So why does my chest feel tight?
Out of the corner of my eye, I’m aware of Sloane’s presence without looking at her. Not speaking. Not interfering. Just watching. Observing. Like she’s cataloging everything, filing it away. The thought irritates me more than it should. This isn’t a debate. This isn’t a classroom.
This is how it’s always been done.
I tell myself that stallions react harder than colts. That Sammy will be fine. That I’m overthinking something I’ve never questioned before. That this isn’t the moment to entertain doubt planted by someone who hasn’t lived this life.
My hand lifts anyway, iron poised—then locks mid-motion. I get ready to place the iron on Sammy’s skin—and stop before I commit to the motion.
Why? Why am I hesitating?
The iron is ready, the timing right, my hand trained to move without thought, but my body refuses. Sammy grows restless as the seconds tick by, shifting beneath the hands meant to steady him. I close my eyes tightly andclench my jaw, knowing I can’t afford to miss or rush this, and step back from Jesse and Mason.
“Release him. Let me get Capone done first,” I instruct them, forcing the words out, as Mason walks Sammy out of the ring.
I look back at Hank and Sloane. She’s leaning against the railing, listening to Hank talk her ear off—at least I think she is. Her eyes aren’t trained on him, but on me. She nods to Hank and responds to him, present enough to be polite, but her eyes never leave me.
Not curious. Not uncertain. Just fixed.
If she’s trying to stare holes into me, she’s doing a bang-up job.
Jesse returns with Capone, the black stallion big and much older than Sammy. I know if I can brand any of our new horses and not feel a little bit guilty about it, it’s Capone. Older. Heavier. Strong enough to take it—at least that’s the logic I reach for.
It’s easier to believe that than admit why my hand froze.
The thing that needles at me isn’t that Sloane’s a city girl. It’s that she didn’t just show up spouting opinions—she did her homework. She read the studies. She came armed with facts, not feelings, and that makes it harder to dismiss her outright.
I’ve worked with stallions long enough to know they react harder, faster, meaner when pain’s involved, and I don’t like that she forced that knowledge to the front of my mind right now.
Mason holds Capone in place as I place the iron back in the hot coals to heat it up again, my focus narrowing to timing and control, the heat biting through my gloves. I watch as it turns bright red and then tug it out, knowing I have one clean window to do this right, and walk back to Capone.
As I get ready to place it on Capone’s skin—before I even finish the motion—he lets out a sharp, startled squeal and surges forward. He rears and as his front end comes off the ground, his hooves strike the air as instinct takes over.
“Jesse, get out of here!” I yell, reacting without hesitation, as Jesse drops the rope and moves fast, clearing the area before Capone comes back down.
Capone takes off, spinning away from the pressure instead of charging straight through it, and I break for the side of the ring where Hank and Sloane have been standing.
He tears along the rail, head high and eyes wild, long strides eating ground as he breaks loose and looks for an exit, faster than any horse we’ve had.
As I reach the fence, he swings wide and then cuts back, misjudging the corner, momentum carrying him toward the rail just as Sloane scrambles for it, Hank already reaching for her—.
I haul myself up the ring fence rails, barely getting a leg over before I grab Sloane and yank her with me. She scrambles, half climbing, half dragged, boots slipping against the wood as she comes up beside me.
She sucks in a sharp breath as her weight hits the rail, fingers white-knuckled where she grips the top board.
My hand locks around her waist as Capone thunders past in a blur of muscle and dust, close enough that I feel the rush of air. My other hand comes down hard on her leg, shoving it tight to the fence so it’s clear of him as he surges by.
The impact rattles the rails beneath us, old wood groaning under the force of it.
I look over at Jesse. “We’re done hot-branding. We’ll clip and freeze brand instead,” I tell him, my voice clipped and final, and he nods, already moving to grab what he needs.
No questions. No pushback. Just action.
Hank reaches up to help Sloane down from the fence as I hop down beside her.
She won’t look at me, eyes fixed somewhere past my shoulder like she’s bracing for what comes next.
“I told you to stay out of the ring. It’s dangerous—you didn’t listen, did you?” I snap, not waiting for an answer as I turn away and stride off, anger rushing in to fill the space where doubt just was.
