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Opening my eyes, a smile tugs at my mouth. I lean in and kiss the woman who reminded me how good it feels to let myself love and be loved.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I agree. “If anything, it’ll be awkward for Hank and Otto because I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Hattie laughs. “You can be professional. I believe in you.”

“Wow, you’re moving to Montana…Poppy is going to freak out. And Tripp.” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my lap.

She smiles, looking up at me. But something lingers behind those green eyes, something somber. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Oakley,” she says on an exhale. “I made this plan with Oakley in mind, thinking she’d be the mare I used for most of the training at first. At least until I get a few more mares trained. But my mother won’t let me take her. Or purchase her.”

Hattie’s eyes fill with tears, and I understand immediately that Oakley is more than just an animal to her. Oakley is her friend, her confidant, her partner during every competition, every challenge.

I narrow my eyes. “Oakley is yours. And we’re not leaving her behind.”

Hattie shakes her head. “You don’t understand, my mother has a security system, employees, a groom to care for the stables.” Her eyes fill with tears. “There’s no way to get her out of there.”

I consider this, bringing my hand to my jaw as I think. “Do you have Oakley’s purchase agreement? And her medical records?”

Her eyes widen as she nods. “Yes, I keep them with me, so I have everything when we travel.”

“We’re not leaving California without Oakley.”

Early the next morning, we roll up to Townsend Manor. Hattie types in the gate code, and we hold our breath to see if it opens.

It slowly swings open, and she smiles over at me. “Okay, this might be easier than I expected,” Hattie admits.

After a quick phone call to the local police department last night, they confirmed Hattie had every right to ownership of Oakley. It took some planning, and we were up half the night booking a private charter flight for Oakley to Montana, but everything is lined up and ready to go.

As long as we’re able to get Oakley safely out of the stable without a fuss from Mrs. Townsend.

Hattie drives her Land Rover through the gate and down the manicured driveway toward a white stable that looks straight out of a magazine with a sprawling mansion beside it and rolling hills in the background. There’s even a tennis court that blends in effortlessly behind a row of green ivy.

Oakley’s horse trailer is secured behind Hattie’s SUV—a trailer with heating and air conditioning that Hank’s mares would be insanely jealous of.

Hattie pulls right up to the stable and takes a deep breath before sliding out of the vehicle and closing her door as silently as possible. I follow her lead, easing out of the passenger seat and heading toward the back of the trailer to open the back end.

With the ramp in place, I head inside the stable where Hattie is talking to a gorgeous mare in a sweet tone. “You’re going to love Whispering Pines, girl,” she coos. “There are mountains, and snow.”

My footsteps on the cement floor have both Oakley and Hattie swiveling their heads in my direction. Oakley is a beautiful chestnut with no white on her, save the star shape on her muzzle.

I move closer, extending my hand for the mare to sniff. Her velvety nose tickles my palm, and she nudges me for more attention.

I laugh, bringing my other hand to scratch behind her ears. “Hey, pretty girl.”

Oakley steps closer to me, and Hattie chuckles. “You already like him better than me?”

Hattie hands me the halter in her hand. “If you get her in the trailer, I’m grabbing any saddles and gear I’ve purchased myself.”

“Yeah, I’ve got her,” I say, sliding the bridle into place.

Hattie and I get everything loaded up without a single hitch in our plan. It all feels a little too easy…until we’re locking the stable door and are about to leave.

An attractive woman who I’m guessing is around fifty appears out of nowhere. She looks like she just woke up, and she’s not happy about it. Her dark hair is twisted up in a clip on top of her head, and she’s wearing house shoes and a bath robe. Not sure what color her eyes are, because they’re narrowed and aimed at Hattie.

“Harriet, why are you here?”

Harriet…so, this must be her mother. Mrs. Townsend looks nothing like her daughter, not only because of her darker features, but there’s something cold about her. Her stance is rigid, her face unwrinkled like she never smiles, and the corners of her mouth are downturned, where Hattie always looks like she’s slightly smirking.