Adison's POV
The silence stretches between us like something physical. Jake stands with his back to me, shoulders rigid, and I can feel his judgment radiating through the air.
"It was nothing." The explanation tumbles out faster than I intend. "Zachary was telling me about judging a martial arts competition this weekend. Small talk. That's all."
Jake grunts.
The sound carries everything—disbelief, frustration, something darker underneath. He doesn't turn around. Doesn't engage. Just stands there like a wall I can't climb.
I wait for him to say something. To challenge me. To give me an opening to explain, to defend, to fight back.
Nothing.
The tension sits between us, thick and unaddressed, and I realize he's not going to make this easy. He's not going to give me the confrontation I almost want—the chance to clear the air, to address what's really bothering both of us.
Fine. If he won't talk about it, neither will I.
"Is there anything I can help with?" I pivot hard, forcing practicality into my voice. "I'm free now. Might as well make myself useful."
Jake finally turns. His expression is carefully blank, but his eyes hold storms I can't read.
"Today's bath day for the horses." He moves toward the door without waiting for my response. "Extra hands are always welcome."
I close my laptop and follow him out of the kitchen.
The walk to the stables feels longer than it should. We move side by side without speaking, the morning heat already building. Our footsteps crunch against gravel in rhythm, and I try not to think about how natural this feels—how easily we fall into step together despite everything broken between us.
"Adison. Jake. Wait up!"
Violet's voice cuts through the quiet. I turn to find her jogging toward us, dark hair bouncing, expression somewhere between irritation and relief.
"I couldn't stand it anymore." She falls into step beside us, slightly out of breath. "Paige and Tommy are still in town, and watching them moon over each other was making me physically ill. The eye contact. The laughing at unfunny jokes. Disgusting."
"So you're bored." I keep my voice neutral.
"Terminally." Violet sighs with dramatic emphasis. "Please tell me there's something to do that doesn't involve watching people fall in love."
"Bath day." Jake gestures toward the stable ahead. "You can help."
Violet's nose wrinkles. "Bath day? Like... washing the horses?"
"Like washing the horses." His tone carries no invitation for negotiation.
The stables buzz with activity when we enter. Several new workers Jake mentioned hiring move efficiently between stalls, leading horses toward the washing area. The space smells like hay and soap and something clean underneath.
Jake assigns horses without ceremony. Two workers take a pair of geldings. I get a gentle mare with patient eyes. Jake takes the stallion that always gave everyone trouble.
Violet hovers uncertainly near a small roan, her designer clothes completely wrong for this work.
I start on my mare, running water over her coat with practiced movements. The rhythm comes back easily—muscle memory from months spent learning this ranch, learning myself, learning Jake.
But my attention keeps drifting across the stable.
Violet has positioned herself near Jake's station. Her body language screams theatrical helplessness—shoulders curved, head tilted, everything designed to attract attention without appearing obvious.
"I can't manage this." Her voice carries perfectly across the space. "The hose keeps slipping. Can you show me again?"
Her hand lands on Jake's arm. Lingers there. Her fingers curve around his bicep with familiarity she hasn't earned.
My jaw tightens. I force myself to focus on the mare's mane, working conditioner through the tangles with more force than necessary.
"Like this." Jake's voice is clinical. Detached. He adjusts her grip on the hose without any warmth, demonstrates the motion once, then steps back to his own horse without lingering.
Distance. Professional distance. The same distance he maintained yesterday when she tried to flirt in the barn.
Some of the tension in my chest loosens. Not much. But some.
Violet pouts. The expression transforms her face into something younger, more petulant.
"I definitely can't do this alone." She says it loudly enough for everyone to hear. "The brush is too heavy. My arms are tired. This horse keeps moving."
Before Jake can respond, I'm crossing the stable.
"Let me help." I take the brush from her hands, positioning myself beside her horse. "Watch how I move with him. Match the rhythm."
Violet's expression sours instantly. Whatever response she wanted, it wasn't this.
"I didn't ask for your help." Her voice drops to something sharp. Private.
"You asked for help." I guide her hands to the horse's flank, demonstrating the pressure and motion. "Firm but gentle. See how he relaxes?"
"I asked Jake for help." The correction comes through gritted teeth.
"Jake is busy." I keep my voice patient. Firm. The same tone I use in boardrooms when dealing with difficult executives. "And you're doing this wrong. Your strokes are too short. You're making the horse anxious."
Violet's eyes narrow. Something shifts in her expression—calculation replacing petulance. She's reassessing. Recalibrating.
I feel her gaze move between me and Jake. Measuring distances. Reading tensions she couldn't see before.
"You're very protective of him." The observation lands like a test.
"I'm helping you learn." I don't take the bait. "Now, long strokes. Follow the direction of the coat."
Violet remains silent for a long moment. Her hands move under my guidance, but her attention is elsewhere—cataloging, analyzing, building theories I'm not ready to confirm.
"What exactly is going on between you two?" The question comes soft. Dangerous.
"Focus on the horse." I step back, releasing her hands. "You're doing better."
Her eyes stay locked on mine. Sharp with new understanding. New interest.
"You didn't answer my question."
"I didn't need to." I return to my mare without looking back.
The stable fills with the sounds of water and brushes and horses shifting weight. Normal sounds. Working sounds. But underneath them, I feel Violet watching me.
Watching Jake.
Watching the space between us and seeing something she's determined to understand.