Double Bridle

1. Leah

Leah

Rumbling fills the humid night air as my trusty Silverado barrels down the highway. Everything I hold dear in the world is loaded into this truck and attached trailer. We’ve been on the road for nine hours and have only stopped for gas and a single restroom break.

Tally has to be restless. She’s never been fond of long rides cooped up back there. She’ll be one ornery gal by the time we reach our destination.

We’re just about there, T.

A nice, long rest stop would be amazing, but there’s not exactly an abundance of horse-friendly hotels on the Gulf Coast. The absurd image that flashes into my mind makes me titter.

Imagine being the housekeeper at a horse hotel.

No thanks. I barely want to deal with Tally’s massive road apples.

No amount of money could convince me to clean up after others.

The final stretch of our journey is dragging on.

Nearly twenty-four hours without sleep will do that to the best of us.

At this point, I think I’m a little delusional—more than my family would lead you to believe.

Fortunately, the roads are clear. Apparently there aren’t tons of people trying to chase their dreams at four in the morning around here.

Slackers.

Life’s short. Opportunities like this don’t come along often. Hell, for a lot of people, they never do. Only a fool would squander a chance of this magnitude.

Is twenty-six too old for Olympic glory? Yes, if you ask my parents. The fact that I don’t want to sit around and rot on the family ranch forever is a hard concept for them to grasp. The four behemoths I call brothers are more than content to do so; they don’t need me withering away there, too.

According to my family, I’m foolish for spending part of my lottery winnings on the horse I’ve always wanted. And even more insane for deciding to pack up and move hours away, stay at a world-class training facility, and focus on what I want for once.

Too damn bad.

Hartbrook is home to some of the best trainers in the world.

Months of research solidified my decision to board and train here.

With six medals under their belts in the last four summer Olympics, no other training facility holds a candle to them.

They don’t have a gold to their name yet, but I plan to fix that issue—if Testy Tally doesn’t break her trainer first.

A dimly lit little town greets me as I pull off the highway, tires on crumbly asphalt disturbing the silence. Down long driveways, single-story houses sit tucked into grassy yards. It’s almost like I’m back home in Mississippi, but with palm tree-lined roads and, somehow, more humidity.

A quaint corner store marks the intersection I need—brick with stone embellishments, timely and rustic like the surrounding architecture.

Turning onto the private drive is akin to entering an alternate reality.

For a moment, I had second-guessed my GPS, fully convinced that all of my Googling was a lie.

Unlike the patchy, worn roads I traveled down to get here, this one is immaculately paved.

They must redo it at the first sign of damage.

Quality, that’s what it screams.

If the entryway is this nice, I know the facilities will be everything I read about, and then some. Jolts of excitement zip through my body, invigorating me, fatigue long-forgotten. I can’t wait to get unpacked. Tally had better love it here, because I already do, and I haven’t even seen the place.

White fences line pastures. Trees canopy the road as we approach the entrance. Chest fluttering, I pull up to the keypad to punch in the security code. With a loud buzz, the wrought-iron gates pull back. Tears immediately fill my eyes. If heaven is real, this is it.

The clock on my dashboard reads five fourteen in the morning, making our travel time ten hours and fourteen minutes.

A shaky sigh breaks free as we cross the threshold to our future.

We made it.

My bubble bursts as the lights of the main house turn on and a disgruntled-looking older woman marches out the front door. Her gray hair is up in curlers, ice-blue eyes narrowed at me. A sky-blue silk robe breezes behind her as she approaches my truck in a frenzy.

“Just who in the world do you think you are?” she asks, voice a shrill screech in the early morning.

“Leah Porter, Ma’am. You must be Mrs. Hart.” I tip my chin to her from my driver’s seat, hoping to calm her blazing fury. I’m well aware of who she is, but I’ve got to play the part. Can’t let on that I’ve stalked this place for months and know every staff member by name—down to the groundskeepers.

“Bah, you’re not slated to arrive until tomorrow.” Her uppity accent grows thick as she rights herself. It’s as if—now that she knows I’m a paying client—she has to put on a front.

Too bad she’s already shown me exactly why the rumors are true. No matter, I’m great at faking it till I make it. If I gave a hoot about acting, I’d have at least one or two Oscars to my name by now.

“My apologies, I was a wee bit overzealous. Turns out my old boarding contract ended a day sooner than I figured.” The lie rolls off my tongue with ease, part of my carefully curated plan.

The woman at my window would never let someone like me infiltrate her prestigious training program. I’m eternally grateful that their background and identity checks are nonexistent if you have enough money.

“How unfortunate. However, we can accommodate, I’ll amend your bill for the month to reflect the additional days lodging…

alongside a convenience fee.” Lifting her nose, she turns toward the wall of windows she calls a house, strolling casually up the pristine white driveway.

“Find Grady or Parker, they’re your contacts, or staff, whichever you prefer to call them. They’ll assist you from here.”

Who? Neither of those names rings a bell, which is only mildly concerning. “How am I supposed to know what they look like?” I yell.

If she hears me over the rumble of the engine, she doesn’t give any indication.

Lovely. What a great start.

Is it unprofessional to show up a day early, unannounced? Yeah, I guess. But given the amount of money this place will be funneling out of my account every month, I’d expect a teeny bit of hospitality.

I’ll be staying in cabin one-fourteen. Tally’s supposed to be boarded in the stable across the drive from me.

So, seeing as I have no choice but to self-orient, I follow the road signs and head toward my housing.

The fact that this place is so large that it needs marked roads is ludicrous. Just the way I like it.

Dawn approaches, shining warm light upon the sprawling pastures. Horses graze peacefully, only momentarily bothered by my existence. Tally stirs in her trailer, whinnying to them as we pass. She’s going to do well here. Where her people skills are lacking, my girl loves other animals.

I drive slowly, admiring how well-kept the land and facilities are.

There’s hardly a sign of use—or life—anywhere.

Immaculately raked paddocks, hedges trimmed to perfection.

Even the crisp, white siding on the buildings is spotless, free of any vines or moss—things from home I never thought I’d take for granted.

I knew coming in that Hartbrook prides itself on cleanliness, but this feels…

clinical. Everything looks staged, like walking into a catalog.

The grounds are large, and the further I go, the more the lodging appears to be empty…

strange. Truthfully, it’s probably for the best. I’m rowdy, and their normal clients are stuffy.

They’re going to hate me.

Shaking my head, I rid myself of the negative thoughts. There’s no time for insecurity or inferiority, I have goals and aspirations. While they’re likely unattainable, that’s never stopped me before.

As I cut the engine off, the stable door slides open. Hopping out of Ol’ Trusty, I step around to the passenger side and pause.

So does he.

Haloed by the morning sun is a man who can only be described as a Grecian lumberjack. He’s tall—so tall—sporting a rich tan that looks to be all natural, and hello, biceps.

My brain misfires. Part of me had assumed the door was automatic. The idea isn’t far-fetched, given how unnecessary half of the amenities here are.

Nope. I was very wrong. Which, at the moment, I’m thankful for.

Focus, Leah.

Right, staring is rude. Say something, mouth.

“Hey there!” I call out, plastering on my best warm smile, eager for a reply… that doesn’t come.

Instead, he dips his head, directing his gaze at the pavement as he strolls my way. The closer he gets, the more I want him to look up. With his face pointed down, I’m only given the chance to admire the sharpness of his cheekbones.

“I’m Leah. Are you Parker?” My voice sounds fake as I try to hide my accent, just in case he’s as pretentious as the old hag that greeted me at the gate.

Stopping in his tracks, he lifts his golden gaze to me—brows pinched like I asked the dumbest question he’s ever heard. A shake of his head accompanies the faint scowl barely visible through his deep brown beard.

“Ooookay…” I squint, pursing my lips.

What’s with the silent treatment?

“Ah! Grady?” The faintest hint of twang breaks through as I approach him.

One distinct nod, and he carries on past me to unlock my trailer.

“Wait!” I step next to him. “Tally isn’t too keen on strangers. She also doesn’t like the trailer, so she’s bound to be extra cranky.” Sparing him a glance, I take note of his raised eyebrows, expression filled with surprise. “Trust me.” I place my hand over his on the latch.

His eyes dart across my face, over to where we’re touching, then straight to the ground. Pulling away, he clears his throat and runs his fingers through the long, nearly black mess of hair on his head. Stepping back a few feet, he nods for me to open the trailer.

Climbing inside, I carefully approach Tally and scratch behind her ear, right where she likes. Once I slip her halter on, I attach a lead and gently coax her out.

The man—who I’m going to call Grady, assuming he’s not full of shit—stands with his mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

Yeah, take a good look.

Even after half a day cooped up, Tally is stunning.

My girl doesn’t believe in bad hair days.

Her flowing mane and tail are strategically chaotic until I tame them for her.

At almost sixteen hands, her withers are just a bit higher than the top of my head.

Solid black, naturally, she gleams in the sun.

“Ever seen a Friesian in the flesh?” I raise my brows, patting Tally’s neck.

Grady shakes his head, letting out a low whistle of appreciation.

“I figured as much. A lot of Dutch Warmbloods and Hanoverians train here, huh?” I pull a peppermint from the pocket of my jeans and toss it to him.

With lightning-fast reflexes, he catches it, jerking his head back.

“I’m assuming you’re the stable hand that will be caring for her, yeah? ”

He nods, still silent.

Awesome… just great.

“Well then, consider this a peace offering. It should help her hate you less.” A mischievous grin splits my face as he audibly gulps.

Unwrapping the candy, he slowly approaches and extends his hand. Tally—the little harlot—lets out a low nicker, practically rolling over for him. As she takes the mint from his palm, more gentle than I’ve ever seen, he passes me a bemused look.

“She’s a filthy traitor!” I huff. “Don’t get too confident. She’ll strike when you least expect it.”

His lips twitch, trying to maintain the indifferent expression he’s been wearing. Despite his efforts, two small bursts of air escape him.

Was that a laugh?

“Ha. Ha. You won’t think it’s funny when she puts you on your ass,” I grumble. “Now show me the way to her stall. I’m beat and she needs some good rest, too.”

He nods, turning toward the stable. Tally nibbles on the end of my braid as we trail behind him.

Inside the building is way too fancy for my blood. Everything here is so segmented. Unlike other facilities where there’s one large central boarding stable, Hartbrook is more like a campground. There are about a dozen clusters of identical buildings—as far as I’ve seen, anyway.

Each has a stable with four large stalls, a tack room, and a supply room. There’s a corral, private training arena, and pool for every group as well, along with six cabins—one for each trainee, another for the trainer, and a final one for the stable hand.

Some may call the layout “curated”. I call it ridiculous. But, if this is what gets me a podium spot at the Olympics, so be it.

The secluded area I’m assigned to is the exception to their standard layout, with only five cabins.

Yet the stable still has four stalls, so I’m not sure why that is.

A trainer and stable hand who aren’t listed on their staff site, a cluster of buildings that is intentionally segregated from the rest, and me, the unorthodox client.

This smells funny, but who am I to question it?

We stop at Tally’s stall. The door sign has her registered name on it, along with a—hopefully convincingly Photoshopped—picture of us at last year’s World Cup. Grady looks between the picture and us a few times before shrugging.

I relax and try to hide the relief on my face. “Thanks, I’ll get her settled in and head to my cabin. I already know which one it is.” I force a smile through my nerves, turning away from him before it stops being convincing.

Grabbing a comb, I get to work de-tangling Tally’s mane. It’s down to her shoulder and usually stays fairly neat, but she was thrashing quite a bit on the way here. She’s unbothered now, face buried in the feed bucket. My girl loves a snack.

Startled by commotion behind us, I whirl around to Grady hauling our gear into the storage closet.

“I would have gotten all that, you know.” I plant a hand on my hip.

Expression flat, he sighs and points to the Hartbrook logo on the chest of his polo.

“Ah, fair enough. But still, I’m capable.” I cross my arms.

He throws his hands up in surrender and walks out of the stable, shaking his head.

How have we had a whole conversation, but he still hasn’t said a word?

Once I have Tally unpacked and settled, I head back to my truck for some of my bag before making my way to the cabin I’ll call home for the foreseeable future.

Today is the start of the rest of my life.