the lights of town faded behind me and the sky opened up overhead.
Out here, the world felt bigger. Less contained.
But it wasn't.
The valley might stretch for miles, but the people in it lived small and tight, and nothing stayed quiet for long. What had happened tonight at Ace's would already be moving. Someone would mention it to someone else. That person would tell their wife, their husband, their ranch hand. By tomorrow morning the whole town would know.
Waverly Kincaid went looking for Tanner Hollister. And he didn't turn her down.
My phone buzzed again.
This time I pulled over. The shoulder was narrow, the dirt packed hard from years of use. I put my truck in park and picked up the phone. Slade's name sat at the top of the screen, but it wasn't his message that caught my attention.
It was the one underneath it from Tamsin Crane. We’d competed against each other in junior rodeo, and she now worked the circuit the same way I did.
Tamsin: Girl. Ace’s???
I stared at it. She wasn't asking what I'd been doing there. She was asking what I'd been doing there with him. The question marks did all the work, shaped the whole thing into something else. Something that wasn't just about horses, or training, or business.
My stomach rolled, and I set the phone down. The heater hummed. The engine idled. Outside, the fence line stretched into darkness.
I’d done what I needed to do, but I wasn't fooling myself. This wasn't something I could control anymore. Wasn't something I could keep clean and separate. The moment I'd walked into that bar and sat down two stools away from Tanner Hollister, I'd made it public. And in a place like this, visibility was the same as vulnerability.
Whatever this was and whatever it was going to become, it wasn't private anymore. It belonged to the valley now. And the valley didn't let go.
CHAPTER 3
TANNER
We met at a private facility south of town. It was neutral ground… the kind of place buyers used when they didn't want sellers knowing who was watching.
She'd sent me the address yesterday morning in a text. Nothing personal. Just the time, the location, and a single comment at the end.
Waverly: FYI… The seller doesn't know I'm bringing anyone.
That told me two things. One, that she didn't want the Kincaid name working against her before she'd even seen the horse. And two, that she knew enough not to tip her hand before she had a chance to do an evaluation.
I pulled in at ten past two. Her truck was parked by the barn, and seeing it there made my chest tighten in anticipation. Waverly Kincaid had a way about her that set me on edge. Being around her made me feel like I was settling into the saddle of an unbroken horse, knowing it could ruin me, but still looking forward to the ride.
The barn was clean and well-maintained. Stalls lined both sides, mostly empty at this time of day. At the far end, near the grooming stalls, I caught sight of Waverly.
She stood next to a bay gelding, her hands steady on the lead rope while the seller, a middle-aged man in a canvas jacket, gestured toward the horse's shoulder. Waverly wasn't looking at him. The horse had her full attention.
