Chapter 16
JACE
I’m leaning against the fence, arms crossed, trying to convince myself this isn’t a huge mistake. Daisy’s bouncing around the corral, practically vibrating with excitement, and Tessa… well, she’s staring at the horse in front of her like it might eat her on sight.
Somehow, in the chaos of their little truce, I’ve been volunteered—or more accurately, roped into teaching Tessa how to ride. My internal groan is loud enough that Daisy gives me a side-eye, like I’m letting my grumpiness ruin everything.
“This is gonna be fun,” she chirps. Her optimism is usually contagious, but today I’m immune.
“Yeah, sure. Fun,” I mutter under my breath.
Truth is, I don’t know who’s more nervous—Tessa or me.
I’ve been around horses my whole life, sure, but teaching someone who’s never even touched a saddle?
That’s a different kind of challenge. And Tessa is not like anyone I’ve ever taught.
She’s a city girl through and through, and every instinct she has screams, “don’t get on that horse. ”
I run a hand through my hair, forcing myself to focus. This isn’t about me. It’s about Daisy, keeping their truce alive, and making sure Tessa doesn’t get eaten alive by her own inexperience.
Sighing, I step toward Tessa and Buttercup, the stallion she’ll be training on. He’s a gentle Appaloosa, recommended by Beck. “Alright,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Let’s see if we can survive this without anyone getting hurt.”
Tessa chuckles nervously, arms crossed like she’s trying to make herself invisible. Her heels dig into the dirt with every nervous shift of weight. I can practically feel her pulse from where I’m standing.
“First thing, never approach a horse from behind. They can kick,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
Her eyes widen. “Right. Got it.”
I can’t help the small smirk at the tension in her shoulders. She’s terrified, and it’s adorable in a stubborn, infuriating way. “Step up here,” I instruct, pointing to the mounting block. “One foot at a time, slow. Don’t look down.”
She hesitates, then does it carefully, fingers clutching the saddle like it’s a lifeline. I step close behind her to steady the horse, hand brushing hers as I adjust the stirrup. My chest tightens at the contact, but I ignore it. Focus, Jace. Focus on the lesson.
“Good,” I mutter. “Now, grip with your thighs, keep your back straight, and relax your hands. Don’t pull on the reins like you’re trying to strangle it.”
She laughs nervously, and it’s like a spark in the tension. “Noted.”
I guide her gently, holding the reins close enough to correct her when she wobbles. Our hands touch more than once, lingering longer than necessary. I catch myself staring at her, really noticing how her hair falls across her face, how her brow furrows when she concentrates.
“Breathe,” I remind her, placing my hand lightly on her waist to steady her. She flinches slightly, then relaxes against my touch.
Fuck! This is going to be harder than I thought.
We go through the basics slowly. Mounting, dismounting, sitting properly, and controlling the reins. I correct her posture, my hands brushing her back or adjusting her grip. Every touch is necessary, but each one makes me acutely aware of the tension building between us.
Finally, after a few tries, she sits straighter, reins steady, eyes bright with accomplishment. “I think I’m getting it,” she says, a mixture of disbelief and triumph in her voice.
I can’t help the small grin tugging at my lips. “Yeah,” I admit. “You’re not… terrible.”
Her laugh is soft, and it hits me how easy it is to be around her when she lets her guard down. A part of me—the dumb, stubborn part—wants to keep this moment going forever.
But the lesson isn’t over. Not yet. And deep down, I know it’s going to get a lot harder to keep my hands, thoughts, and my damn heart in check.
I step closer as Tessa adjusts her reins again, noticing she’s gripping them a little too tightly. “Relax your hands,” I murmur, my voice low.
Her fingers brush mine as I guide them to the correct position. Instantly, a spark zings through me, and I curse under my breath. I’m going to need a bath in holy water by the end of this lesson.
“You’re too tense,” I say, letting my hand linger lightly at her wrist for a moment longer than necessary to make my point. She flinches slightly, then exhales and loosens her grip.
“Better,” I say, stepping back but still close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. She’s not just learning; she’s trusting me here. And I can feel every heartbeat in her proximity like it’s synced with mine.
When the horse finally moves smoothly under her, I can’t hide the pride in my voice. “You’re getting it. Really getting it.”
“Thanks,” she says softly, almost a whisper, but it lands in my chest with the force of a cannon.
For a second, the world narrows to the three of us: me, her, and this stallion she’s finally commanding. And I realize that maybe this close, quiet moment is exactly why I didn’t want to teach her. Because the more time I spend near her, the harder it is to keep my distance.
I clear my throat, straighten my back, and remind myself: it’s a lesson. Nothing more.
By the third lap around the corral, she’s starting to get the hang of it.
The reins are steady in her hands, her back straight, and the horse obeys her subtle cues instead of mine.
I can feel the tension in her shoulders ease, replaced by this fragile little spark of confidence that makes my chest tighten in a way I don’t like admitting.
“You’re doing really well,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “See? Not so scary when you get it right.”
“I think Buttercup’s starting to like me,” she says, patting the horse’s neck like she’s making a declaration.
I glance down at her, noticing the pride in her eyes, the way she sits taller than she did a half-hour ago. It hits me harder than it should: this is the first time she’s trusted herself out here, and I’m lucky enough to be there for it.
“Yeah,” I admit, letting a small smile tug at my lips. “I think you’re starting to earn his respect.”
“You’re doing so good, Tess,” Daisy cheers from the sidelines, being Tessa’s personal cheerleader.
For a moment, I’d forgotten she was here.
“Thank you, Daisy.” Tessa grins wider, and for a moment, I just watch her.
This city girl, who’s supposed to be hopeless in the mud and the heat, who’s supposed to crumble under pressure, is actually conquering something foreign and huge.
And I have to remind myself that the sparks I feel aren’t part of the lesson, that my hands are supposed to be guiding the horse, not lingering on her back or brushing against her fingers longer than needed.
But then she leans forward slightly to adjust the stirrup herself, and I catch the faintest tilt of her head toward me, like she’s silently seeking approval. I can’t stop the warmth that spreads through me.
“Alright,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “one more lap. Let’s see if you can do it without me saying a word.”
She nods, determination flashing in her eyes. And as she rides, confident and capable.
“You’ve done well, now let’s do this outside the corral,” I decree just as Duncan, the assistant foreman, walks out of the stables with two horses, ready and saddled for me and Daisy.
We line up at the edge of the corral: Daisy bouncing eagerly on her horse, Tessa adjusting her reins with the tiniest hint of nerves, and me… well, I’m just making sure no one falls off before we even leave the fence line.
“Ready?” I ask, trying to sound gruffer than I feel.
“Yes!” Daisy chirps, practically vibrating in her saddle.
Tessa glances at me, a mix of excitement and hesitation in her eyes. “I think so,” she admits, gripping the reins a little tighter.
I give a short nod. “Alright. Let’s go slow. Remember what I’ve taught you.”
We move out, and immediately, the quiet tension of the lesson melts into something lighter. Daisy chatters nonstop, pointing out trees, clouds, and random rocks she claims are “magical.” Tessa laughs at her antics, and I can’t stop the small grin tugging at my lips.
At one point, Tessa’s horse stumbles slightly, and I reach out instinctively, hand brushing hers as I steady her.
She freezes for a second, eyes locking with mine, and I feel that familiar spark, that pull I’ve been fighting since the lesson began.
I clear my throat and focus on the trail, forcing my hands back on the reins.
But even with my guard up, the sight of Tessa laughing, wind catching her hair, Daisy beside her—I feel strangely light. This is fun.
We find a quiet stretch along the creek, and I let Tessa take the lead for a moment, watching her glide over the trail with surprising ease. Daisy whoops behind her, and I catch her glance back at me, wide-eyed with pride.
“Looks like you’re having fun,” I say, letting the praise slip out without thinking, when I catch up to them.
Tessa blushes, tugs at her reins nervously. “I am. You two are the experts, though.”
“Yeah, but you’re keeping up. That’s what counts.” I give her a brief, approving nod.
By the time we circle back, laughter has replaced tension, and even the horses seem calmer. I glance at them both—Tessa relaxed, Daisy grinning from ear to ear—and I realize something I didn’t expect: maybe getting tangled up in their truce wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe this chaos, this mess, these little victories, is exactly what I need. And maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to like having her around.
I hop off my horse, stealing glances at Tessa. Her hair’s tousled from the ride, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with that mix of triumph and relief. She’s smiling, really smiling, and it hits me harder than I’d like to admit.
Daisy hops off her horse, running to hug me around the knees. “Thanks, Daddy! That was the best!”
I ruffle her hair, hiding the grin that’s threatening to creep across my face. “Glad you had fun, Bug.”
Tessa watches us quietly from her horse, still holding the reins, still poised but softer somehow. My chest tightens as I realize just how much I enjoyed seeing her here, on the trail, laughing with Daisy, learning something new, and doing it well.
I force myself to look away, to keep the distance I know I should maintain. But the truth I can’t ignore sits heavy in my chest: this truce, this ranch life—maybe it isn’t so bad after all.
And Tessa? She’s not just surviving here. She’s starting to belong.
I swallow, straightening my back. One thing’s for sure, I’m going to enjoy watching it happen. Even if it drives me crazy in the process.