Ghost stood in the cross-ties, gray coat gleaming under the barn light, already tacked and waiting. Beside him, a bay gelding—solid, kind-eyed, the picture of reliability—stood tied, ears flicking. The brass nameplate on his halter read: JASPER.
Jose tightened the last strap on Ghost’s girth and stepped back.
“You’re good,” he said to Izzy. “He remembers you.”
“Hey, handsome,” she murmured, running a hand down Ghost’s neck.
He let out a low, contented snort and leaned into her touch like he agreed.
Steve huffed once from his spot on the floor and laid his head on his paws, apparently satisfied with the morning’s arrangements.
Caitlin eyed Jasper with a mix of glee and nerves.
“You’re sure he’s okay for me?”
“Jasper’ll take care of you,” Grant said. “He’s packed kids up that hill since before you could spell his name.”
Caitlin wrinkled her nose at him. “Rude. Accurate.”
Naomi appeared long enough to check both saddles with quick, competent hands.
She gave Caitlin a brief once-over.
“You remember what you’re doing?” she asked.
Caitlin met her eye. “Pretty sure.”
Naomi nodded once. “Don’t die,” she said. “I’ve got enough paperwork.”
“I’ll do my best,” Caitlin said.
Grant watched the exchange, something like reluctant approval in his eyes.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
Izzy’s grin turned conspiratorial.
“I thought we’d go up to Back Ridge,” she said. “Show her the view.”
Izzy’s pulse ticked up a notch.
The cabin.
The paintings.
Grant’s gaze moved between them.
He didn’t say no.
“Stay on the main trail,” he said instead. “Text me when you’re headed back.”
“Yes, Dad,” Caitlin said.
He gave her a look that was all warning and affection.
Izzy swung up into the saddle, Ghost shifting enough under her to remind her he was there and paying attention.
The give of leather.
