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He wants to pick her up.

Wrap himself around her.

Protect her from everything.

And never let her go.

“I think I have a psychic horse.”

From where she’s perched on top of the training paddock’s fence, Grace snorts. “Don’t you mean psychotic ?”

I scowl at my twin, an expression I swear Ruin copies. Running a hand along his back, I scratch the spot on his hip that makes his leg kick with satisfaction. “He’s not psychotic.”

“He bit you, like, five times today.”

“It’s his love language,” I counter defensively. “Alex bit you yesterday. You don’t call him names.”

“Alex is three.”

“So is Ruin.”

“Alex is not a horse.”

“Neither is Ruin,” Eliza pipes in, nudging our sister a little too enthusiastically, considering their precarious perch. “Hunter says he’s part devil, part wog.”

“What the fuck is a wog?”

There’s a pause, and then Grace holds up her phone, showing a Wikipedia page on the screen. “A Georgian demonic dog, apparently.”

“So…” Eliza grins, pure mischief. “Grouch?”

Sprawled on the ground nearby with his siblings, my admittedly slightly demonic dog growls.

“Leave my animals alone.” I whistle at Grouch and she quietens, settling her head on her sister’s belly again—Duke, my sister named her, not only because She’s The Man is her favorite movie, but because the week after we found the dogs abandoned on our property, Grace found the puppy she claimed as hers muzzle-deep in a wheel of gouda.

To Ruin, I croon, “Don’t listen to them. You’re an angel.”

“A psychic one, apparently.”

Right. Back to my original point. “He knows I drank,” I claim, and the humor tainting the air abruptly dies. “He’s mad at me.”

As if to prove my point, dull, square teeth sink into my forearm for the sixth time, according to Grace.

And for the sixth time, I hiss and dig my shoulder into the strong equine body at my side—a reprimand Ruin clearly does not heed, considering he targets my hair next. Whining a curse as I rescue a flaming red plait from a soggy death, I briefly consider biting the bastard right back.

I probably would, honestly, if a single, commanding clap didn’t call my attention elsewhere.

“New plan,” Carmen calls from the other side of the fence, peering at me through the gap between two rungs.

Just like I had to do earlier when she arrived for our session, I choke down something that tastes suspiciously like guilt— is it a breach of girl code , I wondered then and I wonder now, to kiss the guy your friend went out with once?

I have no idea. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I don’t have much time to ponder the question either because a shocking command erases it from my head. “Open the gate.”

“ What? ” I’m not the only one to screech, and Ruin’s ears flatten at the noise, a hoof scuffing at the ground as he snorts unhappily—as do I. “He’ll get out.”

“That’s the point.”

Eliza and Grace lean into each other, the former’s voice a not-quite-low-enough murmur, “Maybe she’s psychotic.”

“ She ,” the horse trainer grinds out through a gritted smile, “thinks that the pen is the problem. He doesn’t like being cooped up. He’s never gonna relax enough to follow any commands in there.”

And that’s our main problem—the groundwork of it all. Ruin might be as close to desensitised as he’s ever likely to get, but basic commands? Forget it. “So, what? I just let him run off into the sunset?”

“He won’t run. Not if you’re with him.”

Listen, I’m the first to insist that Ruin and I have something special going on, some kindred spirit shit, but even I think that maybe Carmen is putting a little too much weight on our bond. Because I’m pretty damn sure the second that gate opens, he’ll bolt.

But evidently, I’m not the one in charge.

“Trust me.” Carmen slaps her palms against the fence and backs up, smiling encouragingly. “He’s got nowhere else to go. Why would he run?”

Spoken like a perfectly secure, well-adjusted person.

How nice that must be.

“Here.” Carmen slings a lead rope over the fence, a bridle too.

I move to grab them, not thinking much of it, my brain still caught up on the whole ‘semi-releasing a half-feral horse’ thing. It’s not until my little sister screams at the top of her damn lungs that I abruptly catch up.

“ You want her to ride him? ”

“She did it once, didn’t she?”

“He almost killed her!”

I scoff. “He did not.”

“He threw you off!”

“You weren’t even there.” I roll my eyes at Grace. “And he said sorry.”

She buries her shaking head in her hands. “Psychopathy, party of three.”

Ignoring my dramatic twin, I squint at Carmen. “What about a saddle?”

“Do you need one?”

If I did, I sure as fuck wouldn’t admit it. Besides, I’ve ridden bareback before.

On an entirely different horse that was never likened to a mythological helldog. But semantics, hey?

I wrap the lead rope around my hand only to unwrap it right away and repeat the action a few times, the rough fibres a soothing scratch against my skin. “My brother might fire you for this.”

Carmen shrugs. “I can live with that.”

“Not if my sister kills you.”

Again, utter nonchalance. “I’ve had a good life.”

Jesus. She’s either really fucking confident about this or she knows who’s bed I woke up in this morning, and this is her revenge.

Either way, she’s the boss. I’m just a lowly ranch hand— a ranch bitch , to quote myself. So, using the same slow, calm techniques as usual, I fix the lead rope and bridle into place, tutting when I get nipped again . “Your love language really is biting, isn’t it?”

Ruin huffs.

The screech of a bolt sliding free makes him huff again, makes me wince as he curls his lips back over his teeth, but as the gate creaks open, he doesn’t flee.

Only when I tug at the rope looped around his neck does he move, clomping footsteps matching my slow pace, so contradictory to the rapid thump of my heart.

I don’t breathe—I don’t think anyone does—until Ruin is out of the paddock. Away from it. Hooves scuffing the green grass that surrounds us and goes on for acres upon acres. Yet still, he remains at my side.

With a controlled exhale that’s the closest I can get to a euphoric cheer, I glance at Carmen as I gently clutch a fistful of sleek, dark mane. “So we’re going full cowboy on this, yeah?”

She nods and points two thumbs to the sky.

“Is recklessness a symptom of withdrawal?”

Grace shoves our mouthy-ass sister so hard, she almost topples off the fence. “ Jesus , little one.”

Scrambling to rebalance, Eliza thumps her right back. “ What? ”

Shooting both of them a warning scowl, I cluck my tongue dismissively. “I’m not in withdrawal.”

God knows I wouldn’t be out here working if I was. I wouldn’t feel oddly… good. Clear-headed.

Fuck me. Serene .

Guess that old age adage about a problem shared being a problem halved has some merit. Fuck me again.

And fuck my smartass little sister too. Affectionately . “Sounds like something someone going through withdrawal would say.”

A short, low whistles makes every head, human or otherwise, whip toward the woman striding across the yard towards us, both hands braced on her hips.

“You two.” Lux lifts her chin at the pair still straddling the top of the fence. “Leave your sister alone.”

Eliza, ever the smartass, salutes. “Yes, mother.”

“And you.” Lux shifts her high-browed attention to me, a weary sigh escaping downturned lips. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I blink, pure innocence. “Obeying the man.”

Carmen lifts a hand. “I’m the man.”

Lux redirects the same question to her employee. “What is she doing?”

As if she has a fucking echo, someone else repeats the damn question.

“God.” I sigh, my turn to be weary as yet another spectator joins the ever-growing crowd. “Has no one ever ridden a horse around here?”

Finn is not impressed by my theatrics. He stands beside Lux, stance exactly the same, expression no different either. Jesus, even their voices blend together in perfect harmony as they both utter a firm, inarguable, “ No .”

“ No ?” I repeat incredulously, playing the fool as if I don’t know damn well that they’re not answering my rhetorical question. “Liars.”

Two sets of deep brown eyes narrow, but it’s Finn who clarifies, “You’re not getting on that horse.”

“Oh, really?” My head falls so far to one side, it’s practically resting on my shoulder. “I’m not?”

He kisses his teeth so loudly, I’m sure the noise carries all the way to Haven Ridge. “Lottie.”

I copy his tone—his no-nonsense stance too. “Finn.”

“Baby,” comes out next, as casually as if he were saying my name.

My eyes widen, flying towards Carmen who looks… completely unsurprised. Shit, she’s smirking . Shaking her head like she’s amused, and then nodding once when we lock gazes.

Approval .

Well, damn. Okay then.

“I’m just doing what I’m told, darling .” I smile at Finn, all teeth, all cheek, and jerk my head towards Carmen. “Discuss it with my boss. Over drinks, maybe?”

Everyone else might snicker, but Finn is not amused. Not even a little. Even from a distance, I feel the sheer weight of his unamused-ness, and it almost makes me buckle.

Almost .

I don’t let myself. I don’t overthink it.

I just tighten my grip on Ruin’s mane and use it as a guiding, steadying leverage to hop onto his back with far more grace and confidence than I actually possess—thank you, muscle memory.

The show-off in me cries out to gauge one specific reaction to my trick, but I stuff that part of me down.

I focus every last bit of my attention on the twitchy stallion beneath me, one wrong move— any move, wrong or otherwise—away from throwing me off.

Again .

Lightly scratching the base of his mane, I shift my weight forward slightly, just enough to reach into my back pocket and fish out my wild guy’s favorite treat. “How about a lap around the block?” I croon as a sugar cube crunches between his teeth. “Sound good to you, big guy?”