Chapter 5
BLAINE
M onday morning, I changed my shirt three times.
After last week's gate incident—three yearlings loose at dawn, a chain mysteriously unhooked—I'd been on edge.
Probably nothing, Hector had said when we found them grazing in a ditch down the road.
But his tone said otherwise. I'd started double-checking every lock, every latch, every gate.
Paranoid, maybe. But something felt off.
At least today I had something else to focus on. Caitlin was coming for vaccinations. And dinner. Mostly vaccinations.
"Bro, you're being ridiculous, " Jake said from the kitchen doorway, watching me button up a blue chambray that Tre had assured me "brought out my eyes."
"I'm not being ridiculous. I'm being... presentable."
"For a vaccination visit."
"For a professional appointment with the veterinarian who is responsible for the health of our animals."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "And the dinner invitation has nothing to do with it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Uh huh." He took a sip of his coffee. "You know she has a boyfriend, right?"
I froze, halfway through tucking in my shirt. "What?"
"Hector mentioned it. Some guy back east. Long distance."
I didn't know why that felt like a punch to the gut. I barely knew her. We'd texted a few times. She was pretty and smart and made me laugh, but that didn't mean anything. She was my vet. That was all.
Except it didn't feel like that was all. Not even close.
"Good for her," I said, keeping my voice casual. "That doesn't change the fact that we owe her a thank-you dinner for saving Sunrise."
"Right. A thank-you dinner." Jake's expression was annoyingly knowing. "That's definitely all this is."
"You're an asshole."
"You love me. I'm making lasagna."
He disappeared back into the kitchen, and I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Blue shirt. Clean jeans. Boots that I'd actually remembered to polish.
She had a boyfriend.
Fine. That was fine. This was just dinner. Just a thank you. Just... professional.
I changed my shirt one more time anyway.
Caitlin's truck pulled up at 2 PM, right on schedule.
I was in the paddock with Cisco when she arrived—not because I'd been watching for her, but because Cisco needed attention. That was my story and I was sticking to it.
"Hey there," she called out, grabbing her bag from the truck bed. She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her ponytail pulled through a faded baseball cap. No makeup that I could see. She looked like she'd just rolled off another ranch call.
She looked beautiful.
Not Serena-beautiful—not the kind of beautiful that came from expensive salons and designer clothes and hours of careful curation. This was something else. Something real. The kind of beautiful you couldn't fake or buy.
"Hey yourself," I said, giving Cisco one more pat before walking over to meet her. "Thanks for coming."
"It's my job." But she was smiling. "Ready to hold some horses while I stab them with needles?"
"My favorite Monday activity."
She laughed—that short, surprised laugh I was starting to live for—and we headed toward the main barn.
The vaccinations took about two hours. We worked through the herd systematically—Caitlin efficient and calm, me doing whatever she told me. Hold this lead rope. Keep her steady. Talk to him, keep him distracted. Good, just like that.
I watched her work, trying not to be too obvious about it.
She had a way with the horses that I was only beginning to understand—a quiet confidence that put them at ease.
Even the nervous ones settled under her hands.
She'd murmur to them in a low, steady voice, and they'd relax like she'd cast some kind of spell.
"You're good at this," I said, after she'd calmed a particularly skittish mare who'd been dancing away from the needle.
"It's not magic. It's just listening." She disposed of the syringe and made a note on her tablet. "Most people talk at horses. You have to let them talk back."
"Is that why Hector's horses are always so chill? Because he's basically made of granite?"
She laughed. "Hector's a special case. He's been doing this so long, he probably thinks in horse."
As if summoned by his name, Hector appeared at the barn entrance.
He stood there for a moment, watching us—arms crossed, face unreadable.
I'd gotten used to these silent observations.
He was always watching, always assessing.
It had made me nervous at first, but now I understood it was just his way.
He didn't waste words. He watched and learned and formed his own conclusions.
Caitlin was finishing up with a young gelding, her hands quick and sure as she administered the vaccine and soothed the horse in almost the same motion. Hector watched the whole thing without blinking.
When she was done, he walked over. I expected him to say something to me—some critique of my technique, some reminder of something I'd forgotten. Instead, he stopped beside Caitlin.
" Tiene manos de oro ," he said quietly.
Caitlin looked up, surprised. "I'm sorry?"
But Hector was already walking away, heading toward the stallion barn without another word.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"I don't know. My Spanish is basically limited to 'dos cervezas, por favor.'" She frowned after him. "Was that a compliment or an insult?"
"With Hector, it's hard to tell." I pulled out my phone and typed the phrase into a translator. "Hands of gold. He said you have hands of gold."
Caitlin stared at me. "Hector said that? Hector who grunts at people instead of saying hello?"
"The very same."
She was quiet for a moment, and I could see something shift in her expression—a softness, maybe, or surprise. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me in months."
"Yeah, well." I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though something warm was spreading through my chest at the look on her face. "Hector doesn't give compliments. So when he does, you know he means it."
I was getting better at this. Not good—not by a long shot—but better.
I could read the horses now, at least a little.
Could tell when one was getting nervous, when another needed a firmer hand.
Hector still looked at me like I was a slow learner, but lately it was less "hopeless idiot" and more "work in progress. "
Progress. I'd take it.
"Last one," Caitlin said, as we approached Sovereign Sun's paddock. "The big guy."
"He's not going to like this, is he?"
"Nobody likes getting shots. But he's a professional. He'll handle it."
Sovereign Sun did, in fact, handle it—though not without giving Caitlin a look of profound betrayal that made us both laugh.
"Sorry, buddy," she said, stroking his golden neck. "Necessary evil."
He snorted, as if to say he didn't appreciate necessary evils, and went back to surveying his kingdom with regal disdain.
"He's magnificent," Caitlin said, watching him. "I've worked with a lot of stallions. Never seen one quite like him."
"Grandpa Earl's legacy." I leaned against the fence beside her, close enough to catch a hint of her shampoo—something floral, underneath the eau de barn. "He spent twenty years building this breeding program. Sovereign Sun was supposed to be the culmination."
"Supposed to be?"
"I mean, he is. But Grandpa didn't live to see it. He passed five years ago." I shook my head. "I should have come back more. Should have visited. But I was always too busy, you know? Building my company. Making money. Doing things that felt important at the time."
I didn't know why I was telling her this. I barely knew her. But something about standing here, watching Sovereign Sun graze in the afternoon sun, made me want to be honest.
"I missed five years with my grandfather because I thought I was too important to take a weekend off. And now I'm here, trying to save his legacy, and I don't even know if I can."
Caitlin was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "You're here now. That counts for something."
"Does it?"
"It does to Hector. He won't admit it, but I can tell." She glanced at me. "And it counts to Sunrise. She wouldn't be here without you."
"She wouldn't be here without you."
"Team effort." She smiled. "Speaking of which—I believe you told me to ask you again on Monday. About dinner."
Wait. She remembered. My heart did something embarrassing.
"I did say that. Via text. I have receipts." I took a breath. "So... dinner? Tonight? Jake's making lasagna. He's actually a good cook, despite looking like a guy whose primary food group is protein powder."
She raised an eyebrow. "Did I say I'd come?"
"You said maybe. And that I should ask again on Monday. It's Monday. I'm asking."
She laughed. "Fine. Yes. Dinner sounds nice."
"Really?"
"Don't make me regret it."
"Well, I can't promise that. But I can promise lasagna. What time works?"
"Six-thirty?"
"Six-thirty it is."
Six-thirty found us around the big farmhouse table—me, Caitlin, Jake, and Tre. The lasagna was excellent. The wine was decent. And the conversation was easy in a way I hadn't expected.
Jake had grilled Caitlin about her practice, her background, how she'd ended up in California. She'd told them the short version—Cornell, small animal practice in Brooklyn, wanted something more, found Doc Peterson's listing online.
"You moved across the country for a job posting?" Tre asked, incredulous.
"I moved across the country for the right opportunity." Caitlin shrugged, but something flickered in her eyes—something she wasn't saying. "Sometimes you have to take a leap."
I wondered what she was running from. Or running toward. Or both.
"Says the woman who probably had a five-year plan at age twelve," Tre said.
"Seven-year plan, actually." She grinned. "I'm an overachiever."
"Speaking of leaps," Jake said, "you should have seen Blaine's face when he was telling us about the night of the foaling. I thought he was going to pass out just from the memory."