Ryan pulls up alongside me, Copper’s hooves thundering in my periphery. He grins. “Come on, Copper. Let’s go.”
The first drop of rain hits my palm, then another on the tip of my nose. The sky opens up, and the rain comes pelting down. While I’m distracted by the sudden downpour, Ryan pulls ahead of me, tossing up a middle finger over his shoulder. His laughter reverberates in the open expanse of the valley.
Whispering Oaks Ranch.
My home.
My favorite place in the entire world.
Or at least… it was.
An ominous roll of thunder sends a chill down my spine. A chilling crack of lightning follows. Copper startles. He rears back, bucking Ryan off his saddle andonto the muddy trail.
Everything happens in slow motion as my best friend falls to the ground. I’m helpless to do anything but watch as Copper’s hooves come down with a sickening crack.
No.
No no no no.
This can’t be happening. Ryan is an experienced rider.
Copper bolts, fear driving him forward. Maverick releases a low rumble, stopping short of the horrifying scene playing out on the ground. The rain continues its assault as I dismount onto the muddy path. I crash to my knees, pulling an already lifeless Ryan into my arms, his face frozen and expressionless.
A sob tears through me, and I scream, the guttural, heart-wrenching sounds piercing through the night.
I glance at the broken watch on Ryan’s wrist, suspended in time. Mocking me.8:36 p.m.
Present Day
I toss another bag of feed into the bed of my truck and swipe the back of my hand over my forehead. Whenever I need to get out of my head, manual labor usually does the trick, but not today.
Today, the weight of my past is insurmountable. I’m going through the motions, detached from any semblance of fulfillment. Whatever boring excuse for a life I had planned out, whatever future I thought I might have, vanished the moment I watched the light fade from my best friend’s eyes.
I gave up any plans I had as some kind of fucked up recompense for what happened that night. Friendships wilted over time, and I convinced myself that human connections were the source of pain, so I never sought them out.
My family and this ranch are the only things that have kept me grounded all these years. Now, as I reflect on the flimsy life I’ve built, I can’t help but wonder if the very thing I’ve been denying myself is what I’m chasing with Callie.
It was easier when she was a name on a screen—merely a concept of a person. Even then, I was drawn to her. Now, the pull is even stronger, and I have to face reality. I might not be enough. She needs someone who can break through the walls she’s built around her heart, and more importantly, someone who’s willing to do the same. I don’t know if I’m that person, but I want to be.
I work late into the evening, until my muscles ache and my body protests against the repeated strain. It’s a welcome pain, a reminder to be grateful that I’m still alive to feel it. There were two of us racing that night; only one of us made it back. The man I once was—determined, fearless—he died on that trail, too.
I know all too well how close we are to utter devastation at any given moment—mere seconds away from having your whole world flipped on its axis. One slip. One wrong turn. One thunderclap away from losing everything. I don’t want to waste whatever time I have left standing on the other side of the fence, watching everyone else find happiness. I want to be in there with them, and I want to do it with Callie Cooper in my arms, if she’ll have me.
Chapter 8
Damsel in Distress
? White Horse - Chris Stapleton
Callie
A sharp rapat my car window startles me awake. I reach beneath my pillow and wrap my trembling hand around the taser I keep on my keychain. When I peer out into the night, I meet Jaxon’s penetrating stare.
My body tenses. I know better than to let my guard down around any man, even the ones youthinkyou can trust. Jaxon’s been bringing his nieces to the library every Tuesday for the last three weeks, and more than once, I’ve found a jar of pickles waiting for me in the break room fridge.
That doesn’t mean he won’t turn on a dime.
“What are you doing out here?” His voice is muffled by the door, but I can still make out the distinct undercurrent of concern. “You’ll freeze to death.”
