I never wanted some sweet-tempered country girl. I adore Shelby—she’s just the right kind of angel to put up with my brother. But I don’t want that for myself.

I want an equal. Someone who pushes me, and challenges me.

I want a partner.

The only problem is, you can’t make somebody your partner against their will. And I don’t think Riona wants to tie herself to me for one goddamned second. I think even the idea of that would terrify her.

I don’t know how to convince her to give me a real shot.

But I’ve got a couple ideas.

“You can just drop us at the house,” Grady tells me.

“Sure,” I say, turning right at the fork in the road that leads to their place. I drop them off in front of their pretty white house, waiting just a minute to see if my mom will be coming out. The door remains shut—I’m guessing she probably fell asleep right next to the boys when she was putting them to bed. That’s what usually happens.

So I drive Bo and Riona back to the ranch house instead. Bo hops out as soon as I shut off the engine. She goes stomping into the house, still steamed up about whatever happened at the dance, and not wanting to talk to Riona or me about it.

Riona starts walking in the same direction, but I grab her arm and gently pull her back, saying, “Hold up a second, I want to talk to you.”

“It’s cold,” Riona says.

It’s not really cold—mildly chilly at most. But I say, “Come in here, then. It’ll be warmer.”

I pull her over to the smallest of the barns, the one closest to the house. It’s empty of animals at the moment—actually, it has been for years. My father used it as a workspace for a while, and now Grady uses it to make saddles. It smells like clean hay, apples, and a faint whiff of Mary Jane, because Grady smokes in here when it’s rainy.

There’s a wooden pommel bench in the center of the room where Grady places the saddles that are a work-in-progress. His tools are laid out on a table nearby, along with a lantern, scraps of leather, and spare bits of thong.

I light the lantern, throwing a faint golden glow around the space, and creating a forest of long, distended shadows. Riona’s pale skin looks luminescent, and her green eyes gleam like the eyes of a fox prowling around the edge of a campfire. She looks wary of me, wrapping her arms around herself and keeping distance between us.

“What happened tonight?” I ask her.

“The fight?” she says. “I couldn’t really hear what Bo and Duke were saying . . . ”

“No, not that,” I say. “Before. When we were dancing.”

Riona’s eyes meet mine for a second, then determinedly look away.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says.

“Yes you do. We were dancing together. You were enjoying yourself. And then you pulled away from me. You were upset, and you wanted to leave.”