Her heart hammered against her ribs.
That’s an insane idea.
It was trespassing, breaking and entering, even. But the alternative of going home without Rain was worse.
Do. It.
Taking a deep, ragged breath, she jumped, her hand reaching for the bottom link of the scroll work. Her hand slipped on the lower bar, and she slid back, barely managing to land on her feet. The impact sent a jarring shock up her shins. She grunted, ignored the flare of pain, and tried again. This time, she found purchase as the waffle-stomp sole of her riding boot caught on a weld point. Her muscles screamed in protest as she pulled herself up. She was weak. So much weaker than the girl who could swing a fifty-pound hay bale like it was nothing.
Her fingers scraped against the metal, and a splinter of steel slid under her nail. She bit back a cry, her breath hissing between her teeth, but she kept climbing. She didn’t dare look down as she scrambled to the top scrollwork logo. Her jeans snagged on a sharp edge, and the sound of fabric ripping was loud in the quiet night.
She paused, clinging to the bars, her chest heaving, before she went over to the other side.
I’ve done some unhinged things in my time. But this one takes the cake.
She swung one leg over the top of the spiked finials designed to deter climbers. They dug into her thighs, but she didn’t care because she was over the gate, which was what mattered. Scrambling, slipping, she half-climbed, half-slid down the other side, until her boots hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
She landed in a heap, her ankle twisting beneath her. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up her leg, and she crumpled to the ground, a raw sob tearing from her throat. She lay there on the coldgravel, gasping for breath, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth where she’d bitten her tongue.
I made it. I’m in.
She pushed herself up, her whole body trembling. Her ankle throbbed with every beat of her heart as she leaned against the gate, trying to get her bearings. Now what? Did she limp all the way to that house? What would she even say?
Hi, I’m the broken girl you rescued. I climbed your gate because my horse will be sad without me, and I want him back.
She took a step, and the pain brought tears to her eyes. She tried to push through it, but the second step dropped her to her knees. “Fuck. I can’t walk. Now what?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rowan sippedfrom the heavy crystal glass, and the bourbon burned a smooth trail of fire down his throat. He leaned back on the couch with his boots propped casually on the mahogany coffee table.
He was supposed to be asleep. Working in the round pen was going to suck tomorrow on two hours of sleep. But he’d learned long ago not to attempt to sleep after a doozy of a nightmare. He heard the clicking of nails on the wooden floor before Trident appeared next to his elbow.
“I’ve got no food, Dude.”
Trident huffed and jumped onto the couch next to him. The shepherd circled around three times before he flopped down and placed his head on Rowan’s lap.
“There’s no point in givin’ me them puppy dog eyes, Try, because I’m still not giving you no food. You had dinner twice already, because I know for a fact you conned Gael out of one when he got home with Rain.”
A sharp, insistentbeepsliced through the stillness of the night, and Rowan jerked to his feet.
That’s the gate.
Rowan slapped the bourbon glass down and ignored the liquid sloshing against the rim. “Gael, breach on perimeter.” He raced to Gael’s office and fired up the computer for the screens where the feed looped for the cameras. He scanned the boxes on screen and paused on the feed for the main gate.
“What’s happening?” Gael asked as he joined Rowan at the computer.
“The security system is signaling a breach.” He pointed to the screen, “There is something moving there, but I can’t figure out if it’s an animal or not.”
“Damn horse you insisted we take back probably broke out again,” Gael grumbled. “That’ll be three times, Ro. Three times, and he’s been here less than twenty-four hours.”
Before Rowan could answer, his phone vibrated again, this time with Theo’s ringtone. He snatched it up, his thumb jabbing accept before it hit the second ring.
“Gate breach.” Theo’s voice was clipped over the line. “Main entrance. Motion sensors were tripped. There’s a vehicle parked outside. Footage shows a single intruder, on foot.”
Rowan shoved back from the desk, boots thudding to the floorboards. He yanked open the top drawer. His fingers closed around the Glock 19’s familiar grip, holster snapping onto his belt in one fluid motion. “Arm the TOC. Lock down the barns. Who’s on rotation?”
“Jericho and Colson. Bronx and Scout are en route from the bunkhouse. Formation’s your call,” Theo rattled off his responses. “Silent approach?”
