Dear Diary,
I had a dream last night that Heath was on the ranch. I was alone in the barn, and it was quiet and dark…too dark. I fumbled around, trying to find the light switch, but when I did and flicked it on, he was there. Just there. Not moving, not saying anything. Just watching me with that look he used to give me when I’d upset him.
I tried to move my feet—tried to speak or scream, but all that came out was this pitiful strained moan.
Heath started walking toward me then, and I braced for what I knew was about to come. But before he could reach me, Zane stepped into the light.
He didn’t hesitate. Hell, he didn’t even look afraid. He just put himself between us likethat’swhere he belonged. There was no fight, no yelling. He just said to Heath that if he ever touched me again, it’d be the last thing he did.
And for whatever reason…Heath backed off, his menacing presence fading into the darkness.
Zane turned to me then, and instead of avoiding him like I’ve been doing outside of my dreamworld…I ran to him. Hedidn’t say anything, just held me and let me cry. And the whole time, I just kept thinking…I’m safe now.
That’sthe part I can’t quite shake.
We’ve barely scratched the surface of being civil with each other, and now he’s showing up in my dreams as this symbol of calm and safety? Why him? The only thing I can come up with is that maybe my brain just borrowed his shape to make the idea of safety more real. It doesn’t mean Ifeelthat way about him. It doesn’t mean that anything has changed.
It was just a dream.
Right?
I stepped out onto the porch and lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. The late morning light spilled across the land, stretching over the pastures in a warm glow and making it look like one of those oil paintings from that old TV show where every tree had a personality and mistakes were just happy accidents. A sigh fell past my lips as I thought about everything that had transpired since missing my turn to Heaven. Maybe that’s what Tarnation was turning out to be—a happy little accident.
Off to the right, a blur of movement caught my eye, and I turned to see Norah riding one of the horses in a large, fenced area shaped like an oval. Curious, I walked across the yard, watching as she and the horse flew across the enclosure and looped around a barrel in a formation so tight I thought they’d tip. Then they raced to the next one, cutting the curve just as sharp, and again until they hauled ass back toward the gate. She did it over and over, each round faster than the last. By the time I reached the fence, Norah spotted me and pulled up. She trotted over, a little out of breath but beaming like she lived for this.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said. “I was just watching.”
“It’s fine,” she replied, swinging down from the saddle with an effortless grace that made me instantly jealous. “I was finishing up, anyway.”
“What exactly were you doing?” I asked, hoping it didn’t sound like a stupid question.
She ran her hand along the horse’s neck, giving it a few solid pats. “Exercising Cheyenne. We’ve got a rodeo coming up, and I want her in peak shape for the barrel racing competition.”
I didn’t fully understand the appeal of racing a horse around obstacles like that, but she looked excited about it, so I kept my thoughts to myself. “She looked fast,” I offered instead.
Norah beamed. “She is.”
She started toward the barn, and I fell into step beside her.
“I’ve got to cool her down and take her tack off. Want to walk with me?”
“Yeah, sure.”
We crossed the yard in comfortable silence. The breeze carried the scent of dust and hay, and somewhere in the distance that devil of a rooster crowed. I fought against the cold chill that slithered down my back—hello, trauma—and glanced at Norah, debating whether to say what had been lingering in the back of my mind for days now. I’d noticed something early on and had talked myself out of asking more than once. The last thing I wanted was to open the door to personal questions about me, but curiosity was a persistent little voice in my head—and today, it was louder than my hesitation.
“Hey, Norah?”
“Yeah?” she said, leading Cheyenne into the barn.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?” I paused, then added, “It’s kind of personal.”
Norah didn’t even flinch as she worked on replacing the leather harness thing secured around her horse's head—I had no idea what it was actually called—with a simpler-looking nylonone, minus the metal bar that had gone in the horse’s mouth, hanging nearby.
I watched her for a second, gathering my courage. “It’s more of an observation, really.”
“Wow, you’re really easing into it there, aren’t you?” The corner of her mouth twitched as she focused on removing Cheyenne’s saddle. “I’ve got nothing to hide, so ask away.”
Nothing to hide, as opposed to me who has everything to hide. “Why haven't I seen your dad around?”
