Chapter 22
CONNOR
My hands gripped Cinnamon's reins as I guided her through another series of lateral movements, feeling that familiar satisfaction when she responded to the lightest pressure from my legs.
Left, then right, stretching her neck, engaging her hindquarters the way we'd been working on for weeks.
This was the part I loved about training, watching a young horse transform from uncertain to confident, and seeing the exact moment when trust replaced fear.
The three-year-old quarter horse was progressing beautifully, moving with a fluidity that hadn't been there three months ago when the Hendersons first brought her to me.
Back then, she'd spooked at her own shadow and jumped at every unexpected sound.
Now she moved like she trusted me completely, like she knew I wouldn't ask her to do anything she couldn't handle.
The Hendersons would be thrilled seeing how far she had come.
We were working in the outdoor arena, spring sunshine warm on my back, the smell of fresh-turned earth and horse sweat mixing with clean air that finally didn't have that sharp edge of winter in it.
I pushed her into a jog, posting in rhythm with her movement, feeling the power in her stride that she was just starting to discover.
Training was a satisfying, fulfilling task because you got to experience the journey, not just the finished product.
Taking a young, green horse and molding her into something confident and skilled, watching her personality emerge as she learned she was capable of more than she thought.
The Hendersons sat on the fence rail watching, Mr. Henderson with his weathered cowboy hat pulled low against the sun, Mrs. Henderson recording video on her phone.
“She looks fantastic, Connor,” Mr. Henderson called out as I brought Cinnamon back to a walk. “We're really pleased with the progress.”
“She's a good horse. Smart, willing to learn.” I patted Cinnamon's neck, her muscles warm beneath my palm, her coat smooth from the grooming Felix had given her before we started.
“Just remember to keep working with her consistently.
She's still young, still building confidence.
She needs to know you trust her as much as she's learning to trust you.”
We talked training schedules for another fifteen minutes while I cooled her down, me offering tips on what to watch for, them asking questions that showed they truly cared about doing right by their horse.
These were the kind of owners I liked working with, people who saw their horses as partners, not just expensive lawn ornaments.
When the Hendersons finally left, I led Cinnamon back to the barn where Felix and Denny were mucking out stalls, both of them looking like they'd been rolling in the hay instead of cleaning it.
“Hendersons happy?” Felix asked, leaning on his pitchfork like he'd been waiting for a break.
“Very. Cinnamon's heading home next week.” I started untacking the mare, my hands moving through the familiar motions that I could probably do blindfolded by now. “Thought I might bring in one of the younger horses to start working with. Keep the pipeline full.”
“Max's colt might be ready,” Denny offered. “Good conformation, calm temperament. Could be a good project.”
“I'll take a look at him later.” I finished wiping down Cinnamon, then turned her out into the pasture where she immediately rolled in the grass with obvious pleasure, scratching her back now that I wasn't around to judge her for it.
“You heading inside?” Felix asked. “We've got the barn covered if you need to do paperwork.”
“Yeah, I've got invoices to send out. Bills to pay.
All the glamorous parts of running a business that nobody tells you about when you're dreaming of working with horses for a living.” I pulled off my work gloves, tucking them into my back pocket.
“Harper's with Jaxon in town, so the house should be quiet enough to actually focus.”
Which was both good and bad. Good because Harper had a way of pulling my attention even when I was trying to work.
If I heard her laugh from another room, it would make me abandon whatever I was doing just to go see what had made her smile.
Her presence in my space made me constantly aware of where she was, what she was doing, and whether she needed anything.
I loved it, loved having her here, loved the way my house finally felt like a home instead of just a place I slept.
But it definitely made paperwork take twice as long when I kept finding excuses to go check on her.
I headed toward the house and Chester bounded up to greet me.
The kitchen smelled like the coffee I'd made this morning, everything exactly as I'd left it.
A clean counter, dishes put away, the kind of order that Harper had brought into my life without me even realizing how much I'd needed it.
Gone were the days of just eating frozen pizza and drinking beer with Jaxon every night.
I grabbed a fresh cup of coffee, headed to my office and settled into my chair with a groan that said I was getting too old to be breaking horses. I pulled up the invoicing software, and stared at the screen with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for root canals.
I'd just opened the first file when my phone rang with Jaxon’s name lighting up the screen.
My hand froze halfway to the phone, that familiar knot of worry tightening in my chest before I could stop it.
Jaxon never called when he was with Harper.
Just quick texts throughout the day that I'd gotten used to checking compulsively even though I knew it was excessive.
Arrived at the boutique. Everything's fine.
Harper says hi. Simple updates that kept me from driving myself crazy with worst-case scenarios.
But a call? In the middle of the morning when Harper was supposed to be safe in her boutique with Jaxon standing guard?
Every worst-case scenario I'd been trying not to think about for two weeks came flooding back with a violence that made my stomach drop.
I grabbed the phone, answering before the second ring finished. “Jax? Is everything okay?”
“Connor…” His voice was low, careful, hesitant with something underneath it that made every muscle in my body tense. Anger. Frustration. Something else I couldn't identify but knew meant trouble.
My heart started pounding, adrenaline flooding my system in a rush that made my hands shake. I was already standing, already moving toward the door before my conscious mind had fully processed the danger. “What is it? Is Harper okay?”
Please let her be okay. Please let this be about anything except Harper being hurt.
“Harper's fine,” he said quickly, and some of the panic receded enough that I could breathe again. “She's not hurt. But Connor—” He paused, took a breath that sounded ragged even through the phone. “The boutique is completely destroyed.”
The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.
“What do you mean destroyed?” I was already grabbing my pistol from the side table, checking that it was loaded with hands that moved on autopilot. “Define destroyed, Jax.”
“I mean someone broke in last night and trashed the place.
Everything—the inventory, the fixtures, the furniture.
Glass is everywhere, merchandise is ruined, and the walls are damaged.
Connor, it's bad. It looks like someone spent hours making sure nothing was salvageable.
This wasn't robbery or vandalism. This was a message.”
My jaw clenched so tight I felt my teeth grind together, felt the muscle jump in my cheek. “Why are you still there? Why didn't you bring her back to the ranch?”
I was out the door now, my boots loud on the porch steps, my truck keys already in my hand. Chester tried to follow but I commanded him to stay with a sharp voice that made him whine and retreat, ears back.
“She won't leave.” Jaxon's voice was quiet now, almost apologetic in a way that made my chest tighten with a different kind of fear. “She's just wandering around inside, picking things up, sorting through the damage. Connor, she's in shock. She needs you.”
“I'm already on my way.” The truck engine roared to life, gravel spraying as I peeled out of my driveway faster than was safe. “Stay with her. Don't let her do anything stupid. I'll be there in forty minutes.”
Thirty-five if I really pushed it.
I hung up before Jaxon could say anything else and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat so both hands could grip the wheel as I pressed down on the accelerator hard enough to feel the truck respond.
Forty minutes. The normal drive to town was fifty, but I could shave off ten if I pushed it, maybe fifteen if I treated every yellow light like it was still green and didn't slow down for stop signs at empty intersections.
The speedometer climbed. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty on the straight stretches where I could see far enough ahead to know I wouldn't hit anyone, wouldn't cause an accident that would delay me even more.
My mind raced faster than the truck, spinning through scenarios I couldn't stop.
Who had done this? Silas? Armand? Some asshole they'd hired to send a message?
It had to be them, the timing was too convenient, the cruelty too deliberate, the message too clear.
They were showing Harper what happened when you didn't cooperate and chose to fight instead of surrender.
And I hadn't been there. I'd let Harper go into town alone because I'd been too focused on training schedules and invoices and normal ranch business to insist on driving her myself.
I'd gotten complacent during two weeks of quiet, had started to believe maybe the danger had passed, or maybe Davies' patrols had actually scared them off.
I'd let her walk into that destruction alone.