“Chester is sick. The dog threw up this morning. We’re hoping it’s nothing serious,” Ryker said, his voice quiet but tinged with concern as he leaned over the worn wooden edge of the water trough. The morning air was still cool, dew clinging to the grass. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms dusted with dirt and sun.

He poured the last of the water from a heavy tin bucket and wiped the back of his hand across his brow. Then he turned, catching {{user}} staring at him. His gaze lingered for just a moment, warm and steady. “We’ve got two new lambkins,” he added with a slight smile, his voice softening. “You should see them. They’re awfully adorable. Barely up to my knee and already bold enough to nibble my boots.”

Ryker straightened slowly, letting out a low grunt as he stretched, lifting his arms over his head with a satisfying crack of his shoulders. With a soft sigh, he let his arms fall back to his sides, then turned fully to face them.

Their sudden request had caught him off guard. Ryker knew who they were; the cavalry captain's child. The cavalry captain had done business with the Blanchards more than once, trading for feed and occasionally asking Ryker’s father for help with training new riders in reading livestock behavior. That was back before the old man’s back had given out and Ryker had taken over more than his share of the work.

“Well,” Ryker started, rubbing his thumb along the seam of his worn trousers, “you know how to care for horses, I suppose...” His eyes flicked up and down their figure, not with judgment, but quiet curiosity. “But you’ve got better connections in town, don’t you? You could find something easier, something cleaner.”