So I threw myself into my schoolwork with even more gusto. I competed against myself to be an even better student. How high could I get my grades?
I started going to the gym. Could I get fit enough to do a pull-up? What about ten?
Rather than eating like a broke bachelor, I started cooking. Trying out new recipes and shopping mindfully at the farmers’ market.
I started gardening and filled my small patio with plants and flowers that I was forced to bring inside over the winter because I couldn’t stomach the idea of them dying. It made my condo borderline tropical, which—in a roundabout way—made staying home alone even more appealing.
The end result is that I graduated from my master’s in film studies with top marks and landed a dream job before school was officially over.
This position puts me firmly on the road to directing and producing major Hollywood films—a big, lofty, borderline irrational dream I’ve had since I was a little girl.
I’m never bored, and I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been—physically anyway. But I’m guarded in a way I never was before. I don’t trust men, and the prospect of dating doesn’t appeal to me at all.
My counselor assured me that this was an okay way to feel. That channeling my nervous energy into being productive could be healthy. So, I’d taken that advice and run with it… but I’m not sure that making productivity my entire personality is what she’d meant.
“On that note,” Leon says, jarring me from my reverie, “do you know much about what we do here at Stal Brandt?”
“I’m afraid not,” I reply sheepishly. I know it’s a horse farm, but not much else.
The older man lights up like a Christmas tree; clearly this place is his passion. “This farm has been in my family for years and we are dedicated to breeding and developing Canadian sport horses for top-level equestrian competition. Show jumping, dressage, eventing—you name it. Most world-class athletes are forced to travel to Europe where they have the best and most proven breeding programs. They’ll pay an arm and a leg for a nice horse and then have to fly it back from overseas. They have to deal with import paperwork, passports, and quarantine. And if you ask me, the European breeders aren’t sending their best horses to other countries. They’re keeping them for themselves and sending us their B team.”
He grumbles his annoyance at that and I find myself captivated by the passion he speaks with.
“So our goal here at Stal Brandt is to establish a world-class breeding program to support Canadian athletes and the Canadian economy. I’ve dedicated my life to studying the bloodlines and genetics, importing frozen semen to bolster our program, and trying to produce outstanding equine athletes right here on Canadian soil. Maybe one day—if we’re lucky—we’ll see a Stal Brandt horse at the Olympics.”
“Maybe a Brandt herself too,” Oma pipes up with an excited wink.
“Incredible. I had no idea about the whole…” I wave a hand searching for the words. “Big picture of it all. I hope I get to see your farm represented there one day too.”
The stoic elderly man smirks at me. And coming from him it feels like a megawatt grin.
“Why don’t I take you on a tour around the farm? Show you what our days look like. You can tell me what you have in mind, and we can work from there and make sure this circus stays out of my way.”
He shoots Emmett a scowl, but there’s no venom in it. In fact, it only makes his grandson’s lips twitch.
I scrunch my nose, trying not to think about my own dad. Would we have a relationship like theirs? He died when I was young, so part of me has always felt like his memory is just out of grasp. The image of him in my head feels like looking through water. I can look at photos of him, but in many ways I don’t really recognize him.
I don’t remember his smell. I wish I remembered his smell.
“Definitely,” I say, with a slight hitch in my voice. “You give me the lay of the land, and I’ll do my best to keep the clowns out of your yard once the circus descends.”
The older man snorts at that. “Oh, girl, there are always clowns in my yard. Have you met Emmett’s siblings?”
My cheeks tug up in a smile. “I have not. I’ve only met Emmett—as I’m sure you know, my brother is also touring on the WBRF circuit. Like my dad did. We grew up just in town, on an orchard down by the lake.”
“Oh!” Tina pipes up. “That Theo Silva boy is your brother?”
I almost choke at her use of boy again. Theo is a full-fledged adult now, but he has been known to act like a little boy more often than he should as well.
“Yes, that’s him.”
“What a small world.” She slaps her hands against her thighs as she pushes to stand. “Will you please give him our congratulations on his championship? I know Emmett is always raving about how talented he is. It sounds very deserved.”
My head whips in Emmett’s direction, brows plastered high on my forehead.
His tongue swirls against the inside of his cheek as he breathes in through his nose, avoiding my searching gaze by staring at the wood-paneled ceiling.
I look up, too, wondering if that’s the direction his bad-boy persona has evaporated to.
“Great, Opa? Shall we go then?” Emmett’s chin drops right as he changes the topic of conversation.
“This way,” Leon says, moving toward the door and waving us along, clearly not the small-talker of the bunch.
I follow with a polite smile and nod toward Tina. “Thank you for hosting me. The cookies were delicious.”
She beams, and it’s infectious. She is pure sunshine, and I can’t help but smile back even bigger. I hit Emmett with my wide grin as I move past him and announce, “And I will certainly pass your congratulations on to my brother. He will be thrilled to hear that there is so much love for him in this valley.”
I peek back at her, but Emmett quickly envelops my line of vision as he falls into step behind me and ushers me from the room.
His arm stretches out behind me, and I can feel the heat of his hand at the small of my back. But he doesn’t touch me.
He leans in as we step out of the sunny, sunken kitchen and up into the main part of the old farmhouse. His breath fans across my nape as he whispers, “You will never tell your brother about that.”
I chuckle and tilt my head back in his direction, my gaze falling across his stern mouth. “Oh? The part about you being a big ol’ fan? I’m not making any promises because we’re already even on keeping secrets.”
His jaw locks before my eyes, but he doesn’t respond.
I frown and give him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “I know, I know. It’s a tough break for this special, wonderful boy.”
An exhausted sigh heaves his shoulder beneath my palm, and a thrill races down my spine at having gotten under his skin.
Then with a smug wink, I turn away and stride out of the house to do my job.
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CHAPTER 7
Emmett
I’M STROLLING DOWN the gravel driveway toward the barn, minding my business, when I see her.
Julia Silva.
Every morning, I have to walk past this building that she’s prepping, and every morning she greets me with a happy hello. I wish there were another route to the barn, but there isn’t. I’ve considered driving, but parking is already tight enough with staff. And to be frank, driving a distance that takes me five minutes to walk is just lazy and bad for the environment.
So this is my new normal. Fucking everywhere I look. I swear the woman works twenty-four hours a day. Some sort of overachieving keener.
Just like her brother.
