Chapter 3
DAWSON
I'd been watching Lilah train in the indoor arena for almost a week, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong.
Not because she was reckless. She moved like someone who'd spent years learning exactly how much risk her body could handle and how far she could push that line. But watching her work put a knot in my chest that hadn't been there before.
I stood at the arena rail, one boot propped on the lowest rung, my arms folded across the top.
Rio circled beneath her at a controlled lope, his stride even and unbothered by the woman crouched along his spine.
Lilah's hands gripped his mane, her legs locked in position, and her face set in concentration.
She shifted her weight and rose into a standing position, her riding boots planted firm on his back. Rio's ears flicked back but his pace never changed.
"Good boy," she murmured, her voice low and steady.
I watched her drop into a crouch again, then swing one leg over Rio's neck in a move that looked effortless but required muscle control most people didn't have. She hung there for three strides before pulling herself back up.
My jaw tightened.
She was good. Better than good. She had the kind of talent that came from repetition and grit and refusing to quit even when every muscle screamed. I respected that. Hell, I admired it. But admiration didn't stop my heart from jumping every time she shifted her balance.
Lilah guided Rio into a tighter circle, her posture loose and confident. Then she leaned forward, preparing for another transition.
Her foot slipped.
It was just a fraction, but it was enough to throw everything off. Rio stumbled half a step and Lilah pitched sideways. She twisted mid-fall, trying to catch herself, but gravity won. She hit the ground hard on her right side, the impact loud enough to echo off the arena walls.
I vaulted the rail and crossed the distance in seconds while my pulse thundered in my ears. Rio had stopped a few feet away, his sides heaving, his reins dragging in the dirt.
"Lilah. Are you okay?”
She pushed herself up onto one elbow. Her breath came in short bursts. Dirt streaked her jacket and clung to her jeans. She’d lost her hat in the fall, and it sat upside down a few feet away.
"I'm fine." Her voice came out tight.
"Like hell you are." I crouched next to her and reached for her shoulder with a shaky hand. Hell, I’d seen men get thrown from broncs, then stomped into the dirt, and it didn’t hit me as hard as watching her fall.
She flinched and pulled back. "I said I'm fine."
"Let me see." I kept my voice level, but my hands stayed where they were. "You landed on your side. You might have broken a rib or two."
"It's not my ribs."
"Let me check."
"Dawson." She met my gaze, her jaw set. "I've probably fallen off more horses in the last year than you've trained in your lifetime. I know what ribs feel like and this isn't it."
I exhaled through my nose and rocked back on my heels. "Well, you're still hurt."
"I'm sore. There's a difference."
"Not from where I'm standing."
She glared at me, then shifted her weight and winced. The movement was small, but I caught it.
"Training's done for the day."
"Excuse me?" Her dark eyes widened and something in my chest twisted.
"You heard me." I stood and offered my hand. "You're done."
"I've got another thirty minutes scheduled."
"Not anymore." It wasn’t because I didn’t think she could handle herself. It was because the sight of her hitting the dirt had done something to me. I didn’t know what to call it, but I damn sure didn’t want to have to worry about her doing it again.
Lilah stared at my hand like it was a trap. Then she pushed herself to her feet without taking it, moving slower than she had all week. Her right arm stayed tucked close to her side. "I didn't ask for your permission to stop."
"And I didn't ask for your opinion on whether you're hurt." I picked up her hat and held it out. "But since we're doing this my way, training's over."
She snatched the hat from my hand, whacked it against her leg to shake off the dirt, and shoved it back on her head. "You're being ridiculous."
"Maybe. But you're limping."
"I'm not—" She took a step and her face tightened. "Damn it."
I grabbed Rio's reins and led him toward the gate. Lilah followed a few paces behind, her stride uneven but still stubborn.
At the cross-ties, I handed her the reins. "Brush him down. I'll check his legs."
"I can do both."
"I know you can. But you're going to let me help anyway."
Her mouth opened, then closed. For a second, I thought she might argue. Then she grabbed the brush and started working Rio's coat with sharp, efficient strokes.
I ran my hands down the gelding's front legs, checking for heat or swelling. Everything felt solid. No damage. Just a stumble that could've been worse.
Behind me, Lilah's breathing came heavier than it should have.
"You need ice."
"I need to finish my session."
"What you need," I said, straightening, "is to stop pretending you're invincible."
She stopped brushing and turned. "What I need is for you to stop treating me like I don't know what I'm doing."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." Her eyes flashed. "I've been riding since before I could walk. I've broken bones, torn ligaments, and gotten back on horses that threw me hard enough to see stars. I don't need you running over to check on me every time I hit the ground."
"Then maybe don't hit the ground,” I mumbled.
Her jaw dropped. Then she laughed. "Unbelievable."
I grabbed Rio's lead and returned him to his stall, latching the door with more force than necessary. When I turned back, Lilah stood in the aisle, arms crossed, her weight favoring her left side.
"I need to go into town to pick up feed and a few other things," I said. “You're coming with me."
"I'm what?"
"And I'm buying you lunch at the café."
She blinked. "Are you asking me or telling me?"
"Telling."
"Why?"
"Because you're hurt and I don’t trust you to stay out of the arena while I’m gone.” I grabbed my jacket off the hook and shrugged into it. "And because I'm hungry. You can join me for lunch or pout in the truck."
"I don't pout."
"Prove it. We’re going town."
The café smelled like bacon grease and fresh coffee. Warmth hit us the second we walked through the door, and I caught Lilah's shoulders drop half an inch like she needed this more than she’d ever admit.
Her movements were careful and cautious. It wasn't obvious, but I'd spent years watching horses compensate for injuries they didn't want to show. People weren't that different.
A few heads turned as we entered. I didn't usually bring anyone to lunch. Hell, I barely ever showed my face at the cafe at all.
"Hey, Dawson." Torin, one of the sheriff's deputies, nodded from a corner booth.
I nodded back as Ashley, one of the regular servers, waved us toward a table near the window. Lilah followed, her stride stiff but controlled. When she slid into her chair, she braced her right arm against the edge of the table.
I pretended not to notice.
Ashley dropped off menus and filled two mugs with coffee. "Specials are on the board. I'll give you two a minute."
Lilah wrapped her hands around the mug and stared out the window. Her profile was sharp in the natural light, her jaw set in a way I'd come to recognize that meant she was working through something.
Then she turned toward me with a smile. "So, do you come here often?"
I almost teased her about using one of the world's worst pick-up lines but didn't want to encourage anything other than a business relationship between us. "Often enough."
"Does Ruby own this place too?" Lilah looked around and I tried to see the café through her eyes… the old, framed news clippings on the wall, cracked vinyl benches, and floorboards worn from years of use.
"No. But she knows the owner." I took a sip of coffee. "She knows everyone."
Lilah's mouth curved. "I'm starting to figure that out."
The bell above the door chimed. I didn't need to look to know who'd just walked in. Ruby's voice carried without even trying.
"Ashley, sweetheart, I need six orders of the pot roast to go. Orville's got council members coming by tonight, and I'm not cooking." She lifted her head and caught sight of us. "Well, look at this."
My gut tightened as Ruby crossed the café, her sight set on our table.
"Dawson. Lilah." She stopped and set her hands on her hips, every hair in place despite the February wind, her sparkly red frames perched on her nose.
"Hi, Ruby." Lilah offered a genuine smile for the first time all day, and the sight nearly knocked me out of my chair.
Ruby's lips spread into a wide grin. "Looks like the two of you are getting along nicely."
"We're just grabbing lunch." I could see the wheels turning in Ruby's head and wanted to put a stop to any ideas she might come up with before she even started.
I'd been around Mustang Mountain long enough to know she thought of herself as a bit of a matchmaker.
The last thing I wanted or needed was to have her set her sights on me.
"Mm-hmm." Ruby's gaze flicked back and forth between us. Then she focused on Lilah. "How's the training schedule working out? Are you getting what you need from Dawson?"
Lilah winced slightly as she sat up straighter. "Rio's solid. He's got a steady temperament and good instincts. I'm working him and Mesa and having success with both."
"Good. And the timeline?"
"I need at least two more weeks at a minimum. Three if I want to refine the routine for circuit standards."
Ruby dipped her chin. "You know how to figure out what an animal can give you. That's not something you can fake, sugar."
Something changed in the way Lilah held herself. She sat up a little straighter, like Ruby’s compliment made her feel seen. "I've worked enough bad horses to know the difference."