A sound cuts through the noise of the water. Hoofbeats. Not the heavy drum of Midnight’s gait, but something lighter. Faster.
I look back toward the ridge.
A horse is cresting the hill. A golden coat, wild and wet. It’s the mustang. The one Rhett said was green. But he’s moving like he’s done this a thousand times.
And on his back is her.
She leans low over the mustang’s neck, her body moving with his in perfect sync. She’s soaking wet, her hair a dark rope down her back, her coat flapping in the wind.
She sees me. She pulls the mustang up, reining him in. He prances, tossing his head, splashing in the wet grass.
She looks down at me from her perch on the ridge. Rain streams down her face, but she doesn’t wipe it away. She just looks.
“Are you following me?” I call out over the rushing water.
She scoffs. The sound is audible even from this distance. “Don’t flatter yourself, Boone. The scenery is just better over here.”
She slides off the horse’s back, landing with a thud in the mud. She doesn’t seem to care. She loops the reins over a low-hanging branch of a nearby oak. The tree is massive, its spreading branches offering a meager shelter from the deluge.
I dismount, tying Midnight next to the mustang. The two horses nose each other, snorting steam.
I walk over to her. She’s huddled under the tree, shivering slightly.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” I say. “It’s coming down harder.”
“I needed it,” she says, not looking at me. She stares out at the gray valley. “The house feels... small lately.”
“Three Alphas in one living room will do that,” I say.
She turns to face me. She looks wild. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, her lips red. The water drips from the end of her nose.
“Why weren’t you there?” she asks. “When Rhett told me about the fines. You just... vanished.”
I lean against the rough bark of the oak. “I knew Rhett would handle it. He’s good with the details. He’s good with the plans. I’m better at the fences.”
She nods, accepting this. She tucks a strand of wet hair behind her ear. Her hand is shaking slightly. The cold, or something else?
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“You can ask.”
“Why did you stay?”
I frown. “What?”
“Why did you stay?” she repeats, stepping closer. The scent of her hits me—vanilla and honey, diluted by the rain, but still potent. “Eight years, Boone. You could have left. You could have found another ranch. Another life. Why stay here and work for a man who treated you like a servant? Why stay for a ranch that wasn’t yours?”
The question hangs in the damp air between us. It’s simple, but the answer is not.
“Why would I leave?” I counter. “This is my home. This is the only place I ever belonged.”
“But—”
The rain picks up, drumming harder against the leaves above us. The drops are heavier now, colder.
“I know you and I will never be on the same page about that, but Meadowlark is my home. It’s always been.”
“I’m not the enemy, Boone,” she says, her voice rising slightly to be heard over the weather. “I know you think I am. I know you think I’m just here to destroy everything. But I’m not. I’m just... trying to figure out where I fit.”
