I leaned my arm out the window, taking it all in.
“Hell of a place.”
“Isn’t it just.” Rowan glanced at me. “My dad built most of it himself.”
The fence line ran for miles along the outer edge of the property, and I could understand why her dad had settled into this life. We stopped a few times where we both hopped out to inspect the posts and wires.
“Nothing’s cut,” she said after checking the last portion of the fence. We climbed back into the truck and buckled back up. “That’s a good sign, right?”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
Rowan cocked her head at me. “You guess?”
“Or it could mean that whoever came here knew how to get in without leaving tracks.”
Her expression turned from hopeful to anxious, and I watched as she sucked in the corner of her lower lip and began chewing on it.
“But,” I continued, hating to see that worried look on her face, “we haven’t seen any sign of anyone, so maybe not.”
She didn’t look like she believed me, but there really wasn’t any way to sugarcoat it for her. Someone had it out for her and this ranch; it was as simple as that. We drove back toward the barn. When we pulled up, Rowan jumped out and grabbed a saddle from the tack room and I trailed behind her, a cigarette hanging from between my lips.
Everything felt so normal, and yet also out of place. I didn’t belong on this ranch and Rowan didn’t belong anywhere near me. Yet here we were sliding into something that felt almost like routine. There was a pattern to our movements. Where shemoved, I moved. Where she looked, I looked. And when I paused and scanned the horizon she froze, waiting for me to give the okay.
I’d only known this woman a handful of days, and yet it felt like I’d known her years. Like she was the other part of me.
“Are you coming to watch?” she asked, gesturing toward the training ring.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
The training ring sat behind the barn, a wide circle of packed dirt surrounded by wooden rails.
Rowan led a tall gray mare out of the barn. “This is Daisy. She’s my favorite, but don’t tell the others.” She scrubbed Daisy on her nose and the horse whinnied happily. At least I thought it was happiness.
They moved into the center of the training ring and Rowan swung up into the saddle in one smooth motion. I leaned against the fence, arms crossed, watching.
At first Rowan simply walked the horse in slow circles, her body taut and in control as they both moved; then she shifted her weight slightly and gave the reins the lightest touch and the horse, Daisy, responded instantly.
The two of them moved together like they were connected by an invisible thread, trotting, stopping, turning with precise movements that looked effortless. Rowan guided the mare through tight spins, quick stops, and smooth transitions between gaits. I felt my smile grow as I watched, completely impressed by the way she handled the horse with such ease.
Under Rowan's instruction, Daisy slid to a halt in the dirt, then backed several steps with barely a cue and I let out a low whistle.
“Damn,” I remarked, and she looked over and smiled.
She wasn’t just good, she was incredible. The kind of rider who barely needed to move to control a thousand-pound animal. I was impressed, and I didn’t get impressed very often.
Rowan finished with a fast run across the ring before pulling the mare to a perfect stop. Dust swirled around them and she leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck, her chest heaving with exhilaration.
“Good girl.”
I shook my head as she dismounted. “You been holding out on me.”
She laughed lightly. “What do you mean?”
“You ride like a damn professional.”
“My parents trained horses, remember,” she said simply. “Guess I learned a few things.”
I followed her to the barn as she swapped out horses. I was barely able to keep my eyes off her every move. I reached for some hay to feed Daisy as she stepped back from the pen and we bumped into one another, my arm going around her waist to stop her from falling.
