She dismounted and led Jasper into the barn. Dianna had Pixie, her small bay mare, in the crossties and was currying her already shiny coat. Grover was sitting nearby, begging for attention every time she moved past him, while Biscuit was chewing on the plastic handle of a hoof pick.

  Wren greeted Dianna and rescued the pick from the beagle as she led her horse past Pixie and to the adjoining grooming area. She shook her head ruefully as she unbuckled the gelding’s bridle. “Lucky you. You barely need to groom her. She’s as careful to stay clean as Foam is determined to get dirty.”

  “I know. She’s an angel.” Dianna grinned but didn’t stop brushing. “This is as much for me as it is for her, though. It helps me mentally scrub away stress from work.”

  “How much stress can you have at the office? You tell me all the time how much you love your job.” Wren slipped the bridle over Jasper’s ears and replaced it with his halter.

  “Usually I do, but lately I’ve been getting more and more frustrated with one of my most irritating clients. She won’t listen to any of my advice and will probably lose her farm because of her stubbornness.”

  Uh-oh. Wren had apparently walked right into that one. She wasn’t sure what she had done, but she knew Dianna didn’t have any other clients with farms.

  “I understand about challenging clients,” she said, draping the saddle and bridle over her arm and turning toward the tack room. “I have one student who can’t seem to understand the phrase Sit up straight no matter how many different ways I try to say it.”

  She rounded her shoulders and walked down the barn aisle with an exaggerated slouch.

  “I think that says more about your lack of teaching skills than your poor client’s abilities,” Dianna called after her, in what might have been an indignant tone if she hadn’t been laughing as she spoke. Her notoriously poor posture had been the topic of many of their lessons. She hunched in the saddle the same way she hunched over her desk when she was working on accounts. “Maybe a thesaurus would help you find a more effective way to communicate what you mean.”

  Wren put away her tack and came back into the barn aisle. “I really don’t believe that my vocabulary is the problem,” she said. She smiled, hoping her change in subject would be distracting enough to keep Dianna focused on riding and not on lecturing Wren about finances. Wren was willing to do whatever it took to keep her small stable alive, but she hated the idea of trading quality training and teaching for quantitative success. She was perfectly content with the balance she had struck between running a part-time business that gave her plenty of time to enjoy the privacy of her farm. Unfortunately, most of Dianna’s plans involved having more people invade Wren’s home. Wren did her best to avoid all You need more clients lectures. “I have a few exercises we can try today. Remember, it’s not just about looking pretty on the horse. If your back is stiff, your horse’s spine will be stiff, too.”

  “Yes, Teacher,” Dianna said, giving Pixie one last swipe with a finishing brush, and then setting her bucket of brushes aside. “I will endeavor to be supple and graceful in the saddle. And after my lesson we’ll return to the discussion about money, and you’ll endeavor to—”

  “To ignore you?” Wren asked hopefully.

  Dianna shook her head. “To be open-minded and willing to change.”

  Wren clipped Jasper’s lead rope to his halter and led him across the aisle to his stall. She frowned as if considering the possibility. “Oh, I doubt it. That doesn’t really sound like me.”

  “And I’m not tall and willowy with the posture of a queen.” Dianna pulled on a pair of riding gloves and led Pixie toward the arena. Wren and the dogs walked alongside her. “Maybe we can rub off on each other. You can become more reasonable, and I’ll look less like a sack of potatoes in the saddle.”

  Wren wasn’t convinced, but she had to admit that Dianna made more of an attempt to change than she did. As soon as she was mounted on Pixie, she focused only on Wren’s instructions and not on Wren’s shortcomings as a business owner. Wren coaxed her along in her riding, never pushing too hard for grand results while always aiming for the comfort and safety of both Dianna and Pixie. Wren’s personal riding ambitions might encompass the never-ending, never truly possible search for perfection that seemed to define the sport of dressage, but Dianna had less lofty—although equally valid and important—goals. She rode for pleasure and for the thrill of learning something new, for physical exercise and a mental break from her real life.

  Although Wren loved challenging herself and her horses in competitions, she understood Dianna’s approach to riding, too. Especially on days like this one, with enough sun to warm them and enough cloud cover to keep the glare and heat under control. Wren’s property had a tiered effect, with the barn and paddocks on the uppermost level, and the arena situated on a slightly lower ledge. Beyond the riding ring, a grass and brush covered hillside sloped more steeply toward the pebbly beach of Liberty Bay. The colorful marina and busy waterfront shops of Poulsbo were just visible to the northeast, across the bay, but the land on Wren’s side of the bay was sparsely dotted with homes and farms. Most days, the only traffic she heard was the occasional boat. The waterway was busier in the summer months, but the buffer of green space gave her farm a private feel. She could understand why someone like Dianna would enjoy coming out here to ride and to find a peaceful escape from more urban life. But if too many people came here to get away from the bustle of city life, all they’d end up doing would be to bring that bustle and crowded feel to Wren’s farm.

  Wren was hopeful that she had distracted Dianna enough to keep her from returning to the subject of finances. During the lesson, Dianna seemed wholly absorbed in listening to Wren’s directions and attempting to follow them. After the ride, while Wren helped her groom Pixie and clean her tack, Dianna remained focused on the subject of dressage, asking questions about training and dissecting her performance during the lesson. After Dianna had put away her tack and snapped her locker shut, Wren started edging toward the door, ready to shoo Dianna on her way.

  “Nope,” Dianna said. She pointed at one of the large wooden tack trunks that lined the walls of the tack room. “Sit.”

  Wren was about to make a big show of her reluctance, complete with eye rolls and dramatic sighs, but she figured theatrics wouldn’t dissuade Dianna from this talk. She sat down, crossing her arms over her chest, and Dianna perched on a small stepladder across from her.

  “Property taxes are going up,” she said, switching her laser focus from riding to money in an instant. “So is the price of hay. Not to mention the fees for all the shows you’re planning to ride in this season. And what did I see in the front pasture when I got here?”

  Damn. Wren had thought she was being sneaky putting the gelding as far from the barn as possible. “In the pasture? Probably a horse. I thought we learned how to identify those in your first lesson.”

  “Funny. By horse, do you mean a new boarder whose owner is prepared to pay—in cash, not in trade—for lessons and training? Or do you mean a money-guzzling freeloader that you couldn’t resist buying for yourself?”

  “Ouch,” Wren said, surprised by the stern tone in Dianna’s usually cheery voice. She’d pretty much wrapped up Wren’s misguided approach to finances in a single sentence, but still…ouch. “He’ll be offended if he hears you calling him names like freeloader. He’s fully prepared to pay his way by providing hours of joy in exchange for a small amount of grain each day.”

  “Are you planning to have the county tax assessor come out here and trot around on him for an hour or two instead of getting paid?”

  “No, but I will let you ride him.” Wren tried to make the suggestion sound as tempting as if she was offering a ride on a Grand Prix champion instead of a mixed breed she’d just rescued. “But only if you stop talking about money.”

  “I’ll stop talking about it once you start earning more of it,” Dianna said, crossing her arms and mirroring Wren’s stubborn posture. “Unless, of course, you have some successful investments you’re keeping from me. Or a mattress full of cash? More than twenty dollars in your wallet?”

  Wren squinted, mentally counting the cash she had on hand. Probably closer to four dollars than twenty since she had stopped by the feed store yesterday afternoon. She wanted to argue more, but Dianna was right about the skyrocketing prices of feed. She would never skimp on quality for her animals, but even switching to an all-ramen diet for herself wouldn’t cover her monthly feed bills. “Fine. I’ll try to get one new client in exchange for the new horse.”

  Dianna shook her head. “You have at least ten empty stalls. Fill them. With people who will pay each month and not take advantage of your generosity by offering to trade burritos for lessons.”

  “One time,” Wren said indignantly. “I only did that once. And it was tamales. Besides, you’re one to talk. Should I turn down your accounting services and ask you to pay a board bill?”

  Wren really hoped Dianna wouldn’t call her bluff. She had been fighting Dianna’s advice for months now, conceding on small points and only making minor changes to her business, but now the seriousness and concern she saw in her friend’s expression sent a frisson of worry through her. She might have dug herself into a deeper hole than she had realized, and she wasn’t delusional enough to believe she could get herself out on her own.

  Dianna apparently didn’t have much faith in her abilities, either. She shook her head at Wren’s suggestion. “Don’t be ridiculous. Trading lessons for my help is probably the only fiscally intelligent decision you’ve made in your life. And it was my idea in the first place.”

  “Those chronically hunched shoulders of yours must make it easier to pat yourself on the back,” Wren muttered.

  “My shoulders are hunched because I’m being crushed by concern over your farm’s future. It’s time for you to share the burden.”

  Wren winced at the guilt Dianna’s words induced in her. She needed Dianna’s help, but she was the one ultimately responsible for her farm. She had to stop pretending such crass things as mortgage payments and debt didn’t exist in her perfect world of peace and quiet and horses.

  “Okay, I’ll do it. Finding a few clients shouldn’t be hard. I’ll let the farrier and vet know I have some space, and maybe after the show season I can take on one new one at a time—”

  Dianna held up her hand. “You’re thinking slow and old-school. Word of mouth is fine if you have months of leisure during which to build a client base. But you don’t. We need to build your business at the speed of—”

  “Don’t say it,” Wren warned her.

  “—the internet,” Dianna finished, ignoring Wren’s plea.

  “I don’t have a computer,” Wren reminded her.

  “Then find someone who does. Someone who can help you develop your brand and market yourself properly. You’re one of the top riders in the state, but you only have a handful of low-level clients who pay low-level prices. If you were smarter about advertising yourself, you could end up making more money with fewer clients.”

  Wren liked the sound of those last few words, even though the rest of Dianna’s suggestion made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  “I’m guessing this will be expensive,” Wren said. How many extra clients would she need to take on just to cover the overpriced fees of some internet hack?

  Dianna shrugged. “Trade for it. Board, lessons, whatever. You’re bound to have something someone wants.”

  Wren looked out the window to her right, but all she could see were the tops of fir trees. Her place was simple, offline, mostly off the grid. She had nothing here that someone with that kind of computer savvy could possibly want.

  Chapter Three

  The office phone rang just as Wren was clipping one of the crosstie ropes to Foam’s halter. She growled in annoyance and snapped the second rope in place before jogging down the aisle. She grabbed the receiver off the wall.

  “What?” she barked. She hated phones. The only reason she had conceded to having one in the barn was because she needed to be able to call the vet if one of her horses was sick or hurt, but she seemed to spend most of her time on it fielding unsolicited sales calls. For someone who rarely gave out her number, she was surprisingly popular with a wide range of diet pill and credit card companies.

  “Lindley Training Stables, where future Olympians begin the journey to success,” Dianna responded in a lilting voice.

  “I am not saying that every time I answer the phone.”

  “Can we compromise on having you say hello like a normal, reasonably friendly person?”

  “I can say good-bye like a reasonably busy person. Will that work?”

  Dianna laughed. “I take it your interview didn’t go well this morning?”

  Wren perched on the edge of her worn wooden desk and propped her booted feet on the chair, swiveling it back and forth as she spoke. “She didn’t show up. Which actually makes her the front-runner so far, given the rest of the applicants.”

  “Have they really been that bad, or are you just being grumpy?”

  Wren smiled. It was a logical question given how vocal she’d been about her reluctance to hire a social media marketer for her barn. The interviews had been awkward to say the least, especially since the online world had changed drastically since Wren had last been exposed to her family’s discussions about it, and now she had to rely on the list of questions and buzzwords Dianna had given her. Maybe she’d sound less ridiculous saying them if she had bothered to memorize them instead of reading directly off the list, but she hadn’t found the time.

  “Surprisingly enough, I don’t think my personality is to blame this time. The first interviewee yesterday wasn’t old enough to drive, so her mother brought her. The girl kept asking how fast my horses could gallop and if they knew any tricks. Tricks,” Wren repeated, in case Dianna hadn’t realized how grievous the issue was. “And the second interview was with a guy who apparently thought dressage was some kind of martial art. We talked for half an hour before we realized we were carrying on two separate conversations.”

  “Well, you’ve told me that the modern sport of dressage has roots in military training. That’s sort of the same thing.”

  “Not really, no.” Wren sighed. Of course Dianna would throw one of Wren’s routine lectures about the origins of dressage back at her. The interview had left her frustrated because the guy had seemed qualified and nice enough for Wren to begin to reconcile herself to hiring him. Once they straightened out their miscommunication, and he told her his regular fees, she had to decline. Which just meant more awful interviews in her future. “Anyway, Ms. No Show is looking like the candidate to beat so far. I really liked the fact that she wasn’t here.”

  “Yes, I can see how that would appeal to you. We’ll keep her in mind in case we can’t find anyone who will actually show up and do the work. Oh, and I have someone stopping by later today. She just called this morning and seems really nice.”

  Wren’s feet slipped off the chair and sent it rolling across the office. The only thing worse than anticipating interviews was having them sprung on her with no notice. She wasn’t even sure where she’d put the list of Dianna’s questions. Probably in the trash. “I’m sure she’s a delight, but can you reschedule for some other day? I was just about to ride Foam, and then I need to go to the grocery store and…Hey, I hear a car.”

  “That’ll be her. Gotta go.” Dianna hung up before Wren could get another word in, for all the good it would have done her. She heard Grover’s deep woofs coming from the parking area in front of the barn. The least she could do was rescue the visitor from the furry welcoming committee. Or could she hide under the desk until she went away? Wren considered that option for several seconds before she pulled herself to her feet and headed outside.

  The car in the parking lot was a nondescript tan hybrid. Grover was peering in the window, at eye level with the driver and blocking her from Wren’s view.

  “You can get out,” she called, whistling to call Grover to her. Biscuit ignored her, as usual, but he was small enough not to be threatening.

  “You’re sure it’s safe?”

  The woman who climbed out of the car was anything but nondescript. She was nearly as tall as Wren’s five foot eight inches, but curvy and beautiful while Wren was all angles and lines. Her hair was interesting, shading from dark brown to a sort of reddish color, and then lighter blond at the ends. Wren curled her hands into fists to keep from imagining running her fingers through the different colors while those large, soft curls wound around her wrists. When had she ever found hair interesting, let alone noticed how the auburn tones could make light blue eyes sparkle like cut glass? Unless it was a horse show day, the most she ever did with her own hair was shove it into a haphazard ponytail or cut off chunks when it got in her eyes. The woman smiled as she spoke and bent down to pet the little beagle, so she didn’t seem seriously concerned about her safety, but Wren realized she had let far too many seconds pass between the question and her response. She mentally chided herself to quit staring and start speaking.

  “It should be. Safe, I mean.” Good. Stumbling over her words. That was sexy. She cleared her throat and concentrated on speaking in complete sentences. “Biscuit likes to eat shoes, but he usually waits until there aren’t any feet in them.”

  “Good to know. I usually take my shoes off during interviews, but I’ll make an exception today.” She stood up and made fleeting eye contact with Wren before turning her attention to Grover. “I suppose that one eats cars? Thank goodness he seems to wait until there aren’t any people in them. I’m Gina, by the way. Gina Strickland.”

  Grover walked over to her as if she had been introducing herself to him. “He’s Grover. And I’m Wren Lindley.”

  “Like the bird? What a pretty name. And unusual.”

  Gina looked up from petting Grover long enough to flash a brilliant smile in Wren’s direction. Wren put her hand on her chest, fairly certain she was having some sort of cardiac event. She was going to have to talk to Dianna about sending someone this gorgeous to her farm without fair warning. Wren hadn’t minded sounding like a fool as she muddled through her previous interviews. She was, after all, looking for someone who was an expert in social media, so she didn’t have to figure it out herself. She felt considerably more reluctant to show Gina the depth of her ignorance in the world of computers. Where was that damned list of questions?