Chapter 5
Harrison
The road home is straight and empty, the kind of Oklahoma stretch that invites thinking whether you want it to or not.
I roll the window down an inch, and let the late-morning air cut through the truck’s interior.
Red dirt, dry grass, fencing that runs forever.
This is my familiar ground. I’m about thirty minutes from the track, from Red Ledger, and from Nicole. Too close for comfort, maybe.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting against my thigh, thumb tapping once every few seconds. It’s a habit I picked up without realizing it. Happens when my mind won’t settle.
I’ve never seen that horse stand like that before. Calm isn’t the right word. Red Ledger isn’t calm. He’s alert, always … and wired. But today — today he was different, like he wasn’t waiting for the next correction to come crashing down on him. He trusted her.
He’s never reacted that way with me … or the last trainer I hired. That man talked too much and was always trying to force a result instead of listening for one. I paid him well to rush a horse that wasn’t ready, and I’d known it even then. I just didn’t stop it.
Nicole did something different. She didn’t do much of anything at all. She stood there. Let the horse make a decision instead of forcing him for hesitating. That kind of patience isn’t taught in manuals. It’s learned the hard way, usually after someone or something breaks.
The image of her in the round pen flashes back. The way she crouched, eyes averted, body open without fear or challenge. She seemed to exude a calm certainty. I’d felt it from where I watched.
The ranch gate comes into view, the familiar metal curve catching the sun. The land stretches out beyond it, wide and predictable with cattle grazing where they’re supposed to. This part of my life makes sense. Women don’t. I have to stop thinking about Nicole.
A year ago, I was still letting someone else tell me what our future looked like.
Listening while she talked about financial opportunity and legacy like those words couldn’t be twisted into weapons.
She loved saying we. We should invest. We should expand.
We should take a chance. Turns out, we mostly meant me.
I pull up near the main barn and cut the engine, sitting there longer than necessary, just recalling the pain. I had made her my everything. She discarded me like I was nothing.
I trusted her judgment. That was the first mistake. The second was believing loyalty worked the same way in everyone’s world. On a ranch, a man’s word still means something. You break it, you don’t get invited back. In racing, people smile while they knife you, then ask why you’re bleeding.
I didn’t see it coming. The way she moved my money without asking. The way she talked to other men like I was already a footnote. The way she came home late smelling like someone else’s cologne and told me I was being paranoid.
I believed her … until I couldn’t.
I step out of the truck and shut the door harder than I need to. The sound echoes off the barn, sharp in the still air. One of the cattle lifts its head, watching me like it’s trying to decide if I’m worth the attention. I am, I think. Just not for long.
Nicole isn’t like her. I know that already. It’s obvious in the way she moves, the way she doesn’t sell herself or soften her edges. Nicole seems like the kind of woman that doesn’t need saving. She also doesn’t need me.
I don’t want a relationship. Not now. Not ever, if I’m being honest. I don’t want to build another future on trust that can be leveraged against me. I don’t want to lie awake wondering who’s spending my money or destroying my name when my back’s turned.
I want things I can count. Land. Livestock.
Contracts that don’t pretend to love you.
And yet, I’ve never wanted to watch someone work the way I wanted to watch Nicole today.
I want to understand how she sees things.
I’d like to be close enough to feel that calm again, without touching it. These thoughts are dangerous territory.
I head toward the house, kick my boots off by the door, and pour myself a glass of water. My phone sits on the counter. Her number is already in there. I don’t touch it.
I lean back against the counter instead and stare out the window toward the land that’s never betrayed me. Red Ledger will be better tomorrow. I know that. He won’t be fixed or finished, but better. And if Nicole can do that with a horse like him without force, then she knows something I don’t.
I finish the water and set the glass down, decision settling slow and deliberate in my chest.
I’ll keep this professional. I’ll watch and pay. I won’t cross lines. Because the horse isn’t the only thing in my life that’s been burned. And I’m not looking for love … ever again.