Page 39 of North

What had hurt more was his father’s reaction. So much for being a hero.

“But you’d do it again.”

You’re a pastor’s son, Nolan! You don’t beat up kids on the playground.

“Every time.”

She’d leaned up and kissed him then, soft and sweet. “That’s why I love you. You see someone in trouble, you help. No questions asked.”

Now, slogging through mud in the dark, North barked out a harsh laugh. The irony burned worse than the rain. He’d fallen in love with her certainty, her vision of him as that protector. Then spent years trying to protect her from herself.

Until he couldn’t.

Lightning flashed again. Through the storm, he spotted a fence line. Dark shapes huddled under oak trees. Horses.

The nearest one lifted its head—a bay mare. Still wearing her halter, so she might have bolted from her barn or pen. Steam rose from her rain-slicked coat as she moved toward the fence, nickering softly.

North lifted a hand and she startled, then he lowered it over the fence and put it on her velvety nose. Her breath warmed his frozen fingers.

His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. Ham.

“North? Signal’s bad—you there?”

“Not so much. Got…detoured.”

“She’s on the move.”

Perfect.

Thunder rolled across the valley. The mare shifted, ears flicking.

“How far am I?” North asked, fingers finding the mare’s halter.

“A couple miles. You hoofing it?”

The mare’s dark eye regarded him calmly.

“I think I have transportation. Send those coordinates before my phone dies.” He stared at the phone until the message came through. Opened it. Spotted Selah’s ping in the woods east of her previous location.

The screen went black.

“Great.” North pocketed the useless phone. He searched the field for a barn, a house.

Nothing. And now he was turning into a horse thief. Well, it was just a couple miles, right?

The mare watched him climb the fence, landing with a splash beside her.

“Easy, girl.”

No saddle. No bridle. Just a halter and a lead rope. But he’d ridden more than once on the farm he’d worked at during his summers in South Dakota.

The mare stood steady as he gathered the rope into makeshift reins. Her back rose like a mountain when he swung up, rain-slick and broader than he remembered horses being. However, she moved off at his nudge, picking her way across the wet grass. Her hooves splashed through puddles. The rain stung North’s face as she broke into a trot.

His thighs burned, unused muscles screaming as he found his balance. Wind whipped her mane against his hands. He found a gate and opened it, then closed it and climbed back on.

The mare’s hooves drummed against asphalt.

Ahead, mountains rose into storm clouds.