Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
IZZY
I draw in a deep breath as we take the final turn for Oakwood Ranch, letting the air out slowly as the smooth asphalt gives way to the dirt track.
The drive home has felt endless, stretched out by a spiky silence I didn’t try to fill.
Fighting with Dylan while towing a spooked horse wasn’t an option, no matter how many times I thought of something else I wanted to shout at him.
The way he’s sat with his arms folded, face stormy, I’m guessing he’s just as pissed as I am.
But what the hell does he have to be angry about?
Beneath my frustration, I know the answer.
He heard the comment I made to the trainer.
It wasn’t my finest moment—a throwaway remark made without thinking after the way Dylan rushed off to take that call I know was from his coach.
Do I regret it? Sure, but regret isn’t a luxury I can afford right now.
Not when I’m the one who’s left picking up the pieces of Dylan’s impulse buy. Again.
We round the turn and the ranch house comes into view.
Not even the beauty of the horses grazing in the afternoon sun can calm my anger.
I throw the truck into park, and before I’ve cut the engine, there’s a clang of hoof on metal from the trailer.
I jump down from the truck, and a second later, I hear the thud of Dylan’s boots hitting the dirt.
And of course, he makes straight for the back door of the ranch.
Of course he’s going to hide from yet another mistake he’s made.
To hell with thinking there might be more to Dylan.
“Hey!” The one word is bitten out, loud and sharp. “You planning to help me get your latest stroke of genius out of the trailer?”
He turns back, his expression calm except for the storm raging in his eyes.
“I just thought I’d grab us some water first. We’ve been on the road for hours, and I thought we’d need a drink.
” He disappears into the house, and I curse under my breath, already expecting him to take his sweet time.
But he’s back in seconds, striding toward me with two full glasses of water.
“Here,” he says, holding one out.
I glare at him for a moment but take the glass and grumble a thanks, annoyed that he’s right. I am thirsty. But what really pisses me off is the jolt of electricity that shoots up my arm when our fingers brush—like my body hasn’t gotten the memo that I’m furious.
“You didn’t happen to impulsively buy five skilled ranch hands while you were in the kitchen, did you? Because it’s going to take at least that to care for this horse alone.”
Dylan’s expression is hard as he replies. “Shadow’s Fury has a hell of a lot of promise. I saw something in him in that arena.”
My laugh is short and laced with bitterness.
I can’t remember ever feeling as angry as I do right now, which is saying something considering I followed a man I thought I was madly in love with halfway across the country only to find him tangled in our sheets with another woman when Madison was three months old.
Oh, I was mad then, but it was a slow, festering burn. This—this rage feels wild and alive.
“Right,” I say. “You, with your years of ranch experience, saw potential in a horse that everyone else in that arena today knew couldn’t be saved.”
“Yeah, I did, as it happens.” He shoves his hands on his hips, making his massive shoulders appear even broader. “Despite what you clearly think of me, I’m allowed to have an opinion on my ranch. And by the way, I’d appreciate it if my ranch hands didn’t mouth off about me to our clients.”
“Ranch hands?” I repeat, my voice rising despite the way I’m cringing inside. Half of me wants to blurt an apology for my stupid comment earlier; the other half wants to tell him to go to hell. “It’s just me. And your recklessness affects me.”
His eyes narrow. “You get that this is my ranch, right? And if I want to buy a horse, I will.”
“And you get that my six weeks are almost up, right?” I fire back. “In just over two weeks, your deal with Bill is done and I’m gone. What are you going to do then, Dylan? Are you keeping this place as a working ranch or not? Are you keeping the horses?”
“I don’t know,” he replies, and damn, it still hurts to hear that uncertainty in his voice.
I shake my head, keeping my voice like steel.
“Well, just so you know, whatever you decide, I’ll be leaving.
Keep the horses. Don’t keep them. I don’t care anymore.
I’ve got plenty of other ranch offers.” The words fly out before I can stop them, the lie about other options feeling sour in my mouth. Self-preservation.
I’ve known since day one that I was only here for six weeks, but the hope has crept up on me, so slowly I hadn’t even realized it was there.
Every time he’s shown up, done a decent day’s work alongside me, it’s made me hope just a little bit that there was a chance this could be more.
But I’ve been kidding myself. This job, this land, these horses—they’re not just a paycheck.
They’re my whole damn life. And yet to Dylan, they’re still a mistake he won’t admit to and won’t try to fix.
Then a pang of worry grips me. Who will care for Moonlight if she hasn’t foaled before I leave?
What does Dylan know about delivering a foal?
About managing the stress of a first-time mare?
He barely knows how to saddle his own damn horse.
How can I trust him to hire someone halfway decent to help if he does keep the horses?
I open my mouth to say something—what, I’m not sure, but Dylan gets there first.
“Good,” he says, and the word lands like a slap.
“Fine. Then let me give you some home truths before I go.” I wave a hand in the direction of the paddocks.
“This? Breeding and training and selling horses? It’s a business, Dylan.
And you just spent a huge chunk of profit on a stallion who can’t be ridden, doesn’t trust people, and sure as hell won’t be breeding. ”
“You don’t know that,” he snaps, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
I step in close, so close I can feel the heat rolling off him. “What I know is that you never think before you act. Ever. Has it always been like this for you? Taking what you want, when you want it, and letting the rest of us clean up the mess?”
His eyes flick to my lips for half a breath before locking on mine again. “Are we still talking about horses? Or are we talking about the kiss in the bar?” His voice so low it’s barely a rumble.
I freeze, breath stalling. Even furious, I can’t stop staring at his mouth, at the rise and fall of his chest, at the way he looks like he’s barely holding himself back.
How even though I should be running in the opposite direction from this man, a part of me wants to lean in, wants him to stop holding back.
Then a loud clang from the trailer shatters the moment.
“This is about Shadow’s Fury,” I say. “And the burden you just dumped on me—or whoever’s here when I’m gone. Like everything else, I’ll be the one stuck dealing with the fallout until then.”
“You’re not alone,” Dylan growls. “I’m here. These are my horses. This is my ranch. You’re just too obsessed with control to let anyone help.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” I shoot back, sarcasm clinging to every word.
“You think this is about control? You have no idea what you’re doing.
Your heart’s not in this. And your head isn’t either.
I saw the way you reacted when that call came in.
Coach Allen is the Stormhawks coach, right?
Tell me, Dylan, if he offered you your old position, would you take it? ”
“Damn right I would.”
The air leaves my lungs in a sharp exhale, taking my annoyance with it. He didn’t even pause. “And that,” I say, “is your problem.”
Dylan’s shoulders sag under the weight of the truth hanging between us. For once, he doesn’t try to argue. Doesn’t throw it back. Just sighs.
“I know.” He glances toward the trailer. “But standing here fighting isn’t helping either of us. And the longer we leave Shadow’s Fury in there, the worse he’s gonna get. So let’s put a pin in this, and you tell me what you need.”
Damn him for being right!
“The top paddock is the most secure with the new fencing and it’s the quietest. We need to move the other stallions first. Fury doesn’t look like he’s going to be willing to share with the other horses, and we don’t want to put them or him in danger.”
Dylan nods and we get to work. And even though the silence between us is sharp, I throw myself into the work and let it steady me.
The ache of leaving this place doesn’t vanish, but it settles.
Because I’ve survived worse. I’ve made harder choices.
Even if it means starting over again. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned the hard way, it’s that I don’t need saving, especially not by a man who doesn’t know what he wants.