“Besides, you sing while you swim. Now you can have accompaniment.”
“I do not sing while—”
“'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.' Every time you do butterfly sprints.”
Her mouth drops open in mock outrage. “You're making that up!”
“Ask Mason. He recorded it.”
“You two are dead men walking,” she mutters, but she's fighting a smile.
We ride past the new wing of the stables, sunlight gleaming off the fresh timber, where my breeding program is taking shape. Three pregnant mares graze nearby, bellies heavy and slow-moving—foundation mares for what I’m hoping becomes the premier quarter horse bloodline in Texas.
“So,” I tip my hat back, gesturing toward a newly cleared area beyond the stables, voice all easy drawl. “Was thinking that cleared patch past the stables might be a good spot for a nursery.”
Mia reins in beside me, brows shooting up. “Nursery?” she echoes, a slow, unreadable grin tugging at her mouth. “Well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you something…”
My whole body locks up.The reins slip in my hand. My heart lurches like a spooked colt.“Wait—what? Mia—”
She bursts out laughing. “For the foals,Grant!”
“Jesus, woman.” I exhale hard, dragging a hand over my face.
“You nearly gave me a damn heart attack.”
Her eyes are bright with mischief, her smile smug. “Your face just now? Worth every second.”
And for just a second, the image crashes into me, sudden and uninvited—and yet so damn welcome I almost lose my grip on the reins again.
Mia. Barefoot on the porch, belly round with our child, hair in a messy braid, scolding me for tracking mud into the kitchen.
A little girl with ocean-blue eyes and wild curls bolting across the pasture, tiny boots too big, chasing chickens and shrieking with laughter. I see myself lifting her onto a pony, her giggle echoing in my ears as I teach her how to ride. Mia’s down by the water, coaxing her into the river, showing her how to float, how to move through the water like she was born to do it.
I shake the vision off, but it lingers, warm and stubborn in the back of my head.
Mia steers Sunshine closer, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “Though for the record, the way you've been riding me lately, it's a legitimate question.” She bites her bottom lip.
My body responds instantly to her words, blood rushing south so fast I'm dizzy. “Keep talking like that, Bonney, and we won't make it to the lookout.”
“Oh, is that where we're going? Your mysterious spot?”
I nod, grateful for the subject change before I embarrass myself on horseback.
We ride for another fifteen minutes, the terrain growing steeper as we follow a path I've spent the last week clearing. When we reach the crest of the hill, I hear Mia's sharp intake of breath.
The view sprawls before us—the entire Taylor ranch visible from this vantage point. The main house, my brother’s houses, my place, Mia's cottage, all appearing like miniatures in a diorama. The river snakes through the property, catching sunlight in flashes of gold. In the distance, the town of Portree sits nestled among rolling hills.
“Grant,” she breathes, “it's beautiful.”
“Found this place when I was sixteen,” I tell her, dismounting and tying Midnight to a nearby oak. “Used to come up here when I needed to think. After Jake died, I practically lived here for a while.”
Mia slides gracefully from Sunshine's back, coming to stand beside me at the edge of the overlook. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
I help her spread the blanket I've tied to my saddle, my heart hammering so hard I worry she can hear it. We sit side by side, shoulders touching, looking out over everything that matters to me—including the woman beside me.
“So,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers, “are you going to tell me what's really going on? You've been acting squirrely all morning.”
“Squirrely? Me? I'm cool as a cucumber in a freezer.”
