“All right,” Viv said. Her horse rocked back and forth as if sensing her agitation. “But I’m only giving in because I know you’ll just badger me to death if I don’t.”

“That’s the spirit,” I said.

She dismounted in perfect fluid form, then brushed the dust off her clothes and took off her helmet, fluffing her hair with one hand while tucking the helmet under her elbow with the other.

She handed Andre her reins, as he had offered to watch the horses while we visited Mr. Falco, and then she glanced up at me. “Well, come on then.”

“You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll catch up.”

“Catch up?” she asked. “Scarlett, the door is right there.”

I glanced at the house. She was right. There was no sidewalk. The front door had a one-step stoop and there it was. We were all of a yard away from the entrance.

“You can’t get off the horse, can you?” Andre asked. His mouth puckered to one side as if he was trying hard not to laugh.

“Yes, I can,” I said. “I just might need someone to catch me.”

“Here,” he said. He swung off his horse even more gracefully than Viv. He landed on the ground and looped both his reins and Viv’s on the trellis that ran up one side of the house. He came to stand beside Mabel and held out his arms.

“I can’t unlock my legs from around the horse,” I said.

“Just fall,” he said. “I’ll catch you.”

If this were a trust exercise, I would have no problem trusting Andre. The problem was a trust exercise was usually done indoors over a squashy carpet. I glanced down at the cobblestones. Despite centuries of use, they still looked as hard as, well, rock.

“I’ll catch you, Scarlett,” he said. “I promise.”

“Fine.” I let go of the reins and slid into his arms in a tangle of limbs. It was probably the most awkward dismount in the history of horsemanship.

He set me on my feet and I almost whimpered as pain shot up my thighs.

“Chin up, love,” he said. “We still have to ride back.”

I glanced around the picturesque village. Surely, there had to be a rideshare service somewhere in this town. I hobbled closer to Viv. She was shaking her head at me when the door opened and a short, round, older man with a thick tuft of white hair stepped out onto the stoop.

“Vivian Tremont,” he said. “As I live and breathe. What an extraordinary thing to find you in front of my house.”

Vivian’s eyes went wide. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She stood there gaping, which led me to deduce that this was the one and only Dominick Falco.