I hadn't told her I was planning anything. I hadn't mentioned the trail ride to a single person. Louisa Blackwood operated on intelligence that would make the CIA weep with envy, and I'd stopped questioning the source years ago.
"I haven't asked her yet."
"You've been pacing the kitchen for three mornings. The dog is confused." She handed me toast. "Ask her. I'll have Maisie. Saturday afternoon."
"What if she says no?"
Momma looked at me. Long and steady, the way she looked at all her children when they were being dense.
"Then she says no and you survive it. You've been thrown by two-thousand-pound bulls, Clay. A woman saying no to a trail ride won't kill you."
"It might."
She smiled. The dangerous one. "Saturday. I'll make extra cookies."
I called Callie at lunch.
"Hey. So I had this idea." Already fumbling. Clay Blackwood, suddenly tripping over a phone call like a teenager asking someone to prom. "The ridge trail on the north section — it goes up to this overlook above the property. It's a good ride. An hour, maybe an hour and a half. I thought maybe Saturday, if Maisie's okay with my mom, you and I could —"
"Are you asking me on a date, Clay?"
Direct. Amused. That dry edge in her voice that made my pulse do something inconvenient.
"I'm asking you on a trail ride."
"Is there a difference?” Not in my head. Definitely not in my heart.
"The trail ride involves horses."
"Dates can involve horses."
"This one involves a horse and a picnic that my mother is definitely already packing even though I told her not to."
She huffed a laugh. "So your mother is chaperoning via sandwich. That's a new one."
"She's a pioneer."
"Clay, I have a five-year-old and a caseload and a ficus that's on life support. I don't have time for trail rides that are secretly “not” dates disguised as outdoor recreation."
"It's not a date. It's a guided tour of ranch property with optional lunch."
"Optional."
“Well, Momma would be hurt if we didn't eat the sandwiches."
"So it's mandatory lunch on a guided tour that isn't a date."
"When you say it like that, it sounds worse."
"It sounds exactly like what it is." But there was something underneath the sharpness — a warmth she hadn't quite hidden in time. "Maisie would be with Louisa?"
"Baking cookies. Momma's already planned the menu."
"Of course she has." Another pause. Then, quieter: "Just a trail ride."
"Just a trail ride."
"No expectations."
