Page 19 of Quiver

“Yeah,” she cut in, not seeing any need to rehash her own credentials.

She heard a car door shut, and walked over to the front window but didn’t see anyone approaching. Maybe one of her boarders had shown up for a ride. She walked to the side door and noticed an unfamiliar car near the entrance to the barn. “Hey, I gotta go. Someone’s in the barn, and they’re supposed to let me know before they saddle up.”

“You don’t want pony club going rogue on you.”

“I don’t do pony clubs for exactly that reason, but seriously, I do have the beginners’ group starting soon if you want to send anyone out.”

He laughed. “Happy New Year.”

She sighed but didn’t make any comment about all years being pretty much the same. “Sure, you too, but call me in January.”

“Enjoy the off-season.”

She rolled her eyes and disconnected without agreeing.

“Off-season.” She tried to scoff, but the idea left her more queasy than disgusted.

She found the boots she’d kicked off near the couch last night, and her coat was tossed across the kitchen table, but she had to search a bit for her stocking cap. She didn’t even bother with gloves, jamming her hands in her pockets instead. She tromped through a fresh two or three inches of powder, listening for any voice she might recognize, but she could only pick out the soft nicker of her old carriage horse. She wondered what caught his attention, as she stepped into the center hallway between two rows of stalls. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but she didn’t have to see details to recognize the silhouette standing in the doorway to Winston’s stall.

Kylie stood with her forehead pressed to his while she stroked his neck and whispered sweet words to him.

The sight of her there, beautifully unguarded, twisted Fletcher’s insides so tightly she nearly took a step back. If they’d been anywhere else, she might’ve ceded her ground to the ache in her chest, or to the way it matched the ache radiating off Kylie as she clung to an old friend. But this was her barn, her horse, her sanctuary. She couldn’t stand to see that shattered, and the longer Kylie stood there, looking like a lovely kind of belonging, the more likely Fletcher would end up shattered. She’d worked too hard to allow it.

“You need to leave, Kylie.”

She startled briefly but collected herself in an instant, sliding a more calculated mask of neutrality across her features. “Good morning. I figured you’d be up early.”

“You have to stop showing up here,” she said flatly. “Go home.”

“My grasp on the concept of ‘home’ is as fraught as your relationship with ‘desire.’”

She refused to take the bait. “Then go back to the city, or your parents’ house, or go someplace new, or anywhere you want.”

“There’s the problem. You gave me a lot to think about after you dropped me off last night.”

“That was never my intent.”

“Can we both agree we’re not great at connecting intent and action where each other is concerned?”

“I do not agree.”

Kylie gave Winston one more pat before stepping out of the stall, revealing she held a bridle in her hand. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“No.”

“I haven’t ridden in years, and hard conversations are always easier on horseback.”

Fletcher shook her head. “I’m all maxed out on conversations.”

Kylie flashed a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll do most of the talking, but I want to ride Winston.”

“Winston’s mostly a carriage horse these days. He’s done a lot of sleigh rides lately.”

“I know I’m not as lithe as I was at twenty-two, but I’m certain I weigh less than an open sleigh.”

“That’s beside the point.” Fletcher tried to rein Kylie back in.

“I’d rather ride Western if you don’t mind.”