Chapter 8
Bridlepath Farm — The Next Morning
The kitchen was already warm with morning light. Coffee brewed. The back door stood cracked open, letting in cool air and the quiet sounds of the farm waking up.
Izzy stood at the counter, pouring a second cup, bare feet on the cool floor. She was still in the soft sleep shorts and camisole she would’ve worn in her own condo—all cotton and lean lines. Her hair was a messy dark cloud around her shoulders, like she’d just climbed out of a warm bed.
She was mid-pour when the front door opened.
Boots crossed the floorboards with easy, familiar weight. She turned just as Burke stepped into the kitchen like he owned the place.
He stopped dead.
His gaze did a slow, intentional circuit—from Izzy’s bare legs up to her sleep-muddled face, then over to Grant. Grant was leaning against the counter with his own mug, barefoot and in a worn T-shirt, looking entirely too settled for a man who should have been in a saddle an hour ago.
Burke’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. He let out a dry, pointed cough, his all-knowing brotherly glance landing hard on Grant.
“Well,” Burke said, his voice dripping with mock surprise. “I figured you’d be three miles out in the north pasture by now, Grant. You getting soft in your old age? Or just getting lazy?”
Grant didn’t move, but his eyes went flat and dangerous, locking onto Burke’s. As Izzy turned back to the counter to hide the sudden flush on her cheeks, Grant slowly, deliberately lifted his hand and gave his brother the middle finger.
Burke didn’t flinch; he just let out a quiet huff of a laugh.
Message received.
“Anyway,” Burke said, leaning against the opposite counter and reaching for a mug. “So, Iz. You ready to plan a surprise party, or are you just here to watch my brother slack off?”
Izzy cleared her throat, rebuilding her dignity despite the sleep shorts. “I’m ready. And I’m pretty sure I’m the one who did the work this morning. The coffee is actually drinkable.”
Burke grinned. “I bet it is.”
“So,” Burke said, topping off his mug, “I guess the cottage didn’t work out.”
Izzy let out a small sound that might’ve been a laugh.
Grant answered flat. “Uh… no.”
Burke looked between them. “No?”
“Bats.”
Burke blinked. “Bats?”
“Bats.”
A beat. Then Burke let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, man. I bet that went over well.”
Grant glared at them. “I told you both the place wasn’t ready for guests.”
Burke didn’t argue. Just took a sip of his coffee.
Burke turned back to Izzy, softer now. “Sorry, I didn’t make it over last night. Got tied up on a case.”
Izzy waved it off. “You’re fine. I think we managed.”
Grant set his mug down. “Well, I’m not sorry you didn’t make it.”
Burke’s brow lifted.
Grant nodded toward Izzy. “She cooked. You missed out.”
Burke’s gaze flicked back to Izzy, taking in the picture again—sleep-warm, not quite put together, and very much not a casual stranger. “That right?”
Grant leaned back. “She might need to open an Italian place here in Sylva.”
Izzy laughed. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Grant didn’t look at her when he added, “That’d make one little gal I know real happy.”
Burke smiled at that. “Yeah. It would.”
Caitlin.
“She’ll hate anything that feels like a production,” Burke said.
“Exactly.”
Izzy reached for a notepad sitting on the counter and flipped it open. “It’s Wednesday. We’ve got a couple days. Guest list first—who do we absolutely need there?”
Burke leaned one shoulder against the counter across from her.
“Reid and Eleanor,” he said.
Izzy nodded, writing.
“Tessa and Scout,” he added.
“Luke and Sara,” Izzy said, already a step ahead.
Burke glanced at her, approving. “Yeah.”
Grant spoke from behind her.
“My parents,” he said. “Burton and Maggie.”
Izzy wrote it down.
“And Aunt Emma?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Grant said. “She’d never forgive us if we didn’t.”
Izzy smiled. “Noted.”
She looked up.
“And us,” she said lightly. “Which I assume is implied.”
Burke’s mouth moved again.
“Implied,” he said.
Izzy tapped the pen against the page once.
“Okay. That’s a good group.”
“Food?” Burke asked.
Izzy glanced at Grant.
He didn’t hesitate. “She’s handling it.”
Izzy blinked. “Am I?”
“You are now.”
Burke chuckled. “Sounds like you volunteered.”
Izzy shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Alright. Fine. But I’m keeping it simple.”
“You say that now,” Grant said.
She pointed the pen at him. “Don’t.”
They fell into it easily after that.
Details.
Timing.
Where to set everything up—inside if the weather turned, outside if it held.
Burke moved through it like he did everything—steady, thoughtful, already thinking two steps ahead.
Grant stayed quieter, but when he spoke, it mattered.
Izzy kept the list moving.
At one point, Burke caught Grant’s eye again. He didn’t say anything, but the look was clear: You’re in trouble, little brother.
Grant just gave him a look that promised a knockout if he opened his mouth.
Burke shook his head, a ghost of a grin on his face, and didn’t push.
Izzy closed the notebook with a soft tap. “Alright. We’ve got a plan.”
Burke nodded. “Caitlin’s not going to see this coming.”
Izzy smiled. “That’s the idea.”
The morning settled around them—coffee, sunlight, and the quiet hum of something being built just under the surface.
And for the first time since she’d gotten there, it didn’t feel like she was standing on the outside anymore.
* * *
By afternoon, the barn had settled into a different rhythm. The heavy morning chores were done, replaced by the steady, repetitive sounds of lessons and light training.
Izzy wandered toward the outdoor arena, drawn by the steady pound of hooves and Naomi’s unmistakable, sharp-edged voice. She needed a break from the family feeling in the house—it was already a little too easy to get used to.
A teenage rider was guiding a gray gelding around a small course. The girl was talented but tense, her knuckles white on the reins.
“Breathe,” Naomi called from the center of the ring. “You’re riding like you’re made of concrete.”
Izzy rested her forearms on the rail and watched. Her body remembered this rhythm—approach, takeoff, landing, recover. The gray gelding, Ghost, was honest and athletic, jumping with more scope than the low verticals required.
When the rider finally pulled up near the gate, her face was flushed with warmth and frustration. Ghost tossed his head, sensing his rider’s eagerness to be done.
“Walk him out,” Naomi commanded. “Don’t just park.”
The rider started a sloppy circle, fumbling with her reins as she tried to shove sweat-darkened hair out of her face. Ghost’s shoulder drifted toward the gate.
Izzy moved without thinking, her hand closing around the leather just below the bit, steadying the horse before he could push through.
“I’ve got him,” Izzy said softly.
The rider slid down, looking relieved. “Thanks. I have to—Naomi will kill me if I’m not back in two minutes.” She jogged toward the bathroom, leaving Izzy with the reins.
Across the way, in the round pen, Naomi was working a big young bay horse. Grant stood at one side, Cal at the other.
The bay bolted.
Naomi swore and ran. Grant lunged for the nearest gate and hit a wall of horseflesh as a gelding sidestepped into his path. Cal went for the opening—and missed by a yard.
The bay was already clear of the pen.
Head high. Eyes blown. Running for open space.
Running for the road.
Izzy didn’t think.
She moved.
The reins slid through her hand as she planted a foot on the rail and swung up in one motion. Leather met her palms. Her other foot found the stirrup as Ghost surged beneath her.
“Let’s go.”
They exploded forward.
Wind tore at her hair, ripped the breath from her lungs. The ground came fast and hard—stride, stride, stride—Ghost stretching out beneath her like he’d been waiting for it.
The bay was ahead.
Too fast. Too wild.
“Come on,” she murmured, low and steady, hands light. “Come on, stay with me.”
Ghost lengthened.
Closed the distance.
A flash of movement at her right—
Steve.
The dog tore down the lane, all muscle and focus, one blue eye, one brown, locked on the bay.
“Stay with me, Stevie!”
He did.
The ditch came up fast—a jagged slice of red clay and briar where the pasture dropped toward the drive.
The bay saw it too late.
He faltered—one step, half a decision—
If he hit it wrong, he’d break.
Don’t think. Ride.
Izzy shifted her weight, angling Ghost.
“Now.”
She felt it—the gather, the coil—
Then they were airborne.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. No sound. No ground. Just the stretch of muscle beneath her and the rush of blood in her ears. For the first time in years, she felt like the girl who used to live for this—before trainers and trophies and everything that came after.
They cleared it.
Landed hard and clean on the far side.
Ahead now.
Inside the bay’s line.
Izzy sat up, turned her shoulders, and put her leg on—just enough to block the path forward.
The bay skidded, checked—
And tried to bolt left.
Steve cut him off.
A blur of fur and teeth and instinct, darting low, barking sharp and precise—forcing the bay back where she needed him.
“Good boy!”
They had him.
Back toward the pasture.
Back toward the barn.
Izzy didn’t force it—just shaped it, held the line, steady pressure, steady voice.
“Easy… easy…”
Ghost held.
The bay’s run burned off in stages—panic, then speed, then that wild edge softening, step by step.
By the time they reached the field above the barn, it was only a hard canter.
Naomi was there.
Line ready.
She stepped in, caught the halter, clipped it fast.
The bay blew out a long, shaking breath.
Izzy sat astride Ghost, her chest rising and falling. Only then did she look up.
Grant was halfway across the paddock, stopped dead. Cal stood a few yards off, hands on his hips. Naomi’s gaze cut from the bay’s neck up to Izzy’s seat in the saddle.
“Good,” Naomi said, her voice rough. “Real good.”
Izzy swung down. Her legs went a little soft as her boots hit the dirt. The ground felt farther away than she remembered.
She took one step, and her knees dipped.
A hand caught her elbow.
“Easy there,” Cal said, steadying her. “I’ve got you.”
Heat rushed up her throat. She straightened, forcing her weight back into her heels.
“I’m fine,” she said, though her pulse was still pounding. “Just… haven’t been on the back of a horse in a long time.”
Cal’s mouth tipped. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Izzy’s chest was still heaving from the exertion.
“That was…” She searched for the word, her heart still racing against her ribs. “Wonderful.”
Color rose in her cheeks, the admission feeling almost more dangerous than the ride itself.
Cal stepped half an inch closer, his voice dropping into a low, smooth drawl. “Yeah? I bet it was. You look like you enjoyed the thrill.”
Grant was already moving toward them, his face a mask of control stretched thin over something that looked a lot like fear. He didn’t miss the flush on Izzy’s neck or the way Cal was leaning into her space; a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes as he realized how good she still was.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded.
Izzy eased her arm out of Cal’s grip but didn’t step back.
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t know you could ride like that.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mr. Scott,” she said, her voice steadying.
Grant ran a hand over his neck. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”
“So could the horse,” she countered.
Cal stayed close, grin edging back in. “I do like a woman who can ride. That wasn’t beginner work, Izzy.”
Naomi snorted as she led the bay away. “Good seat,” she tossed over her shoulder.
It landed harder than any compliment Izzy’d had in years.