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‘Four grand?’ Skye chewed her bottom lip. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the money, but every penny she spent was a penny she didn’t have until she could settle for long enough to find a job. ‘What year is it?’

‘2002.’

‘Fate,’ Stevie whispered. Because that was their birth year.

Skye peered in the window. The off-cream leather seats were cracked and torn, the stuffing popping through. The carpets were browned with age. The steering wheel was peeling. Skye looked at the shift stick and sighed. ‘It’s manual.’

‘You mean it’s a shit stick?’ Andrea asked.

Stevie slowly turned her head to look at Dre. ‘It’s called a shift stick.’

‘Oh.’ Andrea flushed. ‘Well, how the hell am I supposed to know that? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen one.’

Jim stood by silently, looking concerned for the first time.

Skye was going back and forth on the pros and cons of buying the truck when she heard it: a low nicker, coming from the dilapidated barn. Her gaze flickered in that direction. ‘You have horses?’

‘One. My girl left it here when she lit out a few weeks ago. I’m having a bitch of a time trying to look after the damn thing.’ Jim’s eyes narrowed on her face. ‘You a horse girl?’

‘Used to be.’ Skye had started horseback riding at ten. It was the one thing she and her mom had been allowed to do completely alone. They’d drive out to the barn, groom and tack Skye’s lesson horse, a big chestnut gelding called Rollo.

For two beautiful years, she had taken dressage lessons. She’d been good for her age, but she’d missed her first show for a social engagement that her father had insisted they attend, and when Skye had dared to argue, Holden had punished her by ending her lessons completely.

Looking back, that might have been the first time she’d realized that something wasn’t right in her home. Her dressage instructor, Jill, had called and messaged, but Caroline had ignored her. When Skye had answered the home phone by chance, Jill had asked, ‘Skye, I just need to know what happened? You’re doing so well, baby. And I see your face when you ride; I know you love it.’

Skye had cried. She’d said, ‘I do. But my dad …’

Jill had gotten very quiet.

‘He says I can’t anymore because of my attitude problem.’

Jill had sighed. ‘Baby, you don’t have an attitude problem. You’re the sweetest, kindest kid I’ve ever met. Okay?’

‘I’m not. I’m stupid. And I have a problem with discipline. But I’m trying really hard to be good, Ms Jill,’ she’d promised.

‘Baby, I’m going to give you my number. Skye … If there’s anything you ever want to tell me, anything you ever need, you call me. Promise?’

‘I promise,’ Skye had said. But at twelve, she’d wondered what Jill meant. What could she possibly need that her father didn’t already provide?

‘My number is two-one-four—’

The line had cut.

Skye had looked up to see Holden at the house phone’s answering system, his face cold with fury. Skye had seen the look and known what was coming, even then, but all she’d been able to think was: I didn’t get the number.

Now, she shook the memory off with practised ease.

At her side, Stevie asked, ‘Can we see the horse?’

Jim shrugged. ‘Sure.’

As Andrea and Stevie walked towards the barn, Skye stayed behind, even though her feet itched to follow, to touch that soft nose and feel the horse’s hot breath blow against her palm.

She forced her attention back to the truck, listening to Andrea and Stevie’s excited chatter with one ear. ‘Will you take three-five for it?’

‘Four.’ Jim was firm. ‘But if you take the horse and her trailer, I could be persuaded to settle on three-five.’

Skye’s brain flatlined. ‘Ah … What?’