Chapter 7BOONE #4
I nod slowly, and she glances at me again, but this time, she looks away first.
Hudson shrugs, completely unaware of the weight hanging between us. “Cool.”
I take a breath, adjusting my hat before turning back to Hudson. “Wanna see the lake I pushed your mom into when we were teenagers?”
Hudson’s whole face lights up. “Hell yes.”
I let out a bark of laughter, but before I can say anything, Lark turns her head so fast I swear I feel the wind off of it. “Hudson. You can’t say that.”
Hudson looks up at me, rolling his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. And damn if it doesn’t hit me square in the chest. That look is pure Lark Westwood.
I lean down, lowering my voice near Hudson’s ear. “Still wanna go faster?”
His grin is instant, wide and full of excitement. “Yeah.”
I glance back at Lark. She’s trailing behind, keeping a steady pace, but I know her—she won’t back down from a challenge.
“Hold on,” I tell Hudson, then give Springsteen the cue.
The horse surges forward, stretching into a full gallop, his hooves thundering against the dirt. The wind rushes past us, kicking up dust, and Hudson lets out a breathless laugh, gripping the saddle horn tight.
Behind us, I hear Lark shout, “Hey!”
I smirk to myself. She knows the way to the lake.
But just as I’m about to make a joke about her keeping up, I hear hooves pounding faster—closer. I glance back, my smirk faltering when I see Ellie closing in.
Since when does she run like that anymore?
Hudson throws his arms out like he’s flying. “Yeehaw!”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Being a cowboy ain’t so bad, huh?”
“It’s the best!” he shouts, eyes bright with adrenaline.
Then, a sharp, high-pitched scream.
I turn just in time to see Ellie rear back, her front legs kicking against the air.
Lark is thrown.
“Mom?” Hudson’s voice is tight, panicked.
I don’t think. I pull back on Springsteen’s reins, bringing him to a sharp stop, and swing off in one motion. “Stay here,” I tell Hudson, already taking off toward Lark.
Ellie is gone, hooves pounding against the dirt, her body shrinking into the distance. I shout her name, but she’s already too far.
My pulse is hammering as I reach Lark—only to find her already standing, brushing dirt off her jeans. There’s dust smeared across her shirt, streaked over the curve of her breasts, and this is definitely not the time to be noticing that.
I grab her arm without thinking, scanning her body for any signs of injury. “Are you hurt?”
She snorts, like it’s a ridiculous question. “Boone, I’ve been thrown more times than I can count.”
Her voice is breezy, unconcerned, but my heart is still hammering against my ribs. I know she used to get thrown a lot when she was first training for barrel racing, but I’ve never gotten used to seeing her hit the ground .
“You sure?” My fingers are still wrapped around her forearm, my grip firm.
She glances down at where I’m holding her. “I’m sure.”
I let go, clearing my throat, and she shifts her weight, exhaling as she scans the empty space where Ellie had been.
“Damn jackrabbit spooked her,” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, already pulling my walkie off my belt.
It crackles before Wren’s voice comes through. “Go for Wren.”
“Ellie took off,” I say, watching Lark as she dusts herself off. “Spooked and ran. Can someone grab her?”
Wren lets out an exaggerated groan. “Where?”
“By the lake.”
“Got it. I’ll send someone.”
I press the button again. “We’re down a horse, and we’re too far from the main house to walk. Someone needs to come get us.”
There’s a short pause before Wren’s voice comes through again. “I’m close. I’ll come.”
I grimace. Of all people. “You sure Sage and Freddie aren’t around?”
“Nope. They’re moving cattle with the hands.”
Damn it. I close my eyes for a second. “Fine.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
The walkie crackles and then goes silent. I re-clip it to my belt and sigh.
Lark crosses her arms, one hip cocked. “So, let me get this straight. You thought Hudson should go faster, and now we’re down a horse and at the mercy of Wren.”
I shoot her a look, rubbing the back of my neck. “That about sums it up, yeah.”
I glance over at Hudson, expecting him to be amused, but his face is still drawn tight. He’s standing near Springsteen, somehow having gotten down on his own, looking smaller than he did just a few minutes ago. The excitement has been drained right out of him.
Lark notices it at the same time I do, her teasing dropping instantly. She steps up beside him, brushing his hair back. “Hey, baby, you okay?”
He hesitates, then nods. “I just—” He swallows. “I thought you got hurt.”
Lark softens, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into her side. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Hudson stays stiff for a second, but then he lets himself lean into her, his forehead pressing into her shoulder.
I just watch.
I’ve known Lark my whole life, seen her in every light—wild and reckless, stubborn and sharp, soft in the quiet moments when she thought no one was looking. But this is different. This is something else entirely. This is her as a mother.
It’s not just what she says—it’s how she says it. Calm. Certain. Like there’s no version of the world where she doesn’t show up for that boy.
Her fingers are in his hair, smoothing it back like it’s second nature, like her hands were made to settle him. Like everything else can burn, as long as he’s alright.
Twelve years of putting him first, and I can see every one of them in the way she handles him. I feel it settle deep in my chest—that this is the version of Lark I’ve never known, but maybe the one I respect most of all.
Springsteen shifts under my hand, ears twitching. I glance up just in time to see Wren crest the hill on Ringo, her copper ponytail bouncing, boots planted steady in the stirrups like she’s part of the damn saddle.
She’s all ease and power, the way she rides.
Like she could’ve been born on a horse. Ringo’s a machine—lean muscle, smart eyes, and enough hardware to make any rancher jealous.
He made Wren’s name in the circuit, but even before the trophies, he was her shadow.
He reads her like a damn book and she reads him right back.
She reins him in with a whisper and swings down easy, landing light in the dirt. Doesn’t even glance at me before her eyes sweep over to Hudson, still glued to Lark’s side.
Her tone is light. “Well, well, well. What’d I miss?”
But then she sees him .
Her face softens, the teasing gone. “You must be Hudson.”
He nods, a little wary.
“I’m Wren,” she says. “Boone’s cooler sister.”
Hudson squints. “I thought he had another one?”
Wren leans in like she’s letting him in on a secret. “Yeah. Sage thinks she’s cooler. She’s wrong.”
That earns her a laugh. Small, but real.
“Hope that little tumble didn’t scare you off horses,” she says.
Hudson shrugs, half-hiding behind Lark.
Wren tips her chin toward Ringo. “This guy? Steady as they come. He’s the one we let the little kids ride when the schools visit. Never even flinches.”
Hudson eyes the horse, then Lark, then reaches out—fingers tentative—running his hand along Ringo’s nose.
Wren doesn’t miss a beat. “Wanna ride him back?”
Hudson tilts his head. “What about Mom and Boone?”
She jerks her chin toward Springsteen. “They’ll ride together.”
Fuck.
There it is.
I shoot her a warning look. “Wren.”
She ignores me completely, crouching beside Hudson like I’m not even there. “Come on, kid. I’ll help you up.”
Like hell Lark is going to want to share one horse back to the ranch.
I already know how this is going to go. She’s going to tense up, avoid eye contact, mutter something about making this as painless as possible.
And then I’ll have to spend the whole ride back pretending like I don’t notice how her body feels pressed against mine.
I rub a hand down my face. I knew Wren wasn’t going to make this fucking easy.
Hudson’s already getting into the saddle with her help, grinning as he settles onto Ringo’s back. I open my mouth to argue again, but Wren turns, her smirk smug as ever. “Boone, I’m not going to turn down the opportunity to get to know my nephew. ”
My jaw ticks.
She swings herself up behind Hudson and, just before taking the reins, she throws one last parting shot. “Lord knows I’ve already been denied the privilege long enough.”
Lark swallows, but to her credit, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tear her gaze away from Wren’s first.
I exhale sharply through my nose, starting to say, “Wren, that’s not—”
But she cuts me off again, adjusting Hudson’s grip on the reins like she didn’t just drop a live grenade in the middle of all of us. “Alright, bud, you ready? Ringo’s gonna make you look like a real pro.”
Lark steps up to Hudson, smoothing his shirt like she needs to make sure he’s okay before letting him go. “Me and Boone will be right behind you,” she says. “Then we’ll go eat dinner.”
Hudson nods, but it’s Wren who snorts. “Kid, you have no idea what you’re in for. You’re never gonna be the same after you taste your Grandma’s cooking.”
With that, she tugs the reins, and Ringo starts moving, Hudson looking back at Lark one last time before they take off.
I watch them go, my jaw still clenched. Then, slowly, I turn to Lark. Her lips are already pressed into a thin line.
“Well,” I mutter. “This should be fun.”