Page 71 of Buckin' Around

Noted, Spencer.

The stupid smile on my face is somewhat out of place, but Riley has had that effect on me since the day we met.

I walk back to the reception building and leave my staff to their duties. Patrons are coming in from their rides, othersusing the arenas on either side of the driveway for training and lessons.

We are always busy.

Always full.

Regardless, our margins are tight. A place like this takes a lot of effort, staff, and logistics. Not to mention the politics and overheads.

Inside, I feed Ivy and put her down on her mat for a sleep.

She’s fussy and makes a ruckus as I try to word an email to the family lawyer and outline my last interaction with Priscilla.

I want this documented.

I’m reclined in my office chair, Ivy on my chest as I skim and scan next fortnight’s roster, when a knock comes.

Riley’s early . . .

My gut sinks when I look up to find my father filling my doorway and not the one person I was looking forward to seeing this afternoon.

His face is taut with a stoney expression.

Fucking hell.

“Who the hell is that?” he snaps.

Ivy starts to cry, her eyes pinned on the man looming in the doorway as her head bobs. Smart girl. I don’t bother giving him an answer as I huddle her to my chest and rock forward.

“Could you be any more of a disappointment, son?”

Chapter 18

Riley

“I’m so late,” I mutter, tapping the steering wheel as I wait for the longest red light in the history of red fecking lights.

The hours have evaporated, and I am sure Spencer needs to be in his meeting by now. He’s probably already called it. After another ten minutes of navigating peak traffic, I pull into the grand driveway of Silver Elite Stables.

Even being the second time here, I’m blown away.

I can only imagine the small fortune people pay to stable their horses here. The long, elegant driveway is flanked by white-fenced fields and dressage arenas. Tall pencil pines stand like sentries, dotted every thirty feet or so.

The place is . . . impressive.

I pull into the parking lot by Spencer’s huge black pickup and kill the engine.

I’m out and gawking, turning on my feet as I take it all in.

“Holy fancy,” I mutter, collecting my jaw as I make for the white building trimmed with silver accents and a plaque inscribedReception.

Wow, Ives. You were born into the right family, little one.

The heavy-looking front door is weightless as I push it open and cross the threshold.

Inside is as incredible as outside. A young woman, dressed immaculately in a white uniform and shining silver name badge, stands.