I snorted and shook my head. Bishop snorted in response and I stroked his head.
“Fine,” I said. “He just made some crass comments about things you've been riding…I told him to be careful how he talks about my girl.”
She bit her lip. “Is that what I am? Your girl?”
“Seems like it." I looked up at her, squinting in the late morning light. "You got a problem with that?"
"Depends." She was doing the thing where she kept her voice light but her eyes were doing something else entirely. "What does that mean exactly? Your girl."
"Means what it sounds like."
"Very specific, thank you."
She was watching me from the saddle with this defiant expression—chin slightly lifted, waiting.
"Means you're mine," I said. "When you're here."
"When I'm here," she repeated.
"You've got a life, Daniela. I'm not—" I shook my head. "I'm not putting a fence around you."
"But when I'm here."
"When you're here."
She considered this. Bishop shifted his weight and she moved with him automatically, easy, without thinking about it. Six weeks ago she would have grabbed for the pommel.
"And what do I get in return?" she said.
"Same thing you've been getting."
Her eyes dropped. Came back up. "The riding lessons."
"Among other things."
"The trailer."
"Among other things."
"The—"
"Daniela." I looked at her steadily. "You know what you get."
She pressed her lips together. Trying not to smile. Losing.
"Say it," she said.
"No."
"Sawyer."
"You know what you get," I said again. "You get me. However that looks while you're here."
She was quiet for a moment. Bishop nosed at my hand looking for a treat he wasn't getting.
"Okay," she said finally.
"Okay?"
