Chapter 6
Bridlepath Farm — The Tour
The sunlight hit warmer now, the chill lifting as the morning settled in.
Off to the side of the barn sat a small row of utility vehicles—two side-by-sides and a golf cart that looked like it had seen real use but was still kept clean.
Grant walked straight to the cart.
“You’ll use this to get around,” he said.
Izzy set her empty mug on the step beside it. “You hand these out to guests?”
“You’re not a guest.”
The answer came easy. Matter-of-fact.
He reached past her to the dash, fingers brushing the controls.
“Key stays here,” he said. “Forward, reverse. Brake’s a little soft, so give yourself space.”
Izzy stepped closer to see what he was pointing at.
Closer than necessary.
He didn’t move back.
His arm rested along the back of the seat as he leaned in, showing her the controls. The faint scent of soap reached her again—clean, citrus, familiar now.
She had noticed it last night in the bathroom without thinking much of it.
Different now.
Noticed. Registered. Filed somewhere dangerous.
“This one sticks a little,” he said, tapping the gear. “Ease it into place.”
“Okay.”
She cleared her throat. “And I won’t accidentally launch myself into a pasture?”
He looked at her.
“If you do, the horses will survive.”
“That’s comforting.”
A flicker touched the corner of his mouth.
He stepped back, giving her space.
“Go ahead.”
Izzy slid into the driver’s seat, hands settling on the wheel.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s see what happens.”
She eased it forward.
The cart rolled smoothly.
“No casualties yet,” she called over her shoulder.
“Low bar,” he said, stepping up onto the side rail and then into the passenger seat beside her without asking.
She cut him a look. “You’re supervising.”
“For everyone’s safety.”
“Of course.”
Steve trotted after them for a few steps, then peeled off toward the barn and Naomi like he’d already punched in for his shift.
They moved out across the yard, the barn falling behind them as the property opened up.
It was bigger out here.
Fields stretched in long, clean sections, fencing running in straight lines that disappeared into the distance. Horses lifted their heads as they passed, ears flicking, then settled again.
Izzy slowed, taking it in.
“This is… a lot,” she said.
Grant rested one arm along the back of the seat, easy, grounded. She didn’t lean back—but it would only take an inch.
“Yeah.”
She glanced at him. “You say that like it’s normal.”
“It is.”
She smiled to herself and looked back out over the land.
The wind picked up enough to move her hair as she turned her head toward him.
“That’s the south pasture,” he said, nodding ahead. “Mares out there. Foals in the spring.”
Izzy followed his gaze.
“They’re beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
A beat passed.
She adjusted the wheel, guiding them along the path.
“So Naomi,” she said lightly, “does she always look at people like she’s deciding whether they’re useful or not?”
“Pretty much.”
“And her current assessment of me?”
“Pending.”
Izzy huffed a small laugh. “Excellent. I thrive under scrutiny.”
“She cares about the horses,” he said. “That’s it.”
Izzy nodded slowly.
“That I understand.”
They drove a little farther.
A few of the hands were working along the fence line, one of them glancing up as they passed, giving Grant a quick nod—and Izzy a longer look.
She pretended not to notice.
The cart slowed as they crested a small rise.
From here, the whole place opened up.
Barn. Pastures. Tree line. Rolling land stretching out in every direction.
Izzy let the cart idle.
Neither of them said anything.
“Okay,” she said finally, quieter now. “This is… something.”
Grant didn’t answer right away.
Then—
“Yeah.”
She looked at him.
“You built all this?”
“Mostly.”
That didn’t feel like a small answer.
She thought, fleetingly, of the years she’d spent fighting for wall space and donors while he’d been setting posts in the ground and building fences that actually held.
She studied him a bit longer.
Then looked back out over the land.
“Well,” she said, “I can see why you didn’t mention the bats.”
He looked at her.
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” she said. “You lure people in with this and then casually introduce attic wildlife.”
His mouth shifted again.
That almost-smile.
She put the cart back in gear.
“Alright,” she said, turning the wheel. “Show me the rest.”
Grant settled back beside her, one arm still stretched along the seat behind her, close enough now that she was very aware of the warmth of him at her back.
“Careful,” he said as she took the turn a little sharper than necessary.
“I’ve got it.”
“Debatable.”
She laughed.
They circled back toward the lower paddocks.
Izzy adjusted the wheel, easing them along the fenceline. She was getting the hang of the soft brake, but the proximity to Grant was much harder to navigate.
“You’re doing better,” Grant said, his arm still draped along the back of her seat. “Only hit one fence post.”
“I didn’t hit it,” she corrected. “I communed with it.”
His low laugh was cut short as they rounded the corner of the main barn.
Naomi was there, leaning against a fence rail, checking a clipboard. When she saw them, her eyes didn’t go to the cart; they went straight to where Grant’s arm was resting—inches from Izzy’s shoulder.
“Grant,” Naomi called out.
Izzy eased the cart to a stop.
Naomi didn’t move. She just stood there, effortless in her work gear, dark hair catching the light.
Attractive in a way that didn’t require silk or high-end denim.
She looked like she belonged to the dirt and the horses, and for a split second, Izzy felt a sharp, unexpected prick of something dangerously like insecurity.
Grant hopped out of the cart. “What’ve we got?”
Naomi stepped closer, showing Grant the clipboard. They stood close—heads bent together, voices low, the shorthand of people who had worked side by side for years.
“The vet called about the yearling in stall six,” Naomi said, her voice dropping into all-business. Her hand brushed Grant’s forearm as she pointed to a note on the page.
Grant nodded, his attention fully on the work.
Izzy sat in the driver’s seat, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
She was the outsider. The city girl. The complication.
Watching them, she realized Naomi wasn’t just a manager. She was part of what he’d built.
Grant looked back at Izzy, sensing the shift. “Naomi needs me for a minute. You think you can find your way back to the house without launching into the pond?”
Izzy pulled on a cool, gallery-owner smile. “I think I can manage, Scott. Try not to let the paperwork overwhelm you.”
Naomi’s gaze flicked to Izzy, cool and measuring. “We’ve got it handled.”
“I’m sure you do,” Izzy said.
She put the cart in gear and rolled away, but she could still feel Naomi’s eyes on her back.
And, more annoyingly, she could still feel the phantom heat where Grant’s arm had been.
* * *
The gravel path curved around the side of the main barn just as the low rumble of an old diesel echoed up the valley road.
Izzy glanced up.
An older flatbed truck rolled through the gates, dust trailing behind it. The door bore faded black lettering:
TALLEY FEED & TACK
The trailer behind it was stacked high with grain and feed pallets strapped beneath heavy canvas ties.
The truck eased to a stop beside the barn with a rough diesel shudder.
Grant looked up immediately. “Feed’s here.”
Naomi glanced toward the truck. “About time.”
The driver’s door opened.
A tall man climbed down slowly, somewhere near sixty, lean and weathered from years in the sun. Silver threaded through his dark hair at the temples, and there was something deeply worn—but steady—about his face.
Grant stepped forward first.
“Mornin’, Sam.”
“Grant.” The man’s voice sounded like gravel and old tobacco.
Then his eyes lifted past Grant.
And landed on Izzy. She stood beside the cart, notepad tucked under one arm, her weight settled in that easy, intent way of someone watching a horse instead of a truck.
Everything in him stopped.
Izzy felt it immediately.
The color faded from Sam’s face as he stared at her standing beside the cart in the morning light.
Naomi glanced between them, her brow furrowing.
Grant frowned. “Sam?”
Sam blinked once, hard, like he’d forgotten where he was.
“Sorry,” he said quietly, though his eyes never left Izzy’s face. “For a second there, I thought I’d seen a ghost.”
The comment hung in the air.
Izzy gave a small, uncertain smile and stepped forward.
“Well, hopefully not a bad one.”
That seemed to pull him back into himself.
“No, ma’am,” he said quickly. “No. Not bad.”
Grant looked between them, confused now.
“Sam, this is Isabella Moreno. Izzy—Sam Talley.”
Sam removed his cap automatically.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“You too.”
But he still looked shaken.
His eyes searched her face one more time—not rudely, but almost helplessly.
“You alright?” Grant asked quietly.
Sam let out a long, low sigh.
“Yeah.” A pause. “You just remind me of somebody from a long time ago.”
Something in the way he said it made the morning suddenly feel heavier.
Izzy softened immediately.
“Someone important?”
Sam’s expression changed then.
It was small. Quiet. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Very important.”
Grant shifted awkwardly, sensing something emotional moving beneath the surface that he didn’t fully understand.
“Well,” Grant finally muttered, “if everybody’s done haunting each other, I need this grain before Naomi murders me.”
That earned the faintest ghost of a smile from Sam.
“Naomi still running this place with an iron fist?”
“Worse.”
Sam nodded once and moved toward the flatbed, but before he passed Izzy, he paused.
“You paint?” he asked suddenly.
Izzy blinked. “A little. Mostly gallery work and restoration now.”
Sam studied her another second. His gaze dipped to the notepad tucked against her side.
“She painted too,” he said quietly. “Used to stand just like that at a fence line.”
Before Izzy could ask who he meant, Sam stepped past her toward the barn.
Grant watched him go, brow furrowed.
“What was that about?”
Izzy looked toward the older man unloading feed beside the truck.
Old grief sat on him so heavily that Izzy could almost feel it.
“I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “But whoever she was… he loved her very much.”
Grant’s jaw tightened as he watched Sam disappear into the barn shadows.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
“He did.”