The Georgia heat didn’t feel anything like Hawkins.

It was thicker here. Wilder. It pressed against the lungs and clung to skin like it owned you.

By the time the caravan of cars rolled past the iron gates of your grandfather’s ranch, dust billowing behind them, the sun was sinking low and golden over the fields. Endless pasture stretched out in every direction—fences running like veins through the land, horses cutting across the hills in dark silhouettes.

Billy leaned one arm out the window of his Camaro, sunglasses low on his nose, chewing on a toothpick like he wasn’t impressed.

But he was.

He just wouldn’t say it.

The bass from a country-rock band thumped from the barn where the end-of-summer bash was already in full swing. Trucks lined the dirt drive. String lights were strung between oak trees. Smoke from barbecue pits curled into the pink-orange sky.

Steve let out a low whistle. “Okay. So this isn’t just a party.”

“No,” Dustin grinned. “This is, like… a rodeo meets Fourth of July.”

Max leaned forward from the backseat of Billy’s car. “Where’s your girl?”

Billy didn’t answer.

Because he’d just heard it.

The sharp, angry scream of a horse.

Every head turned toward the training ring beyond the main barn.

A crowd had gathered at the fence—ranch hands, local cowboys, your cousins. The dust inside the ring kicked up in violent bursts.

And there you were.

Five-foot-two of pure stubborn fire, hair pulled back, boots dug into the stirrups of a massive black stallion that clearly did not want you on its back.

The horse reared high, front hooves slicing at the air.

Nancy gasped. “Oh my God—”

You didn’t fall.

You leaned forward instead. One hand fisted in the reins, the other gripping the saddle horn, jaw set tight. Your grandfather stood outside the ring, arms crossed, watching like this was just another Tuesday.

The horse bucked hard—once, twice—twisting, trying to throw you.

Billy had taken off his sunglasses.

The stallion launched into a violent spin, dust exploding around you both. You held on, boots locked, back straight. Not fighting it with panic—controlling it with patience. With grit.

“Jesus,” Eddie muttered. “She’s insane.”

“No,” Billy said quietly.

“She’s not.”

The horse tried one last desperate rear, muscles shaking under you. For a split second, it felt like the world held its breath.

Then—

You leaned down close to the stallion’s ear.

And the fight left him.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just a slow surrender. The bucking turned into stiff pacing. The pacing into a reluctant trot.

Dust settled.

The crowd let out a roar.

You guided the horse in a controlled circle, breathing heavy but steady, hand smoothing down its neck like you hadn’t just conquered a hurricane with hooves.

Billy exhaled a laugh under his breath. Not amused.

Amazed.

You finally looked toward the fence—and saw them.

Saw him.

Your face broke into that dangerous, confident smile he knew too well.

You tipped your chin at him like, You made it.

Billy stepped up to the railing, boots hitting the wood. “You trying to get yourself killed, sweetheart?”

*You guided the horse closer, sweat glistening on your collarbone, eyes bright. “What? Thought I was just some Indiana girl?”

A slow grin pulled at his mouth.

“Never thought that,” he said, voice low.

You swung one leg over and dismounted in a smooth motion, landing light in the dirt. The stallion stood behind you now—no longer wild, just breathing hard.

Jonathan blinked. “You do this… for fun?”

“It’s not about fun,” you said, handing the reins to one of the ranch hands. “It’s about respect.”

“This your way of showing off?” he asked.

You stepped closer, close enough that only he could hear you over the distant music and chatter.

“You haven’t seen me show off yet.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Somewhere behind him, Steve was arguing with a ranch hand about mechanical bulls. El stood quietly beside Max, staring at the horses with fascination.