I looked away first. Because it was getting to me, and looking away was all I had left.
Jack ambled over from the round pen, wiping his hands on his jeans. He had a stillness about him — the kind of calm that came from a man who'd seen enough of the world to know exactly where he wanted to be.
"She's a good prospect," Jack said, nodding toward Starlight. "Clay's got an eye. Didn't expect it from him, but he reads horses the way he reads bulls."
"I'm right here, Jack."
"I know. I'm complimenting you to your face. Enjoy it — it won't happen often."
Clay grinned. Jack almost smiled, which, from Jack, seemed to be the equivalent of a standing ovation. Maisie, oblivious to the brotherly dynamics, was leaning so far over the fence toward Starlight that Clay had to tighten his grip.
"Can I touch her?"
"Not today, cowgirl. She's still getting used to the place. But next weekend, if she's settled in, you can help me brush her."
“Next weekend?” Maisie whipped toward me. “Mommy, did you hear? Next. Weekend."
"I heard, baby. The entire county heard."
Clay laughed — the one that crinkled his eyes and made my stomach do something I was choosing to attribute to the tea I'd had too much of this morning. Except I hadn't had too much tea. I'd had exactly the right amount of tea. The problem wasn't the tea.
This was getting complicated.
Louisa appeared with sandwiches and the inevitability of a weather system.
"Lunch," she announced, setting a basket on the porch rail. Not "would you like lunch" or "can I offer you lunch." Just lunch. The woman had the diplomatic subtlety of a cavalry charge, and I was beginning to respect it enormously.
"I really should get Maisie home —"
"Nonsense. The child is having the time of her life, and you're not in a rush. Sit."
I sat. Partly because she was right and partly because arguing with Louisa Blackwood was like arguing with gravity — technically possible, practically pointless.
Maggie appeared with plates and a warmth that felt like sunlight. She asked about the Mercer case and actually listened to the answer. She asked if Theo had survived his Clay-related Instagram spiral, and when I said he'd started a fan account under the name CopperCreekCowboyLover, she laughed so hard she spilled her lemonade.
"He did NOT."
"He has forty-seven followers. He's very proud."
"Does Clay know?"
"God, no. And you can't tell him. Theo will be destroyed."
"This is the best thing I've ever heard," Maggie said, wiping her eyes. "Jack! Jack, come here —"
"Don't you dare."
But I was laughing. Actually laughing, with another woman, on a porch, about something stupid and harmless.
"Sophia sends her love," Louisa said, refilling glasses. "She's on shift — twelve hours. But she wanted me to tell Maisie she'll teach her to braid a horse's mane next time."
"I can braid a horse's mane?" Maisie materialized from nowhere with hay in her hair and something unidentifiable on her cheek.
"French braids, running braids, the works," Louisa said.
"Can she braid my hair too?"
Louisa chuckled. “Honey, Sophia will braid anything that holds still long enough."
