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He made no movement, his ears pointed toward her.

She shifted her belongings to her left arm, slowly raising her right hand toward him before hesitating once again. She hadn’t touched a horse since…since quitting. But surely one stroke of his hair wouldn’t tear down all the walls she’d placed around her heart.

Using more courage than she cared to admit, Winnie shifted her hand to below the horse’s nose, allowing him to sniff her. But the second he blew a soft breath back onto her fingertips, a rush of emotions overcame her. A lump formed in her throat, tears flooded her eyes, and she was taken straight back.

Straight back to when she’d been encouraged to ride as a child, wearing her black velvet hat and tall black boots. Straight back to when she’d performed for thousands at countless shows. Straight back to when she’d had a purpose, a passion for life.

The black gelding shifted to the side, as if encouraging her to pet him, and her mind struggled to remain in the present. This reaction was what she’d feared all along—dwelling on the past, being filled with so much regret and sorrow, she could hardly stand it.

And yet, the gates had been opened. There was no stopping the pain, the intense ache in her heart at how badly she missed riding. With shaking fingers, she reached her hand toward the patient horse’s neck, flashing from the past to the present with each stroke of his hair. Her fingers glided across his silken coat, the rhythmic movement of her hand mimicking his breathing until the tightness in her chest eased, and the sorrow in her heart soothed.

How had she forgotten that horses had that effect on her, the ability to calm whatever was ailing her? The pain remained, but with her proximity to the gelding, she could regulate her feelings better. She could sit in them for a moment without longing to flee from the discomfort.

Soon, her tears dried away, and though her sorrow remained, a different emotion arose, one she’d shelved long ago on the dusty recesses of her childhood memories—an emotion of deep love and respect she’d always had for the animal.

How she missed them.

“I’m Winnie,” she said softly to the horse. “I’d ask for your name, too, but I don’t think you’d be able to tell me.”

He blew out a breath, and she smiled, moving her hand to the bridge of his nose, then to his forelock.

He accepted her affection, leaning toward her with a nudge of his broad nose to receive more. “You’re an all-in kind of guy, then, huh?” she asked with a smile.

She lowered her belongings to a bench she found nearby, then returned to the horse at once, using both hands to stroke him.

For longer than intended, she remained there, petting him, breathing in his scent, allowing his sensitivity to adjust her emotions.

Everything was working fine until reality slowly settled in, and the reminder of what had occurred in her past crept up behind her like a stalking cougar.

Dad’s words. His heart-wrenching actions. Her pleading that had never been enough.

She winced at the pain tightening around her chest. She never should have come in here. She never should have touched him. It was too great a reminder of all she’d lost—all she hadn’t been allowed to do.

The black horse nudged her again, as if to break her from her thoughts, but she didn’t stroke him again. Her heart was weary, though her tears had dried. It was time to go.

As she took a step back, the gelding raised his head, his ears pointing down the aisle, as if he knew she was about to leave…Or as if he knew someone else was coming.

She turned in the direction he looked. Not a soul was down the aisle, but still she watched, trusting the horse’s ears and instinct until she heard the footsteps herself.

Was it a groom? Mrs. Birdwhistle? Perhaps one of the boys still hard at work?

All of her guesses were wrong as Matthew appeared around the corner instead.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Winnie’s stomach lurched in surprise at the sight of Matthew. When was she going to stop being surprised by his sudden and frequent appearances? He did live at Foxwood. She knew that, right?

With two buckets in hand he moved toward her, his gaze downcast and muscles bulging from the sleeves of his t-shirt.

He didn’t notice her for a moment, so she took the opportunity to step away from his horse until he finally looked up at her.

Surprise registered across his features, and his footsteps slowed. “Hey,” he said hesitantly, looking between her and his horse.

She definitely should have left before now. What was she going to do one-on-one with the man? Would he mention the video call with her family? Or mention again how her ideas were all going to fail?

“Are you still working?” he asked, eying her laptop, papers, and tablet on the bench nearby.

“I was. But I just came in here to…” To what? Why had she come in there? To torture herself? To see if she really was Knox strong?