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My phone buzzed. I rolled to read, almost hoping it was a sext from Chloe. Was that what people did? Is that what we did? Was there even a way to say we without being a “we”?

It wasn’t, though. It was my real estate agent asking for an update on my rebuilding plans. Normally, I’d be annoyed with a late text, but the man was addicted to his phone, and I’d ghosted him until now. I pushed it off, because I couldn’t yet bring myself to turn my back on our little homestead. Once we finished the project, I’d be alone. I worried poor Brownie would be gone before too long, and Piper would be out in the world. I needed to do the smart thing and turn my dreams of living there into an investment to sell, but I knew when I told Piper, she’d be broken.

19. NO PONIES WANTED

CHLOE

“See how nice he stands for you?” Cole said.

I mounted Mack, who waited stone still at the block. I held my reins like dressage rider and gently squeezed my calves. Mack slowly paraded away from the block towards Cole, who sat aboard his flashy stallion with the heavy eyes.

“The hunter princesses would eye-roll so hard right now,” I laughed. “But as I age, I appreciate the horses that don’t make me almost die before both feet are in the stirrups. My new Westphalian needs work on the block.”

“Are you asking me to help fix your horse?” Cole asked.

“No,” I said. “I'll do it… when I have time.”

He looked doubtful. “This is that new liver chestnut that’s over there on your side of the barn?”

“The five-year-old stud prospect, yeah,” I answered. “Zee. He’s very fresh.”

“All you want is for him to stand at the block.”

“And to walk nicely into the arena for a lunge,” I answered. “Riley will get to it, but⁠—”

“Riley expects you to do it and you have no time?”

I winced.

“Foundations are key, Chloe.”

“I am not good at that sort of consistency. God, you sound like Gustave!”

“Who the hell is Gustave? Are you rolling with Germans now?”

I continued my circle, Mack relaxing on a long rein, head low. He flicked an ear back occasionally to ensure I was there. After only a month under saddle, he performed beautifully. Cole had the calmest way with horses—especially massive, young, fit warmbloods keen to launch into Lipizzaner-style airs above the ground.

“Not quite. He’s an old friend and one of my best friend’s husbands. The man is God’s gift to dressage and is so zen about everything. He takes absolutely nothing from any of his mounts. Which is what’s funny about Zee because Zee is so poorly behaved on the ground but comes from Gustave’s breeding stock.”

“Nature and nurture are different, Chloe. If he’s well-bred, he can slow down.”

“I’m giving him a few months to get it together or I’m going to yeet his boys into the sun.” I patted Mack’s shoulder when he snorted loudly. “Oh, you’re fine, buddy.”

“Young stallions can be a lot—I’m guessing talented dressage horses can be pretty powerful beasts. At least, from what I’ve seen so far. That’s why I wanted to show you something with Mack.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Just watch me.” Cole picked up a slow-as-molasses jog on the rail as I continued.

Doobs was a little dreamboat, gently rolling along. His frame showed he was happy with his job. Cole asked for slightly more extension and the horse moved out.

“Just throw your reins up at this point,” Cole laughed. “I see you all work on stretches. I’d like to do some serpentines going through these changes. I learned it watching Piper and Riley. And it’s something I’m doing with Mack.”

Cole rode a serpentine, focused on stretching Doobs’ topline and pushing to really engage his hindquarters.

“It’s good,” I said.

“Mack needs it most,” Cole dropped to a walk. “You think we don’t do the same things, but we use the horses, just like you do. Riley’s way is clever—especially for a young horse whose ass is detached from its butt. And Mack is like a bunch of kids on top of one another in a trench coat pretending to be an adult to get into a bar.”