Page 63 of Only Mine
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. Because he’s right, and it’s ripping me up inside.
Rome sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but that woman isn’t looking at Ivy like she’s counting down the minutes until she can leave.”
“It’s complicated.”
“With you? Never would have guessed.” Rome claps me on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go watch your daughter show off her riding skills before you scowl so hard your face gets stuck that way.”
We make our way toward the paddock, Rome’s cowboy boots kicking up small clouds of dust with each step. Ahead, Ivy is pressed against the wooden fence, Wrenley beside her, both of them watching as a speckled horse trots along the perimeter.
“That’s Scribbles,” Ivy announces as we approach. “Isn’t she the prettiest horse ever?”
“She’s gorgeous,” Wrenley agrees, her voice warm with genuine appreciation.
“One of the gentlest mares I’ve ever trained. Perfect for little riders.” Rome winks at Ivy. “Want to saddle up, kiddo?”
Ivy bounces on her toes. “Yes, please!”
Rome whistles sharply, and Scribbles’s ears prick forward. She turns, trotting toward us.
“She knows me!” Ivy squeals, straining against the fence.
Rome unlatches the gate. “Easy now. Let her come to you, remember?”
Ivy stills immediately, her small body vibrating with contained excitement as she holds out a flat palm. Scribbles stretches her velvet nose forward, snuffling Ivy’s hand before giving it a gentle bump.
“Horses never forget a friend,” Rome says as he leads the mare through the gate. “Especially one who sneaks them sugar cubes.”
Ivy giggles, guilty and delighted. “Only sometimes.”
I catch Wrenley’s gaze over Ivy’s head. The look in her eyes—a quiet joy, a sense of belonging—makes that mysterious spice rise, forcing me to clear my throat.
She belongs here at this moment, the autumn sun highlighting the gold in her hair, her cheeks flushed with the crisp air. The sight of her, so natural beside my daughter, hits me with an unexpected punch.
“Want to pet her?” Rome asks Wrenley, noticing her hesitation.
“Can I?”
“She won’t bite,” Rome says. “Unlike some people around here.”
Wrenley’s eyes flare at Rome’s humor, but then she smiles, a real one that transforms her face and sends a bolt of heat straight to the groin.
“Go on,” Rome encourages. “Right between the eyes. She loves that.”
Wrenley stretches out her hand, palm flat like Ivy’s had been. Scribbles leans into her touch immediately, and a look of pure glee crosses Wrenley’s face.
“Oh! She’s so soft,” she breathes, stroking the white blaze that runs down the mare’s face.
“Ready to saddle up?” Rome asks Ivy, who’s practically levitating with anticipation.
“Yes!”
“I’ll get her tacked while you three head to the arena,” Rome says, leading Scribbles toward the barn. “And Saint, try not to terrify Miss Wrenley with your charming personality before we return.”
I scowl at his retreating back while Ivy tugs Wrenley toward a fenced ring nearby, chattering about how fast she can make Scribbles go.
“She means trot,” I clarify, falling into step beside them. “Not gallop.”
“I can go super fast,” Ivy insists. “Rome lets me.”
