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“Good boy,” she crooned, kissing Lightning’s forehead and resting her dark head against his thick neck. “You’re still a beauty.”
“He oughta be a beauty,” Dominic said. “Logan’s been babying him for the last four years.”
Logan grunted, rubbing Lightning’s back. “There’s nothing wrong with a little extra attention. And he deserved it. He’s pulled his weight on the trails. Every new guest we get requests him.” He looked up to find Amy’s eyes clinging to his. “You trained him well.”
Amy rolled her lips, a smile fighting at the corners of her mouth. “I wasn’t alone in that. Besides, you were the one that trained me, remember?”
“I remember,” he whispered.
He reached out and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. The silky feel of it lingered on his fingertips, heating his blood.
Amy stepped back, eyes sifting through the rest of the horses. “Where’s Thunder?”
Logan stiffened. Of course she’d ask about Thunder. That black stallion had always been one of her favorites, along with Lightning. He curled his fists around the fence rail.
“Logan?” Amy’s hands covered his, her face creased with worry. “Where is he?”
Logan glanced at Dominic. He winced, his dark eyes moving to hover over the stables in the distance.
Logan sighed. He should’ve prepared for this. Should’ve had something ready to say. The last thing Amy needed right now was bad news and he didn’t want to be the one to deliver it. Unfortunately, there was no way around this.
Logan shoved off the fence and took Amy’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the fragile skin of her wrist. “Come on. I’ll take you to him.”
* * *
AMY SHIVERED. THE warmth of the sun faded and the approaching darkness sent a chill through the air. It sliced beneath her flesh and traveled to her bones, forcing her to huddle closer to Logan’s side. His big hand tugged, leading her away from the paddock and down the winding trail to the stables.
The tight set of Logan’s jaw and his continued silence froze the blood in her veins. She scanned the path before them, following the familiar curves to the stable where she’d spent the majority of her childhood days.
Every morning, she’d raced to the stalls to plop at Logan’s feet and watch him groom the horses. And every afternoon, she’d returned to lean in the doorway and wait for his return. The image of him mounted on his horse, slowly crossing the field, seemed emblazoned on her memory. She was certain the image of her idolizing expression remained imprinted on his.
Her face flamed despite the cool bite of winter air. Amy lifted her chin and straightened the collar of her blouse with her free hand. None of it mattered. There wasn’t any point in seeking out old comforts. Or reliving past humiliations. She wasn’t staying long enough to enjoy one or endure the other.
She craned her neck, peering past the open doors of the stable for a glimpse of Thunder’s dark hair. She knew the exact shade. Years ago, when she’d delivered the foal, she’d stayed to watch Thunder rise on trembling legs then spent the next week smoothing her hands over his black mane.
Logan’s hand tightened around hers and he slowed his step. “There was an accident a couple of months ago.” He stopped inside the stable entrance, drawing her to a halt. “One of the guests took Thunder out without permission. Some arrogant young suit on vacation, playing at being a rancher for the week.”
His mouth firmed into a tight line, throat moving on a hard swallow.
“He knew Thunder was a jumper. Drove him over a few fences and off the lot.” He released her, hands shoving deep into his pockets. “Raintree probably looked endless to him, being a city boy and all. He left the ranch and ran Thunder right into the highway.” He looked back across the empty fields, shoulders sagging. “Those transfer trucks don’t stop for anything out here. Don’t know if he was trying to race or didn’t see the truck coming, but their paths crossed.”
Amy froze. Thunder was a strong stallion, ripped with muscled bulk and impressive speed. But he’d be no match for a transfer truck. Not the kind that sped along the isolated highways surrounding Raintree.
“Was he...?” Her throat constricted, the question catching.
“No.” Logan’s black eyes shot to her face and his deep voice softened. “You know Thunder. He’s not going down without a fight.” A grim smile curved his lips. “He reared, bucked that boy off him and jumped. Almost made it out of the way.” His expression darkened. “But almosts don’t cut it. He got clipped and was banged up pretty bad. We thought for sure he wouldn’t last the night but he did. He’s not the same, though. Whole thing scarred him bad. Turned him wild. None of us have been able to make any headway with him.”
Amy scanned the empty stalls lining the stable, eyes scrambling from one to the next.
“Only thing that saved the guest was Thunder’s instincts,” Logan said. “That kid came out of it with a few cuts and bruises. A lot less than he deserved.” He cleared his throat. “I wish I’d kept a closer eye on him. He was a reckless rider. And a selfish one to boot.”
Amy took in the hard set of Logan’s jaw. He’d always been controlled and practical but he had a soft spot for his horses. Often went to extremes to protect and care for them. It was one of the many things she still admired about him.
She touched his arm, fingers resting lightly against the hard curve of his bicep. “You’re not meant to control people any more than horses. You can only lead them. How many times did you tell me that over the years?”
Amy’s gut clenched, a surge of shameful heat flooding her. Logan had repeated the mantra a thousand times when she’d struggled with training a horse. She could still see his somber expression as he’d delivered the sentiment, but she’d never really listened. Instead, she’d pushed the boundaries of their friendship and tempted him into a different relationship. Had tried to control him all the same.
Logan withdrew his hand from his pocket, capturing hers and smoothing his thumb over her wrist. “He’s not the same, Amy. You still want to see him?”
She nodded.
Logan took her elbow, guiding her down the aisle past the empty stalls to a large one tucked in the back. An eerie stillness settled around them. The front of the stall remained empty, a dark bulk huddling in the back corner.
Heart pounding, Amy leaned closer and secured her purse strap on her shoulder with shaky fingers.
“Hey, boy,” she whispered.
There was no response. Only the stallion’s heavy breathing disturbed the silence.
“Thunder?” She took a small step forward, palm pressing to the stall guard and fingers wrapping around the bars. “Hey, b—”
A hoof slammed into the bars, the edge of it ramming against her knuckles and rattling the stall door on its frame. Amy jumped back, heels clacking over the bricked floor and catching on the slight crevices in between. One cracked loose in the process.
Logan’s strong arms wrapped around her right before she slammed into the floor. Her purse dropped from her shoulder and tangled around her ankles, contents spilling out. The relentless pounding continued, Thunder’s kicks increasing in intensity and echoing around them.
“Are you okay?” Logan reached for her injured hand.
“I’m fine,” she choked.
She drew her throbbing fingers to her chest, cradling them and gritting her teeth.
“Let me see.” Logan’s brow creased and he tugged at her wrist.
“It’s fine,” she bit out, stifling a grimace. “He skimmed me.”
The kicking stopped. Amy glanced up as the strong pull and push of Thunder’s heaving breaths grew close. His broad head appeared against the bars. A savage scar stretched across his chiseled face and down his muscular neck. Amy winced at his glare, the whites of his eyes stark against the wide and wild depths of his pupils.
“He’s been through a lot,” Logan said. “It’s changed him. In the beginning, I thought there was still a chance I could bring him around. But I lost his trust along the way. I’m out of options. I have to put him down.”
“No,” she whispered.
Thunder’s lips drew back and he cried, the sharp sound screeching through the air and splitting her ears. He slammed his front hooves against the door then jerked away to pace the stall, his pained cries turning fierce.
Amy’s legs shook. She bent carefully to gather up the contents of her purse. Shoving the scattered items back inside, she caught sight of the bundle of crumpled divorce papers. She snatched them up and drove them deep into her purse.
Metal clanked as Thunder dove forward and butted the stall door with his head. Eyes flaring, he fixed his gaze to hers and stared deep, tearing past the layers of her polished appearance and creeping beneath her skin. He jerked his head, screaming louder and kicking harder.
Amy choked back a sob and shoved to her feet. Logan was right. Thunder wasn’t the same. But to consider ending his life...
“You can’t put him down, Logan,” she said, turning away and stumbling on the loose heel of her shoe. “Not without giving him a fair shot.”
Logan held her arms and steadied her. “I have. Nothing has worked. He’s a danger to himself and the other horses and he’s especially aggressive around the boys. There’s not one single rehabilitation outfit willing to relocate him after laying eyes on him.” He sighed. “I can’t, in good conscience, allow him to exist in fear and isolation with no quality of life. I’m sorry. There’s nothing else that can be done.”
Amy ducked her burning face. “That’s not true,” she said, pushing past him. “There’s always a way.”
The urge to return to Thunder was strong. To stay at his side, try to coax his spirit back and give him a fighting chance. But that would mean staying. And it was time to move on.
She dragged her purse strap back onto her shoulder and brushed at her clothes. But even though the creases in the material released, the guilt remained. It clung to her skin and clogged her throat, suffocating her. Just as it had every day for the past four years.
Her steps slowed, legs stilling of their own accord. She cast one last look at Thunder’s violent attack on the stall. “Surely, there’s something you can d—”
Thunder’s screech overtook her voice, the words dying on her lips.
“He fought hard to survive, Amy.” Logan’s expression turned grim, his thumb spinning the ring on his finger. “But, sometimes, that’s just not enough.”
She spun, taking swift strides out of the stable and away from the stallion’s broken state. She’d worked hard to survive, too. And she couldn’t gamble the new life she’d fought for to recapture a past full of failures and sins.
Logan’s eyes bored into her back. Amy hurried up the hill, thighs burning. Thunder’s painful cries lingered on the air, hovering around her and haunting the path to the main house.
Chapter Three (#ulink_a9a5bc11-c7e2-5040-8055-5c3ebe534b27)
“Hold on to your heart, girl.”
Amy whispered the words and pressed her fingertips to the cold metal of Logan’s truck. By the time she’d made her way back from the stables, the sun had disappeared and night had settled in. The full moon and stars cast a hazy glow over the surrounding fields, lengthening the shadows stretching from the fences and barn.
She grazed her throbbing knuckles over the ring hidden beneath her collar and grimaced, recalling the band on Logan’s hand. Her chest tightened. She shook her head, reached into the bed of Logan’s truck and hefted out one of her black bags.
“Here.” Logan’s chest brushed her back. He reached around her for the bag, his fingers brushing hers. “Let me.”
“I’ve got it.”
Amy hoisted the bag and leaned over to retrieve the second one. Logan scooped it up first. He flicked the cuff of his flannel shirt back and examined the glowing hands of his wristwatch.
“It’s almost six,” he said. “We better get a move on.”
He led the way up the drive toward the main house, the strong line of his back and lean jean-clad hips moving with confidence. Amy’s belly fluttered. She tore her eyes away and surveyed the entrance to the main house which was bathed in the soft glow of the porch lights.
Massive mahogany doors were adorned with lush green wreaths and red ribbons. The colorful cheer extended beyond the wreaths to the crimson ribbon wrapped around the large columns. Poinsettia blooms nestled in the nooks and crannies of the railing lining the porch and the warm glow emanating from inside the house enhanced the twinkling of the white lights draping the posts and eaves.
Christmas. Amy’s steps faltered on the slippery ground. It’d been so long since she’d spent the holidays at home with family. Since she’d left Raintree, the color and comfort of Christmas had faded and the holiday had contorted into a pale passing of a day. A low and lifeless one she’d grown accustomed to spending alone.
Amy swallowed the lump in her throat and strived for a light tone. “Why are all the decorations out already? Mama used to say it was a sin to put up Christmas lights before Thanksgiving was over.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder, his words reaching her in puffy, white drifts. “I imagine Betty was beside herself last night when we didn’t make it back like we’d planned. She probably got overanxious and decided to keep herself busy.”
Amy smiled. Next to cooking, her mother’s second favorite pastime was decorating. Not a single holiday passed without Betty celebrating it in style.
“Betty knows how much you used to love Christmas at Raintree.” Logan waited for her to reach his side, his big palm wrapping around her upper arm to assist her up the steps. “She wants to make this visit perfect for you. We all do.”
Amy’s blood rushed at the husky note in his voice and she curled her fingers around the handle of her bag, tamping down the urge to lean in to him.
Hold on to your heart. This time, she wouldn’t mistake friendship for love. What she felt for Logan was old-fashioned lust and misguided hero worship. She’d do well to remember that.
A loud jingle sounded, both wreaths swinging on their doors as a small figure burst out of the house.
“Amy.”
Betty’s red bangs ruffled in the night breeze, her green eyes glistening with moisture.
Amy’s vision blurred. “Hi, Mama.”
She drew her bag in against her thigh and dipped toward the floor of the porch, the length of her limbs becoming awkward. Betty’s short stature had always made Amy wither, trying not to loom over her.
Betty’s warm palms cradled her cool cheeks then traveled down her arms to caress her wrists. She gently lifted Amy’s arms out to the side, trailing her gaze from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes.
“You look beautiful. I think you grew another inch since I saw you last. You’re just as tall as your father was.” Betty dabbed at the corners of her eyes and smiled. “I’m so glad you came home.” She stretched up on her tiptoes, her kiss grazing the curve of Amy’s jaw. “I’ve missed my sweet girl.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
Much more than she’d realized. Amy wrapped her arms around her mother in a tight embrace. The rich scent of cinnamon and butter lingered on Betty’s white chef’s apron, releasing in sweet puffs with each of Amy’s squeezes.
Amy giggled and nuzzled her cheek against Betty’s silken hair. “You smell like cookies.”
“That’s because I’ve been baking your favorite ones all afternoon.”
“Cinnamon and sugar?”
“Stacked a mile high,” Betty said, laughing. She released Amy and tugged at Logan’s shoulders, kissing his cheek when he bent his head. “Thank you for bringing her home safely, Logan. I was worried the storm would keep you from making it.”
“You think we’d let a bit of ice keep us from your cooking?” A crooked grin broke out across Logan’s face and his dark eyes sparkled. “Not a chance.”
Betty patted his broad chest, her smile widening. “I made your favorites, too. The green bean casserole and sweet potato soufflé are ready and waiting.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “Let’s get inside. It’s too chilly out here for comfort.”
Logan nudged the small of Amy’s back, spurring her step on. She followed Betty’s jubilant advance into the cheery interior of the house and found the spacious foyer as warm and welcoming as it’d been in the past. The rich grain of the hardwood floors gleamed, several coats hung from a hall tree bench by the entrance and festive garlands draped elegantly from each banister of the winding staircase.
The low rumble of voices, children laughing and silverware clinking sounded from a large room on the right. Two teenage girls dressed in green-and-black chef uniforms strolled by carting pitchers of iced tea and water.
“You’ve hired some help, I see,” Amy said, noting the girls’ bright smiles and energetic expressions.
Betty nodded. “Raintree has done well the last two years. We’ve had to renovate the family floor and expand to accommodate more guests.” Her eyes brightened. “Logan and Cissy started an apprenticeship program for high school students last year. We have positions for students interested in culinary arts and equine management and the school gives them class credit on a work-based learning program. The kids learn and make money at the same time. And, believe me, those teenagers are a Godsend in the kitchen around the holidays.” She smirked. “Wish I could get your sister to peel potatoes as willingly as they do.”
Amy laughed. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
She glanced at Logan, warming at his lopsided grin. It was reminiscent of him as a teenager. Even then, he’d taken an eager interest in the business side of Raintree and had been determined to build it into a successful guest ranch. From the looks of things, he’d succeeded.
“Seems you’re doing a great job managing Raintree,” she said. “You must be proud.”
Logan shrugged. “It was mostly Cissy’s doing. She and the twins didn’t have much when Dom brought them to Raintree, and she knows how some families struggle. She wanted local kids to have as many opportunities as possible to succeed.” His smile widened. “Dom’s even getting in on the action. He’s trying to talk a friend into partnering so he can offer bull riding clinics.”
