That unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. Because the last time I'd worked with a woman who seemed this prepared, this intentional, she'd walked away the second something better came along. Left me holding a contract and a half-trained horse I couldn't sell because she'd burned the reputation before disappearing. I'd sworn I wouldn't make that mistake again.
I swallowed hard. Waverly wasn't her. I knew that. Logically, I knew that. But it didn't stop the old instinct from kicking in. I stepped back, putting distance between myself and the gelding. Between myself and her.
"He's a decent prospect," I said. "But he's not going to make you competitive this season. You'd be better off looking at something with more experience."
Waverly's jaw tightened. Not much. Just enough that I noticed. "You said he had a good foundation."
"He does."
"You said his movements were clean."
"They are."
"Then why are you telling me to walk away?" She moved closer, closing the gap I'd just created. "Because that's what you're doing. You're not saying he needs work. You're saying he's not worth my time."
I held my ground. "I'm saying you came here looking for a horse that can run barrels at a competitive level. This one isn't ready for that yet."
"Most prospects aren't." Her voice stayed level, but there was heat underneath it. "That's why they're prospects. That's why people train them."
"And that's why you need to be realistic about timelines." I crossed my arms. "You want to stay in the circuit. That means you need a horse that can perform now, not six months from now."
"I know what I need."
"Then why'd you ask me to come here?"
The question landed harder than I'd intended. She didn't flinch, but something shifted in her expression. Like she'd been waiting for me to ask it out loud.
"Because I wanted to know if you were actually evaluating the horse," she said quietly, "or if you were just looking for reasons to say no."
I uncrossed my arms. "You think I'm lying to you?"
"I think you don't want to be here." She took another step forward. Close enough now that I could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. "I think you agreed to this because I backed you into a corner, and now you're looking for the fastest way out. So you're telling me this horse isn't good enough, even though everything you've seen says otherwise."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Then what are you doing, Tanner?"
"I'm giving you an honest assessment."
"Are you?" She didn't move any closer, but it felt like she did. "Because it sounds like you're giving me an excuse. And I'm trying to figure out if it's about the horse or about me."
I should've stepped back. Should've put space between us again and reasserted the boundary I'd spent two days trying to build. But I didn't. I couldn't. Because she was right there, steady and unflinching, looking at me like she already knew the answer and was just waiting for me to admit it.
"Your last name doesn't change what I see in a horse," I said.
"But it changes what you're willing to do about it."
"That's different."
"Is it?" Her voice dropped lower. Not softer. Just more direct. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're letting a feud I didn't start decide what I'm allowed to have."
"You're allowed to have whatever you want." The words came out rough. "Just not from me."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't work with Kincaids."
"You're working with me right now."
