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She guided Maple toward the rail where Claire waited. The mare stopped square on her own. Delaney gathered the reins in one hand and swung her leg over, dismounting without wobbling. Her knees protested, but she hid it. The ground felt good under her boots after forty minutes in the saddle. She led Maple forward, stroking the mare’s neck. The chestnut coat held the sun’s heat under her palm.

Claire stepped through the gate, closing it behind her with a quiet click.

“Better,” Claire said. She reached out and ran a hand down Maple’s shoulder. “You’re starting to feel her instead of fighting her. That’s what matters.”

The praise landed soft. Delaney swallowed. “Thanks. Feels like it’s clicking finally. My legs hate me, but at least I didn’t almost fall off today.”

Claire’s mouth quirked. Not quite a smile, but close enough to count. “Progress. We’ll do groundwork after you cool her out. Then three o’clock again. We need to make every one of these sessions count.”

Delaney nodded, but her mind had already slipped back to the daydream. Claire pinning her in the barn aisle, that low voice murmuring instructions that had nothing to do with horses. The fantasy curled hotter now that Claire stood close enough to touch. She could smell the faint mix of hay and soap on her. She wanted to lean in and chase it.

Even if it was pointless.

Claire had made no move, dropped no hints. She treated Delaney like any other student who needed to learn fast. The age gap alone should have killed the attraction. Twenty-one years. Delaney couldn’t resist Googling her.

Claire had walked away from Hollywood before Delaney even booked her first commercial. She’d built a new life here while Delaney chased roles and red carpets.

Yet here she was, letting the infatuation take over. It seemed like her body had already decided. The rest of her could either argue or follow.

For once, she didn’t have the energy to argue.

She gathered the lead rope and turned Maple toward the barn. Claire swung the gate open for her and fell into step beside her, hands loose at her sides. Their boots crunched on the gravel path in sync. Delaney couldn’t shake the restless energy humming under her skin. She glanced sideways, catching the way sunlight caught loose strands of blonde hair escaping Claire’s ponytail.

Delaney’s fingers flexed on the rope. She could reach over right now. Brush those strands away.

Instead she kept walking.

Claire would never know. And if she did, she’d probably shut it down with that same steady voice she used on spooked horses. But for these next few days, before the crew arrived and everything got complicated, Delaney could keep the secret. Could let herself imagine Claire’s hands on her for reasons that had nothing to do with riding lessons.

Maple bumped her shoulder, impatient for the cross-ties and the brush. Delaney smiled despite herself. “Yeah, I know. Lesson time’s over.”

Claire made a small sound that might have been agreement. Delaney didn’t look over to check. She didn’t need to. Claire’s presence registered in every nerve ending, solid and close and completely out of reach.

She led the mare into the barn’s shade, the familiar smells of hay and leather wrapping around her. Her body ached in all the right places. Her mind spun with images she had no business entertaining. And still, when Claire reached past her to grab a brush from the hook, their arms nearly brushing, Delaney didn’t step away.

This version of herself was reckless. Alive in a way her Hollywood life never managed. She leaned into it, just a little more. The filming would start soon enough. Then she’d have to forget about her attraction to Claire, but for now, she let those thoughts move freely through her head.

6

Claire pulled the south barn doors to, leaving them cracked six inches for airflow. Outside, the last gold light had faded off the peaks of the Larkspur Range, turning the western sky a pale, dusty violet. It was past eight. Tomorrow the circus truly arrived. Nadia’s advance team was already at the Larkspur Motor Inn, but Jess Carver, the stunt rider hired to double Delaney, would be on the property by noon.

Jess needed to go on Copper first thing. Claire had watched enough tape to know the woman could ride, but Copper didn’t tolerate heavy hands. If Jess pulled on his mouth the way half these stunt riders did, he’d throw his head and bolt across the creek bottom before the cameras ever rolled.

Claire scraped her boots on the mudroom grate, kicked them off by the bench, and stepped into the kitchen.

The smell hit her instantly. Roasted garlic, crisp chicken skin, and fresh rosemary, thick enough to cover the woodsmoke underneath.

Delaney stood by the cast-iron range, a yellow dish towel wrapped around both hands as she pulled a heavy cast-iron skillet from the oven. She wore dark jeans and a snug black tank top, her dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that left the back of her neck bare. Sweat slicked the fine skin between her shoulder blades.

Delaney Ellis was an actress, a famous one, and noticing that she looked good in a dark tank top was no different than noticing a fine-boned filly in an auction ring. It was just a fact. But this was Claire’s stove, and Claire’s kitchen filling up with rosemary, and that was harder to file away.

Delaney turned, setting the skillet on the stovetop with a heavy clatter. She worked the towel off one hand and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Hey,” she said. “I hope this is okay. I just wanted to thank you, for your patience with me, for all the lessons. Once filming starts, I won’t have time to even think about making dinner.”

Claire stayed rooted to the pine floor. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had cooked for her.

Delaney’s smile flickered. Her posture went rigid, her hand tightening on the towel. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if it was okay to use your kitchen first.”

“No,” Claire said, recovering her voice and waving a hand toward the stove. “No. Not at all. Thank you. Sorry—I’m just surprised.” She cleared her throat, forcing a small, dry smile. “I had no idea you could cook. I have to say I assumed you’d have a private chef.”