I watch him a moment longer than I should. There’s something strangely familiar about him.
“Don’t take it personal,” Emmett murmurs, coming up beside me.
I glance over my shoulder again, watching as he helps a guest into the saddle without saying a word.
Emmett follows my gaze and lets out a sigh. “He’s like that with everyone.”
I nod slowly, but the knot in my stomach tightens. It’s not just that he’s quiet. It’s the way he looked at me—like he was lookingthroughme.
It’s almost the same look Wesley gave me when I first got here.
I rest a hand on Buttercup’s neck, trying to calm the nervous energy building in my chest. She leans into the touch like she knows I need the comfort more than she does.
“Ready?” Emmett asks, mounting his horse, Maximus, with practiced ease.
Nope. Not even a little.
“Yep,” I lie, climbing up into the saddle and mentally preparing myself for whatever the next few hours are about to throw at me.
The horses fall into a rhythm as we weave through the narrow trail, hooves crunching softly over packed dirt and scattered leaves. Sunlight slips through the trees in sharp slants, casting dappled shadows that move across Buttercup’s mane with every step.
I keep my eyes on Emmett’s back, mimicking his posture, his movements, trying not to overthink every bounce of the saddle or shift of the reins. My thighs already ache.
Behind me, the quiet cowboy rides in silence. I don’t have to look to feel him there—solid, steady, like gravity. Every time I shift in my seat or glance back to check on the line of guests, I can feel his eyes on me. Not warm, but not cold either. Just…watching.
A woman up ahead gasps when her horse sidesteps, startled by a rustle in the brush. Emmett calms her with a joke and a reassuring word. Before I can turn to check on the rider behind me—heis already there, taking control with a calm efficiency, and guiding Jasper with one hand while reaching for the reins of the guest’s horse with the other.
His body moves with quiet authority, all muscle and instinct. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.
When he rides past me again, our eyes meet—only for a breath, maybe less. It ignites something low in my stomach, sharp and sudden.
There’s something there. Or nothing at all, and I’m reading too much into it. Either way, it lingers—tight and uncomfortable.
I look away first, suddenly too aware of the saddle beneath me. The pressure of my thighs, the thin layer of sweat between my palms and the leather reins.
Buttercup shifts beneath me, her ears flicking back, like she can sense the static crawling under my skin.
“I’mswearingoffmen.Forever,” Lydia says matter-of-factly as she refills my water.
It’s been exactly one week since the rodeo, and every afternoon since, I’ve had lunch at the bar with her.
Technically, she’s on the clock and obligated to tolerate me—but I think we both enjoy the excuse.
I raise a brow. “So…are you swearing off men, or swearing off dating entirely?”
Lydia smirks. “Why, you interested?”
“Still not my thing, but if it was, you’d be my first pick.” I smile. “Maybe I should give up on this whole finding-love thing. It never works out, anyway.” I nudge a fry through the leftover ketchup on my plate.
“Never say never,” she says, shrugging as she tops off a drink for the guy sitting on the stool beside me.
He dips his head in silent thanks, unfazed by Lydia’s outburst—which probably means he’s used to her being…well, being Lydia.
It’s only when he lifts his head that it all clicks—he’s the quiet cowboy from the trail ride. The same broad shoulders, the same unreadable expression. My stomach tightens as heat crawls up my spine. Irritation and something else tangle together as I look away, suddenly too aware of how close he’s sitting.
Still, it feels rude not to say something. Especially when we’ve been sitting next to each other almost every day this week and I don’t even know his name.
He doesn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation, and a little voice inside me whispers a warning, but I ignore it.
