"I was over at Nan's, she was telling me about Nate's visit," Ella explained.
"You know Nate?" Lily asked, plucking a roll out of the basket Dane handed her before passing it off to Finn.
"Everybody knows everybody around here. And their business." Ella laughed and Lily didn't know if her last words were a warning or not. With a stack of bowls beside her, the older woman started dishing up everyone's food. It was clear that while Ren ran the big house at the Baylor ranch, everyone ceded to mama when she came to visit. "Nate and Banks practically grew up here, like Emma. Sometimes I felt like I had a lot more than my four boys."
She hadn't known Emma and Nate when they were children, and she was fascinated. "Tell me what little Nater was like, then."
Ella launched into tales of the boys' shenanigans as they tucked into the meal and everyone had something to add. Lily sank back in her chair and took it all in.
*
After lunch, Lily headed back to the barn but Ella motioned for Finn to hang back. He'd known he was in trouble the minute he saw his mother's car in the yard. Especially once she revealed she'd been visiting with Nan. Ella did visit often, but he knew this visit had a purpose—she was an intuitive woman and he hadn't covered his tracks well enough. She was mining for potential.
She fixed a couple mugs of coffee and motioned for the front porch, leaving Emma and Ren with the cleanup and the baby. He had more than he could manage on his plate today, including a nice little surprise he'd planned for Lily, but when mama spoke, you listened, so he took his coffee and settled in beside her on the steps looking out over the lawn and the garden Ren had been tending all summer.
"She's really nice, Finn." Ella smiled, taking a sip of her coffee.
Even though she wasn't looking, he shook his head. This wasn't something open for discussion. He barely knew what it was himself, let alone being able to articulate that to his mother. And he'd only just made up his mind that he ought not resist it so aggressively—for Lily's sake, if nothing else.
Ella Baylor was the cornerstone of the family, there was no doubt about it. And she'd been a tremendous support to Finn when he'd lost Sunny. But the last couple of years, she'd latched onto any foothold she found to encourage him to love again. Be happy, she said, as if it was just that easy to make the conscious decision to forget about his wife and move on.
Over the years, it had always been Ella who had pushed him out of his comfort zone, and he was usually grateful, but this was one place he'd dig his heels in. That kind of happiness only came around once in a lifetime, and it wasn't right to try to recreate it with something lackluster. Not fair to anyone involved. At least that's what he told himself.
"She's a good client," he underlined the word. Because that's all she was, and that's all anyone needed to know. At least until he could figure out the tangle in his head and his heart.
"Right. She's taken some lovely photos of the ranch." Ella ignored Finn's insistence, sipping her coffee. He had to hand it to her—she had a way of changing one's thinking without them even realizing it. He'd always figured it was the finest notion of horse training; you make a twelve hundred pound beast do things not through force, but by convincing them it was their idea in the first place, without them even realizing it. He had learned that from his mother, but it didn't make him immune to the tactic, even when he recognized it in play.
And she was right about the photos. What little Lily had shown him had been great. She clearly had an eye for the work that couldn't be trained or taught.
"She is very good. You should ask her to show you more before she leaves."
"Oh, I will." Ella's knowing smile told him she thought she had more than enough time. "But I'm not here to talk about your new 'client', honey. How are you doing?"
Finn took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. Five years was too long to still have to be asking how he was doing. He straightened and set his coffee cup aside.
"Busy," he said, leaning to press a kiss to his mother's cheek before he got to his feet. "I actually have a pretty busy afternoon scheduled, mama."
"I know, you're always busy." She smiled up at him warmly. "But a mother can worry about her sons once in a while, can't she?"
"Nothing to worry about, I promise." He laughed, helping her to her feet.
"Alright, honey. I'll see you on the weekend."
"I'll see you."
He took the two steps off the porch and headed toward the barn, but couldn't shake his mother's knowing smile. At the end of the day, she'd known Dane loved Ren before either one of them had realized it, and she had been Noah's voice of reason when it came to Emma. She had a history of being in the right place at the right time to give things the nudge they needed to fall into place. And that worried him almost more than Lily's presence.
He found Lily in the same position he'd found her earlier, crouched over a dusty pile of leather. She was nothing if not a hard worker, especially considering the hitch in her getalong he'd been noticing had become more pronounced. She might have been overdoing it, but he guessed, based on what he knew of her already, she'd stick with this job until it was finished and not complain. He made a mental note to replace the overturned bucket she was sitting on with a camp chair, if nothing else. He sure as hell wasn't going to get her to give it a rest for a couple days.
"Come with me a minute."
She quirked a brow at him but got up, doing the same careful stretch he'd seen her do earlier. He suspected her physical issues were deeper than she suggested, but she kept quiet.
"I'm never going to finish at this rate."
"You have lots of time for that," he said as he laughed, stepping past her to grab his colt training saddle and a bridle with a snaffle bit she'd hung on the wall. It was time to treat her with the standard Baylor hospitality they were known for, whether he was conflicted inside or not. "But you only have ten minutes to get ready to ride."
—THIRTEEN—
There would have been a time when Lily would have jumped at the opportunity to ride. Today, her heart jack-hammered in her chest at the prospect. She would have told him no, but Finn was already at the other end of the barn, pulling a horse out. She slipped out of the tack room and then out of the barn to get some air. She'd actually brought all of her gear because Emma had promised they'd ride together. And that had been okay. Because she could fail in front of Emma—she'd done it enough times. But riding with Finn meant she could fail in front of someone who didn't already know her weaknesses intimately. And trying to put him off meant she'd have to admit she was afraid, and she wasn't ready for that.
There were a lot of ways her body didn't work how it used to, and that was the most fearsome. Then, there was re-injury. She couldn't go back to crutches or a cane; she wanted that chapter of her life to be closed until she was old and gray.
After a few minutes, she steadied her breathing and went back into the barn, pulling her lightweight helmet out of the bag. At the end of the aisle, Finn and a big, shark-withered gray horse waited, already saddled. She wasn't sure if her ten minutes had already passed.
"You've met Buckshot?"
"Gage has told me about him," she said, smiling. There didn't seem to be a person on the ranch who didn't have a good memory of the old horse. Even Emma had a comical tale about a barrel racing bet against Noah in which Buckshot starred. She reached out to stroke the horse's nose. "He's a bit of a celebrity around here, isn't he?"
"He's played a pretty big part in everybody's lives, that's for sure. We'll miss him when he's gone." His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and a rare softness crossed Finn's face as he stroked the horse's neck. "I'm convinced he'll live forever."
"I get that. I'm pretty sure Encore will, too. Especially after the accident. I have Nate to thank for that, though. He was about the only person who stood by my decision when everyone else thought I should put him down."
Finn absorbed her words, one corner of his mouth tipping up when she mentioned Nate.
"You know, I thought you were Nate's girl when you showed up."
"Nate? No." Nearly choking on her laughter, Lily shook her head. "Don't get me wrong, I love the man. He's been a good friend. But we are not compatible like that. He's more like a brother to me."
More than her own brother, even. Her family had never really been into horses or the rodeo; she'd found her own way there, so there was no common ground. Nate had encouraged her to step outside of her comfort zone, and it was because of him she'd had opportunities to try cattle penning and barrel racing, and even a laughably terrible attempt at roping. He was her go-to when she needed advice, or an unbiased opinion, or a cold beer and a long talk. She'd seen every shade of doubt in his eyes during Encore's recovery, but he had also been the one who connected her with Emma when Encore was ready for rehab.
"Same," Finn said. "It's strange we've never crossed paths before."
"Oh, you know, Denver is a pretty long haul," she teased. The easy banter between them was strange, but welcome. She had no idea what had made him change his mind, but she thanked whatever deity was listening that they were making some headway, especially if she was going to be here for a while. And more than slowly building a bridge between two of them, their small talk helped to calm the burst of butterflies that had been flittering around in her stomach since he'd announced she'd be riding.
*
"Why don't we get started?" he asked, his voice gentle. She let out a breath and nodded, and he unhooked Buckshot from the cross-ties and led the way to the round pen.
"Do you trust me?" Finn asked Lily as she closed the gate behind them.
"No," she said flatly. He laughed, but ignored the sentiment.
"You know Buckshot's our babysitter. So you'll have a chance to figure out how to sit, how to use your body in this role again, and he won't move a muscle." He guessed that was the main issue here—any length of time away from riding meant those muscles you used in the saddle needed some gentle reminding when you got back into it—and adding injury only made it worse.
She let out a breath, her fingers twisted together in front of her as she looked at the horse. "Okay."
"There's no reason why this won't work, Lily."
The straps of her helmet swung around her ears as she looked back at the horse one more time and nodded to herself. His first instinct had been to rib her about the helmet a little bit—he'd never worn one and he'd gotten through thirty years just fine—but it was clearly something important to her, so he'd reconsidered. By his estimation, that flimsy little brain bucket wouldn't do much if she decided to fall off, but he still found himself reaching out to buckle it under her chin. She stopped moving, drawing in a breath as the backs of his fingers brushed her jawline.
They'd barely touched one another since she'd arrived, but the little shock of electricity that passed between them now was undeniable. He was an effective communicator when it came to his work with the horses but apparently, he got his signals all mixed up with women. In the ring with a horse, you couldn't let your emotions control your actions—they'd pick up on it in a heartbeat—so you played your cards close to your vest. Consistency was the key when it came to horse training, and he couldn't seem to get his emotions under control enough to be consistent when it came to Lily.
But now he was more nervous than she looked, and he could only attribute that to the fact he cared too much, already; he admired her pluck and courage, she had a hell of a poker face, and he was getting used to having her around. It was one thing for him, with his long legs and years of experience, to sit a challenging ride, but it was an entirely different thing for a girl with half a hardware store bolted to her bone structure to stick with anything aside from a little plod around the ring. While Buckshot was pretty much bombproof by nature, anything could happen with a 1200lb creature with a mind of its own. He nodded toward the saddle, though the part of him that tugged at the stubborn tilt of her chin wanted to tell her to take the horse back to the barn, just to be safe. "You ready?"
Letting out a swift breath through her lips, she nodded, reaching for the horn and cantle of the saddle.
She lifted her left foot to lever herself into the saddle but came up short. The grimace on her face told him she didn't have the range of motion in her hip to get her foot into the high stirrup on the tall horse, never mind the stability to torque her body up onto the horse even if she could get her foot into it.
"We can put him up to the fence, if you want." Finn said, quietly. Though there wasn't another soul around to see it, she was blushing. A little sweat had broken out over her pretty features; in the chill of the fall air, he knew it wasn't because of overexertion. "Or I can give you a lift."
Without turning to look at him, she shook her head, staring down the fender of the saddle as if it owed her. "No. I can do this."
She couldn't, but he wouldn't say that out loud to her. He had a feeling there was little in life she ever admitted she couldn't do. She had, after all, healed broken bones, and a broken horse, by sheer force of will alone.
But it was painful to watch her try again. She was close, her toe hitting the bottom of the stirrup but unable to get into it. Finally he stepped sideways, curled his arm around her leg, grasped her ankle, and rooted his shoulder under her bottom, hoisting her up and into the saddle before she had a chance to decline his help.
The look she gave him from atop the horse was a perfect blend of bewildered, embarrassed, and grateful. She slipped her feet into the stirrups, and gathered up the reins, then closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. With each second of her exhalation, a soft smile grew. When she opened her eyes again, she looked at peace.
"Ready?" he asked, smoothing his palm over the horse's neck. The big gelding had been a rock while she'd tried to mount up, just as he'd expected. Buckshot was his go-to horse for anyone who needed a little safe confidence boost; he always came through. Finn turned so he could walk backwards and watch her as he led the horse the first couple of steps. She sat straight, but jerked like she'd been burnt when the horse took his first easy step forward.
"Whoa." Finn spoke and the horse stopped. "You okay?"
"Better than ever." The smile that slanted over her lips was not the same as the one she'd flashed him before she'd mounted up. Not nearly as sincere.
"Does anything hurt?"
*
Lily considered the question, taking a mental inventory of her body parts the way she had almost every day since the accident. She wiggled her toes in her boots, and tilted her pelvis. There was soreness—there had been since she'd started sleeping on Emma and Noah's couch—but nothing she couldn't handle. Her pain tolerance had changed dramatically in the last year.
"No more than normal."
"Good." Finn turned his back to her, urging the horse back into motion. He checked back with her every few strides, and they made a couple of laps around the round pen. He kept a hand on the chin strap of the bridle the entire time, and while she wanted to make a comment about how she'd outgrown pony rides, she was grateful for that extra little bit of security.
It took more time than she expected to convince her hips to relax into the gentle movement of the horse's walk, but before long, her body was fluid, the way she wanted it. And then Finn turned to walk backwards, tipping his head down in an unasked question. Pressing her lips together, she drew in a breath and nodded.
His hand dropped to his side and he took a step in toward the middle of the round pen, and she was on her own. The gelding plodded along like nothing had changed, but for Lily, everything had.
"He's fine to direct rein," Finn reassured her, backing off until he was several feet away. He was telling her the horse could be steered without the use of her legs if necessary, but she knew the better way was to ride with her seat. Consciously, she pushed her heels down, imagining her legs long and draped down the horse's side. And then she attempted to apply pressure to his side with her right calf. Buckshot bent around her leg, moving away from the pressur
e. Feeling a rush of relief, Lily smiled, and looked to Finn. His own smile told her she hadn't imagined her body had actually worked the way she expected it to.
"The other direction?" Finn asked, circling a finger in the air to indicate she turn. She reined the gelding around and pressed her left leg to his side. The gelding hardly flinched. It was the first time she'd really noticed the weakness and she frowned. It wasn't painful, just not effective. Frustrating. "Okay, try and bend him again?"
"I'm trying." She could feel her face reddening. If she couldn't ride a sensitive school horse effectively, how would she ever ride Encore?
She wouldn't. The certainty echoed in her heart, more terrifying than the fear she could never ride again. If she couldn't ride Encore, none of this was worth it. Swallowing tears, she scolded herself for being unrealistic. She was lucky to walk, being able to ride was otherworldly—she'd proven her mother wrong—but she had her heart set on an idea of perfect she might not ever accomplish.
"Lily?"
She glanced at Finn, concern forming two lines between his eyebrows that she could see even through the glaze of tears in her eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked, that same gentle note in his voice as when he'd thought about Buckshot in the barn. She could barely stand it when it was directed at her.
She sniffed, slipping both reins into one hand so she could swipe at her eyes. It was bittersweet. They'd thought maybe she'd have trouble walking, and here she was riding, defying odds… just not the odds she wanted to defy. She hated that she'd failed in front of Finn, and hated that it had brought tears to her eyes.
"Yeah."
"What's wrong? Are you hurting?" He stepped toward Buckshot and she shook her head, holding her hand out to stop him. She'd had enough pity to last the rest of her life over the last year. That wasn't what she wanted right now.
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