Our eyes lock, and there's a weight to his words that has nothing to do with horseback riding. I feel that now-familiar pull toward him. And for one dangerous second, I wonder—what if I stopped fighting this?What if, I was scared, but tried anyway?
“Okay, Trouble,” I hear myself say, my voice far more casual than I feel. “Show me this ranch of yours.”
That crooked smirk appears like I just said something filthy instead of vaguely flirtatious. He crooks his elbow, all mock-chivalry, and I slip my arm through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world—even though it feels anything but.
The bank is a gentle slope, but he doesn’t let go. His hand hovers behind my back like he’s expecting me to trip, like hewantsto catch me.
Spoiler: I wouldn’t hate it.
Reaching the top of the embankment, Lily introduces me to a gentle palomino named Sunshine. “She’s our sweetheart. Doesn’t spook. Total princess energy. You’ll get along great.” Her golden coat gleams in the Texas heat. She's gorgeous and gentle and exactly what I need right now to mentally sprint away from the man beside me that’s making my nerves jump.
Grant moves behind me, and before I can overthink it, his hands settle on my waist. Big. Firm. Warm. His thumbs graze the curve of my hips, and I barely hold in a gasp, as he boosts me up, and into the saddle, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary and I swear on all things holy, Ifeelthat contact all the way down to the soles of my brand new boots.
The heat of the afternoon is nothing compared to the wildfire currently torching its way through my bloodstream.
But I smile. Breezy. Collected. Like I didn’t just imagine what his hands would feel like on my skin without a layer of denim in the way.
Because denial? Is a full-time sport.
And I’ve always been competitive.
“You nervous?” he asks, his eyes searching mine as he adjusts my stirrups.
“I don't get nervous,” I scoff, though my white-knuckle grip on the saddle horn suggests otherwise.
His smile is knowing. “Sure you don't.”
He mounts his own horse—a powerful black mare that seems to match his personality—with practiced ease. The movement draws my attention to the play of muscles in his thighs and arms, and I quickly look away, cursing my body's traitorous response to him.
“The trick is to relax,” Lily advises, guiding her horse alongside mine. “Sunshine can sense tension.”
“Oh great,” I mutter. “A mind-reading horse.Justwhat I need.”
Grant laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “You'll be fine darlin’. She's practically a rocking chair with legs.”
We set off at a gentle walk, the horses easing into a rhythm that pulls tension from my shoulders like string being unwound. Sunshine—true to her name—is warming to me, patient, her gait smooth, and riding on her is almost meditative. The trail winds lazily through pastures speckled with cattle, tails swishing, heads down, blissfully unaware of the emotional landmine unfolding just a few feet above their heads.
Despite my unease at first—being perched on a thousand-pound animal in boots I bought for fashion, not function—I settle into it. There's something grounding about horseback riding. Something ancient. My perspective shifts, literally and figuratively, as the expanse of the Taylor ranch rolls out around me like a living oil painting. Golden fields, oak-lined fences as far as the eye can see, a horizon so wide it makes me ache.
“How much land do you have?” I ask, not just to make conversation. It’s genuine curiosity. The sprawl of this place makes cities feel like cages.
Grant glances over at me, squinting against the sun. “About eighty thousand acres. Been in the Taylor family four generations.”
I let out a low whistle. “That’s... impressive.”
And it is. Not just the acreage, but the legacy. The roots. Theconstancyof it. I've never stayed anywhere long enough to memorize the creak of the floorboards, let alone build a life on the same soil my forefather’s walked.
“It’s home,” he says simply.
But there’s a kind of quiet reverence in his voice. A weight. The way his hand absently grazes the horse’s neck, like he’s not just riding the land—he’s part of it. Like he could close his eyes and still navigate by the scent of hay and the angle of the wind.
We ride in silence for a while. Companionable. Easy. The kind of silence that doesn’t itch or demand filling. The only sounds are the rhythmic clop of hooves, birds chirping overhead, the low grumble of cattle somewhere in the distance. Then I hear it—the river. Wider now, curving through the property like a ribbon of silver.
“Oh shoot!” Lily exclaims, snapping upright in her saddle and slapping a hand dramatically to her thigh. “I completely forgot I promised Mama I’d help her… uh… organize the pantry.”
Grant glances over, unconvinced. “The pantry?”
“Yes. It’s a veryintensivepantry job. She wants to… alphabetize the canned goods. You know how she gets before guests come.”
