Chapter 3
City Girl Rides A Horse.
Layla
And that’s a bad thing? Cole barely has the truck in park before he jumps out, slamming the door shut behind him. He moves fast and purposeful, straight toward the woman standing in front of the house.
I don’t need to be told who she is. She’s tall. Stunning. Blonde hair pulled up, long legs in cutoff shorts and cowgirl boots like she stepped straight out of a country song. Confident in a way that feels earned, not forced. Maggie.
I hop out of the truck too, immediately heading toward the back to grab my bags, giving myself something to do. Something that looks productive. Something that doesn’t involve standing there while a family argument unfolds in the open.
“What the hell are you doing here, Maggie?” Cole snaps.
Oof.
“This is just as much my home as it is yours, Cole,” she fires back. “Now back off.”
“You didn’t want this place, remember?” he says, following her toward the house. “You wanted something else. Something more for yourself.”
The bite in his voice makes my stomach twist. John comes jogging out of the house, clearly alarmed.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks—then freezes. “Oh. Hello, Maggie.” His face softens instantly. “Good to see you, baby.”
“Hey, Daddy.”
Yep. I am absolutely being nosy as fuck. I slow my movements on purpose, taking my sweet time unloading groceries from the truck bed. If I’m quiet enough, invisible enough, maybe no one will notice I’m listening to every word.
“Tell him,” Maggie says, “tell him you called me and asked me to come help out. That Cole couldn’t handle all this on his own.”
“You did what?” Cole snaps.
Uh oh. I pause mid-bag.
Cole strikes me as the kind of man who prides himself on handling everything.
Strong. Stoic. Macho. If John called Maggie and said they needed help at the ranch…
yeah. That probably hit somewhere deep and ugly.
At the same time, though, Cole is being a jerk.
Help is help. And the ranch looks like it takes a lot of work to keep things going here.
I hoist my bags and start down the small path toward the guesthouse, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But no such luck.
“Who is that?” Maggie asks.
“Nobody,” Cole answers immediately.
Ouch.
John huffs. “She’s renting the guesthouse for six months. She’s from Seattle. Maggie, this is Layla.”
Fantastic.
My hands are full. Literally and emotionally. Everyone’s tense, voices raised, and here I am, standing there like a very awkward extra in someone else’s family drama.
I lift one arm as best I can and give a small wave. “Hello.”
No one waves back.
I smile anyway and hurry toward the front door of the guesthouse, the argument continuing behind me as if I’ve already disappeared.
The second I step inside, I drop every bag right where I’m standing. Groceries scatter. My shoulders sag. So, this is the family I just walked into.
I put my headphones on and let the music fill my ears as I put the groceries away, moving slowly, deliberately, trying to settle myself.
I line things up in the fridge, stack snacks in the cabinet, already planning what I might make for dinner later—even though I’ll probably end up eating something quick and easy because writing always steals my appetite.
My brain, however, refuses to focus. Instead, it keeps circling back to one thing. Why does Cole hate me so much?
Maybe he feels like I’m intruding on his space. On his land. His routine. And the way he keeps calling me city girl, like it’s an insult, like I chose to grow up somewhere else just to personally annoy him.
I pause, leaning against the counter.
I wonder where the cows are. The listing said they had all kinds of farm animals.
I glance out the window and spot a barn far off in the distance, red against the green land, almost unreal.
Maybe I’ll take a walk later and look around.
Get a feel for everything. Experience it, not just observe it.
The horses roam free during the day and it's absolutely beautiful.
John and Nancy seem really nice. Luke too, just your average teenage boy. Sweet, awkward, loud in the way teenagers are.
It must’ve been so hard to lose a mom at that age.
The thought hits deeper than I expect. I wouldn’t know.
I never really knew my parents. Foster homes, in and out, bags packed more times than I can count.
When I turned eighteen, I worked. And wrote.
And worked some more until I signed a deal and finally got published.
Under a different name, of course. Layla Park doesn’t exactly scream romance novelist. I shut the cabinet and sigh.
I’m kind of hoping Maggie stays. Maybe I’ll finally have someone to talk to. Someone to do girl things with. Someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m an inconvenience just for existing. Because Cole definitely hates talking to me.
Alright, Layla. Enough spiraling. Write something. You’re surrounded by beauty. Use it.
I sit at the table, open my laptop, and start typing. Once I get into it, the words come easily, faster than I expect. Before I know it, I’m nearly eight hundred words in, completely lost in the rhythm of it.
Knock. Knock.
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.
I groan, close my laptop, and pull my headphones off. “Just a sec! I’m coming!” I call out.
When I open the door, Maggie is standing there and she smiles immediately, like she’s been waiting to talk to me.
“Hey, girl. I’m really sorry about that earlier,” she says. “I’m Maggie. Cole’s younger sister.”
She holds out her hand.
I shake it. “I’m Layla. It’s nice to meet you. Come on in.”
She steps inside like she belongs there and starts chatting instantly.
“My brother can be so controlling,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And so annoying. I’m honestly embarrassed by his behavior. But anyway—how are you enjoying the farm?”
“I haven’t gotten a chance to see much of it yet,” I admit. “But I love seeing the horses.”
“There’s seventy acres here,” she says. “It’s hard to see all of it, but I’ll show you around. What do you wanna see first?”
“Anything!” I say, my excitement bubbling up. “It’ll help me write. I came here to work on a novel. I really want to experience farm and country living.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Wait—you’re an author?”
Please don’t ask my pen name.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“That’s amazing!” she practically yells. “That’s so badass. Hell yeah, city girl.”
Thank goodness. She must not be a reader. I giggle. City girl… really?
“Thanks.”
“You wanna go check some shit out?” she asks. “See the country life?”
“Yes!” I say without hesitation.
As we walk toward the barn, I can’t help but notice how beautiful everything is. I’m really taking it all in, the land, the smells, the quiet, while also being eaten alive by mosquitoes in the process. Beauty comes with a price but it’s worth it even if I am getting eaten alive.
“You must taste good,” Maggie says, glancing down at my legs. “I’ve seen you smack them a few times. That’s why we usually wear jeans when we’re doing farm work. Bugs, scuffs… and riding horses’ll rub you raw if you’re not careful. Jeans give a little protection.”
I nod like I have any idea what she’s talking about. But you have to fake it till you make it.
“The horses are beautiful,” I say, looking up at her as we walk side by side.
“Yeah, they are. You ever ridden one?”
I laugh nervously. “No. Never.”
She giggles, and I giggle back, already feeling completely out of my element.
She pulls open the barn door. “In here, we’ve got our chickens. They lay more eggs in the spring and summer, so we check every day.”
“Wow,” I say, peering in. “Do they have names?”
She laughs. “Lord, no. Can’t name ’em all. And it’s probably best not to.”
“Oh,” I say slowly, finally catching on. “Ooooh.”
Dinner. Okay. Never been this personally connected to my dinner before, but I get it. No judgment. I respect the chicken.
“I know it’s an adjustment,” Maggie says. “But if you grew up the way I did, you’d understand it more.”
“Oh yeah, no judgment from me at all,” I say quickly. “I love my chicken fingers.”
She snorts, giving me a look. “Alright, next—we’ve got a couple goats.”
“And they’re so cute,” I interrupt.
“They are, the cows are in a couple pastures down. They get moved a lot.” she says.
As we keep walking, she gestures wide. “We’ve got about twenty-five to thirty horses on this ranch. Sometimes more if there are shows or classes.”
Oh. Damn.
We pass through another pasture gate, and I stop short when I see two horses standing together. Something about them—about this—hits me right in the chest. I feel so grounded like I’ve stepped into another person's life.
“You okay?” Maggie asks.
I smile, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’ve never been this close to a horse before.”
She grins. “Come here.” She rubs the nose of a beautiful black horse. “This one’s Shadow. Come say hello.”
I step closer, heart pounding, and press my palm to his neck, rubbing gently. He’s warm, solid and real. This is so calming.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “He’s stunning. And so sweet.”
She winks. “He is. And he’s saddled. Hop on. I’ll help you up.”
“Oh no,” I say quickly. “I’m too heavy. I’ll hurt—”
I can’t believe I just said that out loud.
“These horses can hold up to three hundred pounds,” she says calmly. “Are you over three hundred?”
“…Two twenty-eight.”
“Then get your ass up there, city girl.”
I laugh and grab the saddle, grunting as I haul myself up. Once I’m settled, she hands me the reins.
“Look at you, Layla. A natural.”
I smile down at her just as she whistles sharply. Another horse comes running, and she grabs its mane and swings up, no saddle, no hesitation.
It’s like something out of a movie. This woman is a force of nature, no wonder Cole is the way he is.
“That’s probably the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” I tell her.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she says, winking.
It feels incredible being up here. She teaches me how to squeeze my thighs to get Shadow moving, how to pull back to slow him, how to guide him where I want to go.
Then—
“What the hell are you doing?”
Of course he’d show up now the moment was too perfect to last. Cole rides up beside us.
“We’re riding, Cole,” Maggie says flatly. “What are you doing?”
“She hasn’t been taught safety yet.”
“She’s on Shadow.”
“I don’t care,” he snaps. “She needs to know safety, damn it, Maggie.”
“Cole,” Maggie says, nodding toward me, “look at her. Does she look like she’s in danger?”
He looks at me.
I smile. Then immediately look away, my stomach flipping.
“Do you feel comfortable up there?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “And she’s teaching me a lot.”
“Hmph.” He shakes his head and rides off.
Maggie and I keep riding, acres and acres of land, open and endless. She shows me everything, takes pictures of me on Shadow, laughs when I squeal. The cattle and all the mooing. We spend hours out there before finally heading back.
Cole’s waiting near the barn when we return, leaning against the wood like he’s been there a while.
“Don’t worry about him,” Maggie says. “He’ll warm up.”
As we get closer, Cole looks up. Our eyes lock. Why does it feel like something more than concern? This isn’t a look of anger, it's a look of something else. And the strange thing is… he doesn’t look away. Not until I do.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
“It went great,” I say. “So much fun.”
He holds his hand out to help me down. I hesitate—then take it.
He grips my sides from behind, steady and warm, and when my boots hit the ground, he’s suddenly right there. Too close. Undoing the saddle. I can feel him without even touching him. Just breathe, Layla.
Maggie leads her horse away, and Cole hands me the reins.
“You want to walk him in?”
I take them, smiling. “Yeah.”
He smirks, watching my every move as I guide Shadow into his stall.
“So, Layla,” Maggie calls, “you coming to dinner?”
I glance at Cole. He’s watching. Listening.
“Yeah,” I say, smirking back. “I think I might.”
A muscle quivered at his jaw again.
And I’m not completely sure, but I think he’s checking me out. I wish I had a flower to pull petals from. He loves me. He loves me not. I can’t read this man for the life of me, his vibes are hot and cold but I don’t hate it.