“He was just at my feet. He’s gone.”
He swings his legs off the bed. “All right, let’s not panic yet. Maybe he went downstairs.”
We rush through the hallway together, calling for Jameson as thunder rattles the windows. When we reach the great room, the wind hits us hard. The front door stands wide open, rain sweeping across the threshold.
No.
I forgot to lock it!
I rush to the porch, but Leo’s strong arms stop me. “Stay here. I’ll check the porch and the drive.”
“I can help?—”
“No,” he says releasing me. He slips on his shoes and grabs the heavy flashlight that hangs on the hook by the door. “If he comes back, he’ll come to your voice. Keep calling him.”
Before I can argue, he disappears into the rain, the beam of his flashlight bobbing into the darkness.
My pulse hammers as I step onto the porch anyway. “Jameson!”
The wind has eased, but the sky keeps splitting open in violent flashes, the air holding its breath between each rumble. That eerie stillness needles the back of my neck—too much like the night I was struck down. My chest cinches tight. But I can’t stop myself, I have to find him.
I step into the yard. My tank top and pajama shorts are already damp, clinging to my skin. The air is thick, electric, humming with ozone and wet grass. Panic floods through me as I scan the shadows and jog around the porch steps, half expecting his squat little body to be curled up behind a chair.
Movement jolts in the corner of my vision
Not Jameson, but Goose, out in the storm, trembling under the shade structure.
“What the hell?” I say to no one.
The sky splits open. Thunder cracks like a cannon, and rain pours in sheets. I don’t think—I just run.
Mud sucks at my feet, my hair whips into my face, pajamas cling to my skin—but Goose is out there alone, and I won’t leave him scared in this storm. Lightning flashes. I stop and cover my ears as thunder crashes a heartbeat later.
It’s close.
So close.
My adrenaline spikes as I rush to the gate and struggle to get it open as the rain is making it hard to see.
The crashes in the sky.
The white light.
The smell of scorched air.
Everything happening around me takes me back to that night. Waking up with my mouth full of blood. My lungs seize for a second, my heart pounds, and my legs want to fold.
Goose lets out a low, anxious whinny and it pulls me back to the present. I force my feet to move, even though the wind wants to shove me backward. I blink against the rain and wipe my face.
Goose backs away as I reach for him, nostrils flaring, muscles twitching.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, holding out my hands. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you back to the barn.”
He decides to follow me, but he’s jittery and tense. The barn feels like it’s a mile away. A white blaze rips across the sky, thunder answering a heartbeat later. I flinch but keep going—because fear isn’t driving me anymore.
I’ve had enough.
Tonight, I decide I’m not that scared woman anymore, I’m a woman trying to coax a horse through the mud, in a lightning storm back to the barn.
