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Maple drifted toward the rail. Delaney panicked, pulling the inside rein tight and wrenching the mare’s head to the left. Maple stopped, tossed her heavy head, and let out a sharp, frustrated snort.

“Sorry,” Delaney blurted, dropping her hands immediately.

“What did I say about apologizing?”

“Right.” Delaney dragged a hand over her forehead, pushing back a stray lock of dark hair. “No apologies.”

“Use your leg.” Claire pointed at Delaney’s borrowed boot. “Don’t haul on her mouth. Press your right calf into her ribcage. Guide her with your body, not your arms.”

Delaney took a steadying breath. She pressed her right boot into Maple’s flank and opened her left rein just an inch.

Maple yielded instantly. The mare turned her shoulders smoothly back toward the inside track, dropping her nose half an inch and blowing out a long, quiet breath.

Claire closed her mouth.

It was a tiny adjustment, invisible to anyone who hadn’t spent their life watching horses move. But Delaney had felt the mare’s weight shift and let her own hips follow the motion without fighting it.

Maple walked three full circles, the mare’s head dropping into a relaxed rhythm.

The first sharp slice of sun finally cleared the Larkspur Range, catching the side of Claire’s face with sudden warmth. Gold light reached across the ring, lighting up the dust rising around Maple’s knees.

Claire checked her watch. That was enough for now.

“All right,” Claire said, stepping into the track. “Whoa her.”

Delaney pulled back gently, sitting deep. Maple came to a dead stop, neck low and relaxed.

“Step down.”

Delaney unhooked her boots from the stirrups, swung her right leg over, and slid down the fender. She wobbled the second her weight hit the sand, catching the saddle horn to keep from folding over.

“How do your legs feel?” Claire asked, taking the reins.

“Like jelly,” Delaney admitted.

A small smile broke across her face. It was the first time she hadn’t looked so serious, and it changed the whole shape of her face.

“My thighs are going to hate you,” Delaney said.

“They’ll hate me even more tomorrow,” Claire said. She turned Maple toward the gate. “Good job. We’ll be back here again in the afternoon. Three o’clock? That’ll give you a chance to go into town and pick up a few things to wear.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Delaney stood by the rail, watching them walk away. “Thanks, Claire.”

Claire didn’t look back. But as she walked Maple down the sunlit gravel toward the barn, her mind was already turning over, thinking about the script, about what Delaney would need in terms of getting the part right, and Claire thought they were actually off to a pretty good start.

5

Delaney shifted in the saddle, the worn leather creaking under her. Four days of this and her thighs still burned like she’d run a marathon, but the ache felt earned now. Maple moved beneath her with a steady rhythm that no longer made Delaney’s stomach flip with panic. She kept her seat without gripping the horn, heels down, back straight the way Claire had drilled into her every morning and every afternoon. The round pen’s dirt gave under the mare’s hooves in soft puffs. Sunlight cut across the rails, soaking heat into Delaney’s shoulders through the shirt she’d bought in Juniper Falls yesterday.

She could mount on her own today. No boost from Claire’s hands on her hip. No steadying palm on her calf once she settled.

That missing touch gnawed at her worse than the soreness. It was stupid. Delaney knew better. Claire wasn’t the type for casual hookups, especially not with a houseguest who’d be packed up and gone in a few weeks. Delaney had watched her long enough to know that much. The woman woke at four-thirty like clockwork, drank her coffee black out on the front porch, and moved through her day with the kind of quiet self-containment that built a wall around every boundary she had.

Still, Delaney missed the contact.

Last night she’d caught Claire coming out of the bathroom in a thin tank top, hair damp and dark at the roots from the shower. Water had beaded along her collarbone, dripping towards her cleavage.

Delaney had stood frozen in the hallway, imagining the slide of her fingers through those wet strands, the way she might tug just enough to tilt Claire’s head down and kiss her right there against the wall.