Chapter 15
ELLA
I don’t cry or break easily. I don’t even let myself feel too deeply most days, because when I do, the feeling tends to drag me into places I’ve spent years trying to climb out of.
But the second I get back to the main house, after leaving Cole and Aria at their new cabin, after forcing a smile and pretending I wasn’t affected, I shut myself in my office and lean my back against the door.
And for a moment, I just… breathe.
Cole’s words keep echoing in my head, looping over and over until my stomach twists: I want to apologize. This shouldn’t have happened. Your family will never approve. We need to keep things professional.
I hated every second of hearing him pull away, even when I saw the fear underneath it. I hated the way he looked at me like I was something he needed to protect, not from danger, but from himself. And I hated that, just for a moment, I almost let myself believe him.
Almost.
I’m hurt, yes, but I’m not blind. I know what all those times were between us—the way he held me and touched me like I was something he was afraid to lose.
People don’t look at each other like that unless there’s something real there.
And Cole is many things: stubborn, guilt-ridden, guarded, but he doesn’t fake desire.
He doesn’t pretend a connection is there when it’s not.
He’s afraid, not indifferent. That difference matters more than he realizes.
I push off the door and swipe the corners of my eyes with my thumbs before a single tear has the chance to spill. There’s no point crying over this. Not when I’ve already made up my mind.
If Cole Dawson thinks he can distance himself from me, he doesn’t know me at all. I’m not giving up.
Not on him or whatever this is between us.
As I step out of my office, I repeat one thing to myself with each step: Play the long game, Ella.
Slow. Patient. Smart. If Cole is scared of my family, I’ll show him he doesn’t have to be.
If he’s scared of ruining his chance at rebuilding his business, I’ll help him succeed.
If he’s scared of wanting me, well… that one I’ll handle gently.
I walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water when I catch a glimpse of something through the window. Aria, in the distance, running around the corral, the biggest smile on her face. The sight softens me. That little girl is sunshine in a bottle, and she doesn’t even know it.
When she asked me to train her, it hit me harder than I expected. In the moment, I smiled and agreed, but inside I felt something crack open. Barrel racing used to be everything to me—my pride, purpose, entire future—and losing it tore a hole I’ve never fully stitched shut.
Hearing that small, excited voice ask me to step back into that world stirred up a mess of fear, grief, and longing.
It reminded me of the accident, the pain, the helplessness…
but it also reminded me of who I used to be before all of that.
And standing there with her, realizing she trusted me enough to guide her, something inside me softened.
Maybe helping Aria chase her bravery was exactly what I needed to reclaim my own.
Ava walks into the kitchen, startling me back to reality. She gazes at me curiously, arms crossed. Her eyes scan my face the way only a best friend’s can, as if she’s reading each emotion like a headline.
“Okay,” she says. “Who hurt you, and where do you want them buried?”
I let out a broken laugh. “It’s not that serious.”
“Ella, your face is doing the ‘I’m holding it together but barely’ thing. You only do that when something bad—work-related or boy-related—happens. And since there are no dead bodies, I’m assuming it’s a boy.”
This woman really does know me better than I know myself.
I’ve been keeping this whole Cole and me relationship thing a secret, and it’s been weighing on me. But I’m done with that. Now I need my best friend so she can help me carry this burden before it drives me crazy.
“It’s not—okay, it is,” I admit quietly.
Ava’s expression softens. “Come here.”
She guides me back outside, and we sit on the porch steps. I stare at the ranch stretching out before us—fields golden under the afternoon sun, horses grazing like nothing bad ever happens here. Everything looks peaceful, but inside I feel like I’m stitched together with the wrong thread.
Ava nudges me. “Talk to me.”
I pick at my thumbnail. “I like him.”
Her smile grows. “Yeah. I noticed.”
She doesn’t even need to ask who, and that’s how I know that this girl is my best friend.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s… more than like. More than I meant for it to be. And today he basically told me it was a mistake. All the times we’ve been together.”
“And how many times is that?” she asks, eyes narrowed at me.
“Don’t be mad,” I whisper.
“I won’t be mad,” she replies.
I don’t believe her, but I go ahead and admit it anyway. “Three times.”
Her jaw drops to the grass beneath our feet. “ELLA SHILOH MORGAN! HOW DARE YOU KEEP SUCH A SECRET FROM ME?!”
“I’m sorry, and stop yelling,” I plead.
She takes a few calming breaths before facing me again. “Okay, continue. Where does the conflict come in?”
“He said that we need to keep things professional now that he’s working here. That the family would never approve, and we should never cross that line again,” I explain, the words tasting like sand on my lips.
Ava’s face hardens. “He said that to you?!”
“Yes! He said it like he was doing me a favor,” I whisper. “Like he had to protect me from him. Like I couldn’t decide for myself.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Hurt,” I admit. “Embarrassed. Stupid for getting in too deep.”
Ava leans her head on my shoulder. “Ella, listen to me. You are not stupid, and you’re not embarrassing. Cole Dawson is a grown man with a mountain of baggage he hasn’t sorted out yet. That isn’t a reflection of your worth. It’s a reflection of his fear.”
I stare at the horizon. “I don’t want to give up, Ava.”
“You like him that much, huh?”
“I really, really do. Even after all that he said,” I admit.
“Then fight for him. Go after what your heart wants,” she encourages.
I blink at her. “Really?”
“Sweetheart, do you know how he looks at you? It’s like you’re the first good thing that’s happened to him in years. He just doesn’t know what to do with that feeling yet. And men like Cole? They don’t run because they don’t care. They run because they care too much.”
Something warm pushes against my ribs, easing the ache a little. “So what do I do?”
“You take your time,” Ava says, echoing my own plan. “Be his friend. Be yourself. Help him, be there for Aria. Show him you’re not going anywhere just because he panicked.”
I nod slowly. “I can do that.”
“You can,” she says confidently. “And I’ll be right here cheering you on.”
Before I can thank her, the patter of small feet approaches, and Aria practically skids to a stop in front of us.
“Miss Ella! Should we start training today?” she asks, breathless and bright-eyed.
Her excitement is so pure it almost knocks the air right out of me. I smile at her, the heaviness inside me dissolving just a little.
Ava looks at me questioningly, but I give her a reassuring smile, then turn to Aria. “We can try.”
Her grin widens. “I knew you’d say yes. Daddy said you were the best barrel racer ever before you got hurt.”
I blink. “He said that?”
“Uh-huh,” she chirps. “And Daddy never lies. Can we start right now? Please?”
Ava hops to her feet. “You two have fun, but you and I are due for a deeper talk later,” she demands, eyeing me.
“Yes, Mrs. Morgan,” I tease.
“I quite like that. Speaking of, I miss my Mr. Morgan, please excuse me while I seek him out.”
“Gross,” I fake gag.
“Pot calling kettle black,” she mocks before turning toward the house.
She floats back inside while Aria grabs my hand and tugs, and I let her lead me toward the arena.
The closer we get, the more something inside me twists—old memories, pain, and fear.
The thump of hooves in the distance hits something deep in my chest. I haven’t trained anyone since before the accident.
I haven’t stepped back into this world with both feet since I was seventeen.
But Aria squeezes my hand once, unaware of the war happening inside me, and I remind myself that this moment isn’t about the past. It’s about now, about what I can give, and what I can reclaim for myself.
Aria is already familiar with the basics, which makes teaching her easier.
I watched her during last year’s rodeo, and she was good, but she can be better.
So we start small—with introductions to her new mare, posture, and balance.
I adjust her feet in the stirrups and correct her grip on the reins.
She listens intently, nodding with the seriousness of someone preparing for battle.
“You’re really good at this,” she praises after I help her with Cinder, one of our gentlest mares.
I smile, a real one this time. “Thank you. I had a good teacher once.”
Beck was actually the one who taught me how to ride. He was a bareback rider himself, but his love for horses made him the best teacher I could have asked for.
“Can I be good too?” she asks.
“You can be amazing,” I answer. “But you have to be patient with yourself.”
She beams. “Ella?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“You make me brave.”
The words hit me like a soft punch. I look at her, really look at her, and realize that while I’ve been drowning in old hurt, she’s been seeing me as something entirely different: someone strong, steady, and worth trusting.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
We spend the next hour training. She’s eager, determined, and full of potential. Every time she completes a pattern, she pumps her little fist in the air, yelling “Yes!” loud enough for the horses in the next county to hear. And with each small victory she earns, something loosens inside me.
For the first time in years, being in the arena doesn’t feel like a punishment. It feels like coming home.
When Aria takes a break to drink water, I glance toward the cabin. Cole stands at a distance, arms crossed, watching us. Not interfering. Not approaching. Just watching.
Our eyes meet briefly. His expression is complicated—pride, longing, regret, fear, all tangled into something he can’t hide even if he wants to.
He looks away first.
Good, I think. Let him feel it, and realize what he’s pushing away.
When training wraps up, Aria hugs me so tightly I almost drop to my knees. She skips back toward the cabin, shouting that she can’t wait for tomorrow’s session. I watch her go, smiling faintly.
Ava’s words echo in my mind. Men like Cole don’t run because they don’t care. They run because they care too much.
I take a slow breath, feeling the dust settle around my boots, the sun warming my shoulders, the familiar ache of remembering who I was before everything fell apart, and who I’m finally becoming again.
This time, my healing won’t come from a doctor, a therapist, or a forced break from the saddle. It’ll come from choosing to reclaim myself. Piece by piece. Day by day.
And if Cole Dawson eventually learns that I’m not someone you push aside… well. That’s his lesson to learn.
I dust off my hands, gather the reins, and turn toward the barn with a quiet, steady resolve building in my chest.
I’m playing the long game, and I’m not losing.