Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
SADIE
The morning air is still crisp as I saddle the last horse, tightening the cinch one more time and tugging with more force than is probably necessary.
“Whoa, what did Buttercup do to you?” Emmett asks, appearing beside me, irritatingly calm. He rests a hand on the saddle and looks at me with a cheesy grin. “You choke that horse and you’re gonna have bigger problems than a loose strap.”
“I’m not choking her.” I shoot him a glare, brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face. “Just making sure it doesn’t slip off and end up in a lawsuit.”
Emmett chuckles. “Cute. Did your lawyer daddy teach you that?”
My muscles tense at the mention of my father. “No. I told you I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Maybe not,” he says, circling around to double-check my work. “But you listen. That alone makes you better than half the summer crew.”
I cross my arms. “I’m being ‘voluntold’ because I actually utilize my ability to hear?”
He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Sure, close enough. Don’t worry—your services are only needed until Wes is back in the saddle. This is temporary.”
Thanks for the reminder.
“Yeah,” I mutter, looking over at the group of guests gathered by the hitching posts. Most of them are already sunburnt and buzzing with vacation energy. I check the cinch on Buttercup one more time, trying to remember all the safety tips we went over earlier.
Emmett’s voice softens as he runs a hand down Buttercup’s neck. “She was our mom’s horse.” His fingers brush through her mane, slow and careful. I glance up at him, and for once, there’s no smirk on his face.
“You’ll be fine,” he says, clapping me gently on the back. “You’ve got me leading, and Buttercup’s got a golden heart. We’ll take care of you.”
Five simple words. It’s stupid the way my heart reacts to that we. He didn’t mean it like that, but my brain can’t resist twisting it into something it’s not.
“You good with those reins, sweetheart?” a gruff voice calls behind me.
I glance over my shoulder to see one of the ranch hands leading out a sweet chestnut horse named Jasper.
The man is tall, broad-shouldered, and moves with an effortless, grounded confidence. His light brown hair curls slightly at the ends, long enough to touch the neckline of his shirt.
His sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, revealing lean, muscular forearms dusted with dirt and sun. Stubble shadows his sharp jaw, and his mouth is set in a straight line. His hat casts a shadow over his eyes, but I can still feel the intensity in them.
“I’m good,” I reply.
He nods and moves on to ask a couple if they need any help, abruptly ending our conversation.
I watch him a moment longer than I should. There’s something strangely familiar about him.
“Don’t take it personal,” Emmett murmurs, coming up beside me.
I glance over my shoulder again, watching as he helps a guest into the saddle without saying a word.
Emmett follows my gaze and lets out a sigh. “He’s like that with everyone.”
I nod slowly, but the knot in my stomach tightens. It’s not just that he’s quiet. It’s the way he looked at me—like he was looking through me.
It’s almost the same look Wesley gave me when I first got here.
I rest a hand on Buttercup’s neck, trying to calm the nervous energy building in my chest. She leans into the touch like she knows I need the comfort more than she does.
“Ready?” Emmett asks, mounting his horse, Maximus, with practiced ease.
Nope. Not even a little.
“Yep,” I lie, climbing up into the saddle and mentally preparing myself for whatever the next few hours are about to throw at me.
The horses fall into a rhythm as we weave through the narrow trail, hooves crunching softly over packed dirt and scattered leaves. Sunlight slips through the trees in sharp slants, casting dappled shadows that move across Buttercup’s mane with every step.
I keep my eyes on Emmett’s back, mimicking his posture, his movements, trying not to overthink every bounce of the saddle or shift of the reins. My thighs already ache.
Behind me, the quiet cowboy rides in silence. I don’t have to look to feel him there—solid, steady, like gravity. Every time I shift in my seat or glance back to check on the line of guests, I can feel his eyes on me. Not warm, but not cold either. Just…watching.
A woman up ahead gasps when her horse sidesteps, startled by a rustle in the brush.
Emmett calms her with a joke and a reassuring word.
Before I can turn to check on the rider behind me—he is already there, taking control with a calm efficiency, and guiding Jasper with one hand while reaching for the reins of the guest’s horse with the other.
His body moves with quiet authority, all muscle and instinct. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.
When he rides past me again, our eyes meet—only for a breath, maybe less. It ignites something low in my stomach, sharp and sudden.
There’s something there. Or nothing at all, and I’m reading too much into it. Either way, it lingers—tight and uncomfortable.
I look away first, suddenly too aware of the saddle beneath me. The pressure of my thighs, the thin layer of sweat between my palms and the leather reins.
Buttercup shifts beneath me, her ears flicking back, like she can sense the static crawling under my skin.
“I’m swearing off men. Forever,” Lydia says matter-of-factly as she refills my water.
It’s been exactly one week since the rodeo, and every afternoon since, I’ve had lunch at the bar with her.
Technically, she’s on the clock and obligated to tolerate me—but I think we both enjoy the excuse.
I raise a brow. “So…are you swearing off men, or swearing off dating entirely?”
Lydia smirks. “Why, you interested?”
“Still not my thing, but if it was, you’d be my first pick.” I smile. “Maybe I should give up on this whole finding-love thing. It never works out, anyway.” I nudge a fry through the leftover ketchup on my plate.
“Never say never,” she says, shrugging as she tops off a drink for the guy sitting on the stool beside me.
He dips his head in silent thanks, unfazed by Lydia’s outburst—which probably means he’s used to her being…well, being Lydia.
It’s only when he lifts his head that it all clicks—he’s the quiet cowboy from the trail ride.
The same broad shoulders, the same unreadable expression.
My stomach tightens as heat crawls up my spine.
Irritation and something else tangle together as I look away, suddenly too aware of how close he’s sitting.
Still, it feels rude not to say something. Especially when we’ve been sitting next to each other almost every day this week and I don’t even know his name.
He doesn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation, and a little voice inside me whispers a warning, but I ignore it.
“Hey. I’m Sadie,” I say, twisting slightly on my barstool. “You were on the trail with us this morning, right?”
I give him a smile, easy and open.
He turns his head just enough to glance at me, then takes a long sip of his sweet tea. One brow arches slightly higher than the other.
Oh. Cool.
It must be a job requirement to always be in a constant state of grumpy and brooding. There’s probably extra screening for emotional unavailability on the application.
I’m about to laugh it off when Lydia returns to our end of the bar.
“Hey, Lane,” she says pointedly, arms crossed. “Did you leave your manners in the bunkhouse this morning?”
Lane.
He lets out a humorless breath and shakes his head.
I raise a hand, trying to defuse the moment. “It’s okay, Lyd—”
“No, no,” she interrupts, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Laney here has a permanent stick up his ass. It’s incurable, I’m afraid.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
Lane glances at me and I swear I catch his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. But it’s gone just as fast, smoothed back into that unreadable frown.
He takes another sip before finally giving in to Lydia’s prodding.
“I don’t have a stick up my ass, Lyddy,” he mutters. “I just like to eat in peace.”
She nods solemnly, but her grin peeks through.
My fingers curl around my napkin, trying to quell the tension burning beneath my skin. His jaw shifts like he wants to say something, but he swallows it instead.
He doesn’t speak.
And I don’t ask.
Instead, I drop the napkin onto the plate and slide it forward. “Thanks, Lyd. I’ll see you later?”
“Duh. This week has been hell—I need a drink.”
I glance at the wall of liquor behind her. “You’d think you’d be sick of the bar scene by now.”
“Nonsense.” She taps a hand over her heart. “Lucky’s has sentimental value—and they don’t card.”
Apparently, Friday nights at Lucky’s are a big deal. Mechanical bull. Line dancing. The whole thing. Lyd said I’m not officially part of the crew until I’ve participated in the Lucky’s shenanigans, so…I guess I don’t have a choice.
“You guys goin’ to Lucky’s tonight?” Lane asks, still not looking up.
I glance at Lydia, then back at him. “Mhm…Are you?”
He makes a sound—part scoff, part laugh. “Be careful out there. The guys get rowdy.”
I lift a brow, already turning for the door. “I can handle it.”
Some girls attract light. I seem to attract every shadow that crosses my path.
Even the simple task of grabbing supplies from the storage shed is impossible to accomplish without running into yet another grumpy and brooding cowboy.
Wesley spots me leaving the shed and slows his pace.
We haven’t really talked since the rodeo—just a few texts about chores around the ranch.
I’ve decided to chalk up all the weird feelings from that night to me being somewhere between buzzed and drunk, combined with Wesley surviving a near-death experience and a head injury, and the strong pain meds they gave him.
There’s no other explanation.
I’m assuming he’s reached the same conclusion, or he doesn’t even remember. Neither of us has brought it up, and at this point, bringing it up would be weird. The moment’s over.