Page 8 of Stick Around,
I laughed because he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Second grade, and trust me, I handled nothing out there. I was one angry snort away from climbing onto the roof of my car.”
“Come on, I’ll show you the rest.” He nodded toward the door, and I followed him out onto a giant porch where he pointed to a cluster of cabins. “Your cabin is right over there, but I want to show you the stables first.”
He left my suitcase on the porch, and we walked along a well-worn path. He kept up a running narrative about the property as we walked. The land had been in Enzo’s family for generations, and when his uncle wanted to sell, the three of them swooped in and bought it.
“Over there is a vineyard that a local winemaker leases out.” He pointed to rows of grapevines stretching across a gentle slope. “And there’s the goat enclosure where Butters was supposed to be. Little rascal has a PhD in escape artistry.”
“Why do you even have goats? It doesn’t seem like they fit with horses and vineyards.”
“Ask Reid that question when you’re ready for a forty-five-minute lecture on sustainable land management.” Kellan chuckled. “Short version: they eat the weeds, fertilize the soil, and provide comic relief. Plus, they’ve got personalities bigger than Texas.”
We approached the stables, a large, well-maintained structure that smelled of hay, leather, and horses. Inside, the air was cooler, dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight streaming through the windows.
“And here’s where the magic happens.” Kellan gestured grandly. “Home to twenty-five of the finest horses this side of the Mississippi and one chicken who was the queen of the horses in a previous life.”
“A reincarnated chicken?” My curiosity was piqued, even if chickens also scared me.
“Yup, and Enzo even gave Eggatha her own file. Don’t let his broody exterior fool you; the man has a sense of humor underneath all that stoicism.”
As if summoned, a tall figure without a shirt emerged from one of the stalls. He moved with an almost military precision, his demeanor no-nonsense as he carried a saddle to a stand and hefted it up.
“Speak of the devil,” Kellan called out. “Enzo, come meet our guest of honor.”
Enzo didn’t look up from whatever he was adjusting, offering a grunt that might charitably be interpreted as a hello.
“Enzo Perez, this is Quinn Porter, our hobby horse champion. Quinn, this is Enzo, one-third owner of this fine establishment.”
Enzo finally looked up, his blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made me want to check if I had something stuck in my teeth. He gave a brief nod. “Welcome.”
“Thanks for having me.” I oddly felt like I was being assessed. “Your ranch is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He returned his attention to the saddle. His tall, tanned frame was all lean muscle, the kind that comes from actual work rather than gym sessions.
“Sorry, Quinn. Enzo’s idea of a warm greeting is not immediately asking you to leave.”
The corner of Enzo’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “I could use some help mucking out some stalls.”
“Oh, look at the time!” Kellan placed his hand at the small of my back and steered me out of the stables. “Later, Enzo!”
I looked back over my shoulder to find Enzo watching us, his hands on his hips and an intense look in his eyes. The way he stood there assessing reminded me of a hawk. His expression wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but there was something evaluative in his gaze that made me wonder what conclusions he was drawingabout me. I couldn’t help feeling like I’d just been measured against some invisible standard and wasn’t sure if I’d passed.
Outside, Kellan nudged my arm and gestured toward the lodge. “So, dinner with us tonight? Around seven? Nothing fancy, but we should probably talk about your goals for the week and what activities you want to try.”
“Goals?” I blinked, still replaying the brief interaction with Enzo. That man hadn’t said much but somehow made me feel like I was both intruding and failing a test.
“Yeah, you know, riding lessons, trail excursions, wine tasting.” Kellan’s eyes lit up with sudden enthusiasm. “We can document it all if you’re open to it. Your hobby horse moment has already caused a spike in our social accounts. Seems like you’ve got some viral appeal.”
I covered my face with my hands. The competition footage. Of course, he’d seen it. They’d all probably seen it. My cheeks burned so hot they could have cooked an egg. “I’m never living that down, am I?”
“Are you kidding? It’s marketing gold!” Kellan pulled his phone from his pocket and showed me the screen. “Look at these engagement numbers. We could have a mutually beneficial arrangement to help the ranch and grow your following even more.”
“I’m not an influencer.” I frowned, staring at the likes and comments on the video he had pulled up on one of the ranch’s socials. “I’m a broken-hearted teacher who got drunk and competed in a hobby horse competition because my best friend is an agent of chaos.”
Kellan tucked his phone away. “Authenticity sells. It could be fun, and you might get some sponsorships out of it.”
Sponsorships? He was talking like this hobby horse thing was going to be a permanent fixture in my life. While I’d had fun doing it, I couldn’t imagine doing another competition.
After grabbing my bag from the lodge, he led me to a cozy standalone cabin with a porch swing and set my suitcase inside. “This is you. Rest up, and we’ll see you at the lodge at seven.”
