Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Cade stepped into the kitchen, tired from restless sleep and looking for coffee. The too-soft bed, the heat in the room rising and falling without reason, the unfamiliar sounds of the house. But the physical oddities weren’t what kept him awake.
It was her.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Tessa at the diner, grinning like she didn’t hear the townsfolk whispering about her. The way she’d pretended not to hear when someone said, “Bless her heart, she’s trying.” The brighter she shone, the sharper the laughter cut.
Tessa wasn’t there, but he found a note propped up against a machine that housed a fresh pot of coffee.
Back soon. Coffee’s hot. Bringing something better than toast.—T
Better than toast? He clenched his jaw. Bread was bread. Still, she was off chasing after something better.
Annoyance flickered, then eased. An impulsive move, but it fit her, quick with ideas, restless with energy, already gone before he’d even risen. He could almost see her grin in the sweep of the letters, daring the world to keep up.
Cade poured coffee into a mug and sipped. Smooth. No grit between his teeth, no scorched edge from boiling over a fire. Easier to swallow, but it felt half-tame, gentled for city folk. He drank it. Hot was hot, and he needed the jolt.
Wonder how long she’d been gone and when she’d return? Didn’t matter. He had work to do.
He finished off the coffee, rinsed out the cup, and went to the barn. Last night, he’d made a plan for training the minis to pull the sleigh. He’d train in teams. Five in one, four in the other.
Start with the smartest one she called Einstein. He led Einstein from his stall, harnessed him up, and took him outside. Then did the same with the next four, Pickles, Biscuit, Cupcake and Marshmallow.
Once they were all geared up and ready to go, he whistled, teaching them to respond to his sounds.
Einstein’s ear flicked once. Lazy acknowledgment that said, I hear you, human, but I’m considering my options.
The chestnut gelding possessed an ego twice his size and opinions about everything from the weather to the grain in his bucket.
Yesterday he refused to work because a leaf had blown across his path.
“Don’t forget, I’m in charge here,” Cade said.
Einstein tossed his shaggy mane, debating.
Beside him, Biscuit was already shuffling, the rascal always ready to cause chaos.
Marshmallow, solid white and round as her name suggested, stood with her eyes half-closed like this was all beneath her.
Pickles, spotted gray, just looked confused about why Cade was in charge, while Cupcake tossed her hair and batted her long lashes. The little flirt.
Cade picked up the long reins, five sets, one for each mini, and threaded them through his fingers. “Einstein, walk on.”
For a moment, nothing. Then Einstein surprised them both by stepping forward. The others followed, and within minutes, Cade had five minis moving in formation across the frozen paddock. He walked behind them, adjusting the tension on each rein, controlling their rhythm.
“That’s it, team. There you go.”
Einstein’s mouth gentled against the bit once he realized Cade refused to let him run the show. They found their stride, picking up the pace but staying together. Even Biscuit settled into line.
“Holy Yellowstone!” Tessa’s voice still gripped him like a vice.
He turned to her. She held a white box labeled FOSTER’S BAKESHOP in light blue lettering and bounced on her toes, grinning at him like he’d just performed magic.
“I got donuts.” She held up the box. “Take a break, come eat.”
“We’re in the middle of something. I’ll rest when it’s done.”
She said something that sounded like “taskmaster,” but her purple scarf was wrapped up to her nose and muffled her voice. Her eyes rounded huge above the scarf, bright green in the morning light, and Lord help him, he should look away. Get his bearings.
The mittens killed him. Rainbow stripes, like something a kid would wear to build snowmen. On her, they looked right. Everything about her was bright and hopeful, even after last night’s humiliation.
Einstein, the opportunist, sensed Cade’s distraction and veered left, taking Biscuit with him.
“Einstein, stop.” A quick half-halt on the inside rein brought them back in line. “Biscuit, leave off. You too, Marshmallow.”
“I’ve been trying for weeks to get them to do that,” Tessa said. “What’s your secret? Bribes? Threats? Dark magic?”
“They were waiting to be taken seriously.” He focused on keeping the team moving forward.
She laughed, bright and dismissive. “I am serious! I feed them on schedule, I muck their stalls, I brush them—”
“You giggle when Einstein nips your pockets looking for treats.”
“Because it tickles!”
“You baby-talk to Marshmallow.”
“She likes it when I tell her she’s pretty.”
“You let Biscuit run circles in the paddock.”
“He has excess energy!” She paused. “Okay, I hear it now.”
“Horses read you like a book. If you’re playing, they’ll play. But their version of play might involve dumping you in front of the whole town.”
She went quiet, and he risked a glance. Her smile slipped away.
“Oh, you’re serious,” she said.
“I’m always about horses.” He guided the team through a smooth turn, all five responding to subtle shifts in the reins. “What they need is structure. Boundaries. Discipline.”
“Discipline,” she said, like she tasted something sour. “And how am I supposed to give them something I’ve never had myself?”
He halted the team. “Then that’s where you start. You stick with something long enough to build discipline, and you’ll find you had it in you all along. It’s about staying when things get difficult.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, defensive. “Easy for you. You were born knowing how to make everything behave.”
If she only knew.
The minis started bunching up, testing his distraction. Einstein pulled toward the barn, Biscuit sitting down, Pickles backing up, and Marshmallow giving a pointed snort.
“Whoa,” Cade said. “Stand.”
They didn’t.
“Watch. They’re testing boundaries. Every horse does it, every single time. The key is not to get angry, not to give in. Just wait them out.”
Einstein pulled harder against the bit. Cade maintained the exact same pressure, not fighting nor yielding. Twenty seconds passed. Thirty. Einstein’s head dropped, accepting.
“Good boy,” Cade said and clicked his tongue. This time they moved as a unit, smooth as water.
“See that? They’re always going to test you. You quit when they push, and they own you. But you hold your ground, wait them out, and they learn where the line is.”
Her jaw set, stubborn. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” he admitted. “That’s the whole point. The hard stuff’s the only stuff worth doing. You don’t quit because your back hurts or they’re being stubborn.”
“What if I’m just not cut out for this? What if I’m one of those people who’s only good at starting things and never finishing them?”
“Then you change that. Starting right now.”
“Can I try?” She munched a donut.
“Put down the donuts and come on.”
She polished it off and left the pastry box on the railing. “Do you think I’ll cause a five-mini horse pile-up?”
“Might.” He halted the team near the fence. “But that’s how you learn.”
She climbed through the rails, and he positioned her behind the team, placing the reins in her hands. She fumbled the reins, the gaudy mittens, sticky with sugar, stuck on the leather.
“You need to take those off.”
“It’s freezing!”
“You can’t feel the horses through wool.”
“I can’t feel my fingers without it.”
He moved behind her to adjust her grip. Oops, big mistake. This close, she smelled like vanilla, coffee, and fried dough. Her back pressed against his chest as he positioned her hands, and he forgot everything except how perfectly she fit against him.
“Like this?” She turned her head.
Her face was inches from his. Those blue eyes would be his downfall.
“Yeah. Now ask them to walk.”
“Walk on,” she said.
Nothing happened.
“Say it like you mean it.”
She straightened. “Walk on!”
Einstein’s ears flicked back, considering. Then he stepped forward, and the others followed.
“Oh, oh, I’m doing it!” She bounced, and Biscuit shied left. “Oh no, I’m not doing it!”
“Don’t panic. Keep pressure on his left rein. No, your other left. That’s it.”
She managed two full circles before Einstein decided to head straight for the barn. She panicked, pulling all five reins at once, and the minis were moving in five different directions.
“Help!”
Cade reached around her, steadying the reins, getting everyone sorted. She was laughing too hard to continue.
“Okay, I’m terrible at this.”
“You lasted longer than I expected.”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.” But she was grinning, real and bright.
He led the team back toward the barn, and she strolled beside him, chattering about the upcoming parade.
Cade slipped the tack from Einstein first, hanging each piece in its proper place. That’s when he spotted a pair of ice skates dangling from a bent nail in the corner.
He pulled them down. The leather cracked like dry riverbeds, the blades dull but straight.
“Oh! Papaw’s skates. I used to wobble around in those. Took a lot of spills. A lot of spills. Finally, he and MeeMaw bought me my own pair for Christmas one year. They’re around here somewhere.”
He set one skate against his boot. It fit. For one unguarded second, he pictured gliding across ice, free. Then he hung them back. That kind of joy belonged to people like Tessa. People who believed in magic even after the world laughed in their faces.
But when he glanced at her, mittened hands curled around the stall rail, her grin didn’t quite reach her eyes.
The truth pressed into him hard. He could drill these horses until they marched like soldiers. But if she didn’t believe she could handle them, if she didn’t trust herself, then one stumble in that parade would undo her in front of the whole town.
He knew how cruel whispers could turn, and he knew it would break him to watch her fall.
There had to be another way to show her. Not with reins and discipline, but with balance, with falling and rising again.
“After we finish training, we’re going ice skating.”