Page 24 of Sunrise & Serenity

“Working cow horse.” She smiles. “I did consider rodeo after Holden ran off to compete. I wanted to follow him around the circuit. But since I was only seven…” She shrugs with a laugh. “Then I got interested in working cow horse instead.”

Holden was a rodeo rider? Is that how he injured his shoulder? I file that away for later and focus on the other part of her statement. “Working cow horse?”

She purses her lips as she considers her answer. “It’s kind of a mix of disciplines. You show how well the horse handles in the arena, then work a cow. The horse has to be athletic enough to stop, turn, and change direction fast, but smart enough to read the cow and react without you micromanaging its every step.”

“That sounds difficult.”

“It is.” Her grin widens. “The horse does half the work. Sometimes more than half. When you find the right one, it’s like they’re thinking right alongside you.”

“Wow. I’ve never heard of it before. Though I guess that doesn’t say much. So there are competitions for it?”

“Huge ones.” A flash of excitement lights her eyes. “The best riders compete across the country, and the really good horses can be worth a fortune. I’ve watched the big events online for years. One day, I’m going to ride into one of those arenas and know I belong.”

“I have a feeling you’re already halfway there.”

She snorts. “I can always get better. But once I find the perfect competition horse, everyone’s in trouble.”

Her smile is wide and contagious. I can’t help but admire her confidence. “I have no doubt.”

We pass a white sign with a blue border that reads Welcome to Silverford. Quaint little houses begin lining either side of the road, and much sooner than I expect, we reach what I assume is the main street. It’s short but busy, with cars and trucks angled along the curb, pedestrians strolling up and down, and teens lingering outside a diner. The shops have neat, colorful signs, and most have planter boxes filled with flowers outside. We pass a small bank, a pharmacy, a grocery store, and what looks like a supply shop. At the far end of the street, the mountains rise beyond the rooftops, impossibly close.

Taryn swings the truck into a diagonal parking spot outside a consignment store tucked between a bookshop and a florist, stopping in front of a window decorated with antique lamps and hand-painted furniture.

“C’mon.” She throws her door open. “Let’s get you kitted out. Those boots must be giving you blisters already.”

I wince at both her accuracy and the sting in my feet, lifting one boot and wrinkling my nose at it. “I thought they looked ranchy.”

She giggles. “It looks like you dressed for a Pinterest board called Ranchcore but Make it Fancy.”

“Close enough, I guess.”

“We’ll go here first.” She points at the consignment shop once we meet around the front of the truck. “And if we’re lucky, Riley’ll be working.”

“Who’s Riley?” I ask as she pushes her way through the swinging door.

“She’s Quinn’s best friend. They’ve been attached at the hip since they were kids, so she’s practically family.”

The store is filled with more furniture and clothes, as well as a few saddles, bridles, and boots. It smells like cedar and leather, and the wooden floor creaks under our feet.

As we reach the counter, a pretty blond woman pops out from a back room and breaks into a wide smile.

Taryn waves. “Riley, come and meet Sage. She’s the photographer who’ll be taking promotional shots of the ranch.”

The woman grins at me. “It’s nice to meet you. When did you get into town?”

“Just last night.”

“We need to get her some more comfortable clothes,” Taryn adds.

Riley runs her gaze over me, her expression assessing rather than judgmental. “If you’re going to be riding around on the ranch, I can see where you might need to make some changes.”

I laugh. “That’s what I’ve been told.”

“I’ve got you covered. Come on, over this way.”

Riley leads us to the back of the store, where racks of clothes have been set up and several shelves of boots line the wall. She comes to a stop next to a pile of jeans and taps her finger against her chin as she scrutinizes me again. “Your outfit is super cute. But…”

“You don’t need cute,” Taryn breaks in. “At least, not for every day.”