Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
elena
Isaac Logan is troublesome.
Or rather, my inability to ignore him is.
I told him to treat me like everyone else, to pretend our night together never happened. He’s so good at it, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe he should be an actor.
It made sense at the time but it’s driving me insane.
We circle up in the stables, and unfortunately, Mikayla joins us. Why, I’m uncertain. Why I care, another mystery I don’t have the mental energy to solve.
I’m still brushing hay from my jeans when he climbs up on the fence post like he owns the damn ranch.
Which, I guess he does.
So irritating that his arrogance is actually earned.
He lifts two fingers in a lazy wave and flashes that same easy, maddeningly irresistible grin that got me in trouble the first night I met him.
“All right, rookies. Round up.”
Kyle eyes him from beside me. “He’s like a real-life Marlboro Man.”
“I am right here,” Isaac says, smirking. “And I’m more of a Copenhagen guy anyway.”
Nora raises her hand like we’re schoolchildren. “Can we get a breakdown of what this is? Like, actual objectives? I need to schedule my chiropractor accordingly.”
Isaac’s eyes find mine, and there’s a flicker of something behind them. Amusement. Mischief, maybe. Something softer.
He clears his throat and hops down from the fence in one fluid motion, all coiled muscle and grace, and suddenly I forget how to breathe like a normal person.
“For the first two weeks of cowboy training camp,” he says, like it’s a totally normal sentence, “we’re sticking to the basics. Don’t try to impress anyone. Don’t try to be fancy. Your only job is to listen, learn, and not break your neck.”
Kyle salutes. “Very motivating, Coach.”
Isaac smirks. “Week One is all about safety and fundamentals. That means understanding ranch rules, barn etiquette, and horse behavior. You can’t work with something if you can’t read it.”
He gestures toward the group of grazing geldings in the pasture.
“They’re not props. They’re animals with instincts, emotions, and boundaries. You’ll learn how to approach a horse, how to read body language, how to tell when they’re spooked or relaxed.”
Next to me, Mikayla whispers, “I’d like to let him read my body language.”
I might throw up.
“Grooming is essential,” Isaac continues. “You’ll all learn to brush them out, clean hooves, and tack up with proper equipment. No shortcuts. No assistants. You want to look like cowboys on camera, you need to work like one first.”
“We mucking stalls, too?” Eli asks, already grimacing.
Isaac flashes a wolfish grin. “Only if you’re lucky.”
Mikayla fake-retches.
He walks the line of us slowly now, like he’s measuring something deeper than posture. I feel his gaze before it hits me.
“By the end of this week, you’ll mount and dismount like you’ve done it your whole life, even if you haven’t. You’ll hold your reins with control. Sit tall in the saddle. And when we walk around the arena, you’ll stop your horse like you mean it. Every move is intentional.”
A shiver tiptoes down my spine. His voice is steady but firm, and for some reason, every time he says with intention, my core clenches.
“Week Two, we move into horsemanship and arena skills,” Isaac says. “We’ll go over saddle types and fitting, and you’ll all learn how to post at the trot—”
“What’s posting?” Mikayla cuts in, batting her lashes.
“It’s when your hips rise with the rhythm of the horse’s trot,” he answers smoothly, not even reacting to the flirt.
I bite my lip and look away. I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
Mikayla isn’t satisfied. “Is that where the saying posture like a lady, hips like a whore, comes from?”
Kyle snorts. Nora frowns. I try not to care if Isaac indulges her.
He doesn’t. He just smirks and continues his monologue.
“We’ll cover rein steering, leg pressure, and leading a horse through poles on the ground. It’s harder than it looks. You’ll learn emergency stops, one-rein stops, and arena spacing so no one gets trampled. Safety comes first. Every time.”
I’m nodding before I realize it. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m impressed at how seriously he’s taking this and that he knows his stuff.
“And then?” Kyle asks, already sweating through his flannel.
Isaac leans against a post and folds his arms. “And then we see who has what it takes to be a cowboy.”
His gaze locks with mine. I think it’s accidental. But maybe it isn’t.
My stomach gives a strange, fluttery kick.
His eyes on mine is a bad idea every time. Instantly I’m transported back to that damn hotel room, feeling him sinking deeper inside me as my body opens for him.
“You gonna line up with the others?”
I cross my arms and lean against the fence, feigning being casual. But my heart is hammering blood into my ears a million miles an hour.
My voice comes out firmer than I mean it to. “Are we seriously pretending I need to learn how to mount a horse?”
His brow arches, slow and deliberate. “We moving too slow for you, Miss Ortega?”
I push off the fence and sigh. “No. It just…”
Isaac’s head tilts slightly, and something like intrigue flickers in his eyes.
“I’ve been riding since I was a child. I’ve ridden reining patterns in national shows, roped calves faster than most boys on the circuit, and spent the first eighteen years of my life doing barn chores before sunrise.
I may not know how to pose pretty in a saddle for the cameras, and I’m willing to work on that, but I don’t need a crash course in rein pressure and hoof picking. ”
Isaac doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
I spin my index finger in the air. “So, if it’s all the same to you, Coach Logan, I’d prefer to skip to the parts that are vital to my on screen performance.”
Eli grins. “I, on the other hand, would like to start with standing much farther away from these devils in horsehide if that’s all right with everyone else.”
Isaac regards us both like we’ve annoyed him.
Finally, he moves. Slowly. Measured. Boots crunching on dirt with each step.
He steps close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his eyes and the faint scar on his jaw that I noticed when he was coming inside me.
“You done?” he asks, voice low.
“Seems like we’re just getting started. At the preschool level it would appear.”
His mouth twitches, and I hate how much I notice it. Hate how much I want to kiss the smug right off him.
“You make a fair point,” he says. “And for the record, I did read the E-mail from your agent. I know how experienced you are.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you get a pass. Everyone trains. Even the ringers.”
“Is that what I am?” I toss back. “A ringer?”
“I don’t know,” he says, glancing down at my boots, then slowly back up at me. “But for someone complaining so much, you sure as hell like to ride.”
My eyes go wide. Eli James is close enough to hear us. Heat spreads through my face, neck, and other, less public, regions.
Isaac grins. “I mean, I think I saw you on the mechanical bull in the Wild Coyote the other night, right? If it wasn’t you, you have a twin in town.”
And the way his eyes flare like he’s picturing exactly how I like to ride?
Infuriating.
I clench my teeth. Give a slight shake of my head.
Without another word, he turns and addresses the group again.
“Since you do all seem to be at vastly different experience levels, we’ll make a few adjustments to the schedule. Elena will help me evaluate each of you tomorrow to see where we can split off the beginners from the intermediate riders. Sound good?”
There are a few murmurs of agreement.
But all I hear is the thunder of my pulse in my ears.
And the ache I feel in my chest as I realize this is going to be even harder than I thought.
I should’ve just pretended to be a beginner. Blended into the group and kept my mouth shut. Because if even a fraction of what I feel inside is showing on my face in front of everyone, we’re screwed.