“Alright,” I say after a minute, pushing up to stand but staying close. “Part of your job is also making sure the horses are treated right. Think you can handle that?”
She nods immediately. “Yes.”
“Good,” I reply. “They’re a lot easier to work with than your uncles.”
“That’s not true,” Luke calls from somewhere behind us, his voice calm but amused.
“It’s mostly true,” I answer, and Hadley giggles again.
I glance back toward Riley one more time, not long enough to push, just enough to let her see that I meant what I said earlier. I’m not trying to step around her, just step into what’s mine without breaking what she’s built.
And when I look back at Hadley, still standing there with that brush in her hand like it matters, like she matters, something in my chest settles into place in a way I don’t question.
Whatever line this is…
I’ve already crossed it.
I don’t miss the way Riley watches us from the edge of the barn, half in shadow, half in the light, like she’s trying to decide which version of me she’s looking at and whether she trusts either one.
I keep my focus on Hadley, not because I’m ignoring her, but because this part matters more right now, and pushing anything with Riley isn’t how I’m going to earn a place in either of their lives.
“You’re gonna run out of titles at this rate,” Riley says from the doorway, her tone dry, but there’s less edge in it than there was earlier.
I glance at her, catching that shift, filing it away. “I’ve got a whole list,” I tell her. “I don’t hand out the important ones to just anybody.”
Hadley straightens like that settles it, and I let the moment sit easy, keep it light, keep it real.
By the time the sun drops and the ranch quiets, Hadley’s worn out in the way only kids can be, all energy gone at once. Riley takes her to the house to talk to Quinn and get her cleaned up, but she doesn’t leave.
That’s what sticks with me.
She stays.
I give her space, then head to the fence line where the land opens up, knowing she’ll come if she wants to and not before.
A minute later, I hear her boots behind me.
“You forget something?” I ask without turning right away.
“Yeah,” she says. “Apparently I did.”
There’s something different in her voice, less guarded, more… certain about asking the question instead of circling it.
“I don’t like not knowing where I stand,” she says. “With you. With this.”
“Then ask,” I tell her.
She does, finally, pushing past the easy answers to the real one. “How do you go from not knowing she exists to acting like this fits?”
“Because it does,” I say. “She fits.”
“And me?” she asks, and that one lands heavier.
I step in just enough to close the distance without taking it from her. “You’re still figuring that out,” I tell her, honest as I’ve been all day.
“And you?”
“I’m already there.”
