Page 2 of Sweet Devotion

Aiden stopped.

“They’re releasing you.” Josh smiled. “Today.”

His gaze darted between them. “And you’re delivering the good news?”

Kade stepped closer to the bars. “We’re picking you up.”

The room was the same as it had been thirty seconds ago—same flat light, same equipment, same poster—but something in the air shifted. Aiden had been waiting for this long enough that he’d stopped letting himself think about it.

“Today.” He said it flat, checking how it felt.

“Today.” Kade pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. “Which brings us to the second part of this conversation.”

Aiden looked at the paper, then at Kade, then at Josh, who had the expression of a man who had been on the receiving end of this particular conversation and was now very much enjoying watching someone else have it.

“You’ve both got that look.” Aiden returned his gaze to the papers in hand.

“Look?” Kade raised a single questioning brow.

“The look that means I’m about to be voluntold.”

A slow steady smile took over his sergeant’s face. “My mother sets a real good table, Boglioli.”

“Don’t pull him.” Colleen Gleeson forced an easy smile.

The woman’s hands tightened anyway. The gelding lifted his head, ears flicking back, then forward, reading everything the rider hadn’t said out loud.

Colleen stepped in without breaking stride, one hand settling lightly against the woman’s calf, the other brushing her wrist. “Loosen it.”

“I am.”

She didn’t argue. They took two more steps. The horse drifted off the line, shoulder edging out, testing. Colleen adjusted the rider’s leg just enough to shift her weight back where it belonged. “Again.”

The woman exhaled this time. Not much, but enough. The reins softened. The gelding’s head dropped a fraction.

“There.”

They moved forward, slow and even, dust rising under each step. The rhythm settled in—one beat, then the next—until the tension bled off and what had been work started to look like something easier. Even though it wasn’t.

Colleen walked beside them, close enough to correct, far enough not to interfere. This was it. Her last day under the tutelage of Hannah Farraday Johnson. Though not that much older than Colleen, Hannah had a reputation throughout all of Texas, the neighboring states, and often beyond, for running one of the best equine therapy operations. As a teen, ever since her friend was in a nasty car accident and Colleen watched her suffer through therapy trying to regain full use of her leg, Colleen had known she wanted to be a physical therapist and help people reclaim their lives as easily as possible. Not till this last year at an equine therapy center in far east Dallas did she realize how very much she wanted to go the extra mile and help people heal with horses. That newly found dream made her chance to work here with Hannah at the Farradays all the sweeter.

In the case of Hannah’s cousin Connor Farraday, well, the man was known as the best horse breeder and trainer from shore to shore. If there was such a thing as a horse whisperer, Connor had that skill in spades.

Colleen was learning it all and from the very best. Her wristwatch buzzed. Time was up. She cued the horse to halt with a shift of her weight and a quiet word. Her patient eased to a stop and sat for a moment before swinging down, landing with more confidence than she had a month ago, steadying herself briefly against the saddle before stepping away on her own.

“Good session.” Colleen smiled.

“You’ll be meeting with me again next week instead of Colleen.” Grinning as though she’d won the largest Kewpie doll at the state fair, Hannah strolled up.

The woman nodded, turned to Colleen and offering the first sincere smile Colleen had seen from her, spoke softly. “Thank you.” Without another word, she nodded and limped away. To Colleen’s satisfaction, not nearly as pronounced as it had been when Colleen first arrived three months ago.

“We wish you could stay.” Hannah handed the horse’s reins over to one of the stable workers.

“I have to admit,” she fell into step with Hannah toward the main house, “I’ve been tempted.”

“But not enough.” There was no censure in Hannah’s tone, not even a hint of optimism.

“Honeysuckle is home. Between school, training, licensing, getting my hours, and… well, here,” she waved an arm across the expanse of the Farraday operation, “I’m ready to go home.”