Chapter 3
A Day in the Yard
Scout spotted her first.
The dog bolted across the yard in a plume of dust, barking like the whole world needed to know he’d found something important. Eli followed close behind him, boots pounding the ground hard enough to shake the porch boards.
“Tessa!” he shouted. “Come quick!”
She leaned out of the doorway, drying her hands on her apron. “What is it?”
“Nothing bad,” he said, almost breathless. “Jo’s here! She says today’s a good day to work with the colt.” He pointed toward the barn, excitement buzzing through him. “Come on!”
Tessa hesitated on the threshold. She didn’t know if she had any place out there among them—training horses, joking, carrying on like folks who’d shared years together. But Eli reached for her wrist, gentle but sure.
“It’s fine,” he said with boyish certainty. “Jo took to you.”
Tessa didn’t know why, but she nodded and followed him across the yard.
The sun sat warm overhead, burning off the last of the morning chill. Scout circled them twice before sprinting toward the paddock again, barking at nothing in particular.
Jo rested her arms on the top rail, rope looped in one hand. Her hat was pushed back, braid falling over one shoulder. She smiled wide when she spotted Tessa.
“Good. I was hoping you’d come. We’re working on groundwork today. Colt’s feeling lively.”
Eli hopped onto the bottom rail. “I fed him early so he’d be ready.”
“That you did,” Jo said. “He’s growing like a weed.”
Tessa stepped near the fence. The young horse lifted his head, ears sharp and curious. His dark coat shone in the sun, and something in his bright eyes made her pause. He wasn’t timid or unsure of himself. He was willing, so long as someone met him right.
“He likes you,” Eli said, nudging her.
“He likes everyone,” she murmured.
Jo raised her brow. “Not true. He kicked at Pike last week.”
“Pike deserved that,” Eli said. “He tried to show off.”
Jo laughed. “Exactly.”
Tessa rested her hand on the rail. The colt walked over and breathed warm air against her palm. She didn’t move. Just let him take his time.
Jo watched her quietly. “See that? Horses know things before people do.”
Tessa didn’t answer. Horses didn’t judge last names. People did.
Sam came from the shed, dusting his gloves. He slowed when he reached them, gaze shifting from Jo to Tessa to the colt. He didn’t say much. He rarely did. But when he stepped close enough, she felt more at ease.
“Colt’s looking strong,” he said.
Jo nodded. “Ready for a halter lesson. Eli’s been working with him every morning.”
Tessa looked down. “I didn’t mean to intrude—”
“You’re not intruding,” Sam said, voice calm and sure. “You’re part of this.”
The words settled deep, warm and unsettling at the same time.
Jo tapped the rope against her leg. “Let’s show her.”
They moved through the lesson—simple circles, pressure and release, footwork, quiet cues. Eli demonstrated with a kind of pride he didn’t bother hiding. Jo adjusted his hands once or twice. Tessa stood beside Sam, watching the way the colt listened to every small motion.
“You ever work with horses?” Sam asked.
“No.”
“You’d be good at it.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“You’re calm,” he said. “Animals pay attention to calm people.”
Tessa didn’t know what to do with that. People usually had reasons for praise, tangled in their own wants. Sam said it like it cost him nothing and expected nothing.
Crunching gravel drew her attention. Rafe walked up the lane, Scout tearing toward him like the man was made of bacon. Rafe gave the dog a long scratch before joining them at the fence.
“Thought I’d find you all out here,” he said.
Jo didn’t look up. “You’re late.”
“I’m on time for someone who wasn’t invited.”
“You’re always invited.”
Rafe tipped his chin toward Tessa. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she returned, grateful for the way he saw her without prying.
He studied the colt. “He’s sound. Luke sent a good one.”
Eli straightened with pride. “He’s mine.”
“And you’re treating him right,” Rafe said.
Eli nearly glowed.
Behind them, Abby crossed the yard with a covered dish. She set it on a fence post with practiced ease.
“Lunch,” she said. “Figured no one remembered the time.”
“We didn’t,” Jo admitted.
“Never do,” Rafe added.
Sam huffed a quiet laugh.
Abby turned to Tessa. “How’s the house settling for you? Need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“You tell me if that changes.”
Tessa nodded, though she wasn’t sure she would.
They ate on the porch in the shade. Warm bread. Easy talk. Scout pacing in hopeful circles. Eli couldn’t stop talking about the colt. Rafe promised to help him trim the mane someday. Jo teased Sam about his habit of pretending he didn’t fuss over things.
Tessa sat on the step, plate on her knee, keeping quiet. Sam sat near her—close enough to be felt, not close enough to crowd.
“You doin’ all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “Just… a lot of people.”
“They’re good folks.”
“I know.”
“You fit here.”
She stared at the yard. “I don’t know how to fit anywhere.”
“You’re doing it right now.”
She swallowed hard. “Feels like pretending.”
Sam shook his head once. “Feels like living.”
A rider approached—Reed. Eli waved wildly. Reed stopped near the porch, dust on his sleeves.
“Checking fence lines,” he said. “Thought I’d stop in.”
Jo rose to greet him. Reed glanced toward Tessa with quiet gratitude.
“How’s the week treating you?” he asked.
“It’s good,” she said. “Everyone’s been… kind.”
“They should be. You saved my hide back there.”
Tessa stiffened. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Reed’s voice gentled. “That’s not how I see it.”
She drew back slightly, and Sam shifted closer, steady as ever.
The talk rolled on—easy, familiar. Family, whether named or not.
Tessa watched them. Something ached sharp and deep. This wasn’t her world… yet.
Sam dipped his head. “You’re thinking hard.”
“I’m just tired.”
He didn’t question it. “We’ll take the afternoon slow.”
“I should get back to the kitchen.”
“You don’t have to run,” he said softly.
“I’m not.”
He didn’t challenge her, but his eyes said he saw right through the words.
She slipped inside. The door shut behind her, muffling their laughter.
She leaned against the counter, breath tight.
This wasn’t pretending.
This was wanting.
And wanting terrified her more than anything.