Page 10

The fantasy had kept her awake longer than it should have. She hadn’t touched anyone in a very long time, and her body had decided Claire was the fix.

Maple tossed her head, ears flicking. Delaney loosened the reins without thinking, the motion automatic now. Progress. She should feel proud. Instead her mind wandered again, drifting to the way Claire’s voice dropped when she corrected posture, low and steady like she was gentling a skittish horse.

What if Claire played Emma instead of Vivian? Delaney could picture it too easily. Those blue eyes under the brim of a felt hat, the lean strength in Claire’s frame filling out the jacket just right.

The daydream sharpened. After the lesson they wouldn’t head back to the barn for grooming. Claire would crowd her against the rough plank wall instead, one hand braced beside Delaney’s head, the other sliding up under her shirt. The kiss would start slow, almost careful, then turn hungry. Delaney would stop breathing entirely. She’d arch into it, fingers digging into Claire’s shoulders, that long blonde hair coming loose from its ponytail. A sharp tug of wanting pulled at her center. God, she wanted it. Wanted Claire’s weight pressing her there, wanted to feel those palms map every inch of skin like they knew exactly how to handle something that needed breaking in.

“Delaney.”

The sharp edge in Claire’s voice yanked her back. Her neck burned.

She blinked, focusing on the woman standing ten feet away at the rail.

Claire’s arms crossed over her chest, flannel sleeves rolled to her elbows, her jaw had that tight set to it.

“Get your shit together.” Claire’s words landed flat, no room for argument. “We’re running out of time here. Filming starts in a few days. Come on.”

A knot pulled tight beneath Delaney’s ribs. Claire’s frustration only made her want to prove herself.

She straightened, thighs squeezing just enough to ask Maple for a smoother walk. The mare responded immediately, ears forward, gait even. See? She was getting it. The confidence felt new and fragile, like a muscle she hadn’t known she possessed until these endless hours in the pen.

“Sorry,” Delaney said. She kept her tone light, gripping the reins a fraction tighter. “Won’t happen again.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. She uncrossed her arms and stepped closer to the fence, one boot scuffing dirt. The movement pulled her jeans tight across her thighs. Delaney forced her gaze back to the mare’s ears.

This version of herself felt unrecognizable. Horny and desperate in a way that should have mortified her. Instead she leaned into it, just a little. It had been so long since anyone occupied her thoughts like this. Since her body had decided to wake up and want without considering the optics or what Rebecca would say.

“Again,” Claire called. “Take her around at a trot.”

Delaney clicked her tongue, shifting her weight. Maple moved into the trot without hesitation. The gait jolted through Delaney’s spine at first, but she caught the rhythm faster this time, sitting it without thinking about it. Her hips rolled with the motion, absorbing the bounce instead of fighting it. Four days ago she’d bounced like a sack of potatoes. Now the movement felt almost natural. She risked a glance at Claire.

Claire watched with narrowed eyes, that faint crease carved between her brows. No smile. Claire rarely smiled during lessons, but Delaney had caught a few anyway, keeping mental count like they were something she could keep. Small ones, when Delaney managed a clean dismount without stumbling or when Maple had leaned into her shoulder after a good session. Those rare glimpses did dangerous things to Delaney’s chest. She wanted to see if she could earn another one before the hour was out.

But the most frustrating thing was that she wanted more than the lessons. She wanted Claire’s attention fixed on her for reasons that had nothing to do with her riding skills. A quiet heat settled low in her belly, and she didn’t try to push it down.

What was the harm in letting it run wild for a few weeks? Claire wouldn’t act on it. The woman had iron control written all over her.

But Delaney could fantasize. She could let her mind wander to a kiss in the kitchen some evening, to strong fingers in her hair, to the low sound Claire might make when⁠—

“Legs,” Claire snapped.

Delaney’s heel had crept up again. She corrected it immediately, dropping it back down. The move hadn’t been entirely accidental. Part of her had hoped for the correction up close, that firm hand on her calf guiding her into position. Claire stayed where she was though.

“Keep your heel down or you’ll cue her to go faster than you mean.”

The words carried dry amusement underneath the frustration. Delaney’s mouth twitched. She liked that tone more than she should. Liked the competence in it, the way Claire knew exactly how every part of this worked.

Maple completed another circle. Delaney kept her hands steady on the reins, thumbs up the way Claire had shown her that first morning. The leather felt good between her fingers now. Her own boots pinched less after the miles she’d put on them. The designer sneakers had been buried in her suitcase since day one. She fit in better than she’d expected. The ranch’s quiet had started to ease something restless inside her.

Claire moved along the rail, keeping pace. Her hat shaded her eyes, but Delaney caught the blue flash when she tilted her head. Those eyes missed nothing. What did they see when they looked at her?

A spoiled actress playing cowgirl? Or something closer to the version of June she’d written on late nights in her Hollywood Hills office?

“Bring her back to a walk,” Claire said.

Delaney sat deeper, eased the reins. Maple slowed obediently, neck relaxed, ears still forward.

Delaney exhaled, the tension finally bleeding out of her shoulders. She was improving. Massively. The knowledge felt solid, something she could hold onto when the crew arrived and everything turned into takes and lighting and pressure again. For now the ranch stripped all that away. Just her, the horse, and Claire’s unflinching gaze.