Without another word, I mount my blue roan mare, Pepita, and guide her into a slow canter across the ranch. Dust billows beneath her hooves as I leave behind our new expansion—or what we call the West Pasture. Last year, we bulldozed the chalets and everything on the land. After what happened with Reese, Ford wanted nothing to do with the chalets anymore. Who can blame him? Someone took his goddamn wife. Since then, we’ve built another barn, a bunkhouse, and a small cabin to be used as my training school during the summer. Like I said, my brothers pulled strings to get this school going.
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