## **CONTENTS**

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Preface

Chapter One - -

Chapter Two - -

Chapter Three - -

Chapter Four - -

Chapter Five - -

Chapter Six - -

Chapter Seven - -

Chapter Eight - -

Chapter Nine - -

Chapter Ten - -

Chapter Eleven - -

Chapter Twelve - -

Chapter Thirteen - -

Chapter Fourteen - -

Chapter Fifteen - -

Chapter Sixteen - -

Chapter Seventeen - -

Chapter Eighteen - -

Chapter Nineteen - -

Chapter Twenty - -

Chapter Twenty-One - -

Chapter Twenty-Two - -

Chapter Twenty-Three - -

Chapter Twenty-Four - -

Epilogue

End
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_Copyright © 2017 by S. E. Margaux_

_All Rights Reserved_

_No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the authors._
To Isabella and Joanna, for sharing their story.

To my friends, for catching the mistakes I couldn't see.

To my family, for providing me with love, support, and tea.

Writing a novel is hard work, and this one would not exist without all your generous contributions.

_What a tangle love is._

_Alyson Noël_
**PREFACE**

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_Dear Readers,_

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_There are many grand stories: thrilling epics, heartbreaking classics, stories of conquest and adventure and great heroes, which exist beyond the limitations of human memory. And then there are other stories. Smaller stories, about regular people, with regular lives. Stories which have no grand adventures or heroism, but which nevertheless touch the heart of those who hear them._

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_This is such a story. The people in it are not rich or famous or powerful. But they are real, and they laugh and love and live with passion, and what could be more important than that? Regardless of the unsavory light in which it may cast us, this is a story that had to be told, because one cannot avoid the raw and potent power of true love._

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_We ask only this of you, the reader: do not judge us for the parts we play in it. If we erred, it was out of passion. Out of love. We were not as wise then as we are now, and if ever there was a fault to be forgiven, it is that of loving too much. And so, with as much pleasure as duty, we share with you our tale. It was merely a summer, and many summers ago, but it is true that, though summers will come and go, a single summer can shape the seasons to come._

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_Yours faithfully, _

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_Joanna May Fairweather & Bella Dubois_

## **CHAPTER ONE**

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Anita jumped down the last two steps of the stairs. The bottom two steps creaked, and she didn't want to wake the others. There was nothing that needed immediate tending to — the horses wouldn't need feeding for another couple of hours, and the fields could take care of themselves, at least until after breakfast. Besides, it was Monday, and Anita believed in starting the week right with a nice, relaxed breakfast.

She peeked through to the living room. Nikki had lately made a habit of falling asleep at the table, head bundled up in her arms, usually with some oversized textbook serving as a pillow, surrounded by scatterings of stationary. But the living room was empty. All the better; she didn't like eating in the kitchen.

The tiles were cold against her bare feet, but it was a pleasant cold, a reminder of how warm the air had become. She had missed the warmth over winter and hated the constant downpours in spring, but it looked like summer had finally arrived. Light streamed through the window, and the few tiles not shaded by the kitchen counter had already begun to warm up. Humming to herself, Anita set out a pan, flour, milk, sugar, and...

No eggs. She closed the fridge and frowned. She could go and collect the fresh eggs, but the chicken coop was further than she was willing to go for pancakes. Instead, she slipped on her soft, worn riding boots and, leaving the door ajar, stepped out into the fresh morning breeze.

It was already promising to be the most beautiful day of the year so far, and Anita couldn't help but smile to herself as she made her way down to the guest house. The dirt path, stamped to perfect evenness over the years, was not yet dry enough to be dusty. Dew clung to the grass and wild daisies beside the way.

Even from here Anita could hear the beehives by the back of the house. The contented humming noise followed her down the dirt track. It was too early for anyone to be awake on a Monday morning. It was Anita's favorite time of day. The perfect peacefulness of a quiet sunrise filled her with something she couldn't quite describe — a nostalgia, or affection, for what had been her home for the past five years. She had grown so accustomed to the ranch she could not imagine life away from it.

She knew every corner of the property by memory and could have found her way around it on a moonless night. The main house, with its creaky floorboards and shaded terrace; the garden, an explosion of color and perfume, filled with carefully tended flowers and the beehives. They were Bella's pride and joy, but Anita had never gone too close. Though her fear of being stung kept her away from the hives, she enjoyed the rich honey Bella collected regularly.

The barn and stables, a short walk from the farmhouse, were just out of sight behind the familiar apple and pear trees. The breeze was just strong enough to carry the delicate scent of apple blossoms, and Anita smiled at the thought of fall and fresh apple pies, the single thing that would make the end of summer bearable. Beyond the stables and enclosures began the rolling hills that made up the largest part of the ranch's pastures and grazing land, the edge of which bordered the woods which led down to the lake.

A neighing horse pulled Anita out of her daydream — Artemis, Anita guessed. Artemis was always the first one up. She'd go and say hello, but breakfast first. She sprinted the last fifty yards of the path and arrived at the door to the guest house feeling exhilarated. Hair in tangles from the run and the breeze, intoxicated from the new day's summer air pumping through her veins, she opened the door and made to go to the kitchen.

The guest house wasn't a guest house — it hadn't been in a long time. Jo had arrived three years ago, Sally only six months later, and the two were now as much a part of the ranch as Anita, Nikki, and Bella. It was a smaller building, a bungalow with two bedrooms, a storage room, and a small corner kitchen. There wasn't even an entrance: the main door opened directly onto the cozy living room, with its south facing windows and worn, warm carpet. Jo and Sally had most of their meals at the farmhouse, but Anita knew Sally liked to keep the fridge stocked.

Both bedroom doors were closed, and Anita snuck through the living room. It was a mess, as usual, blankets and coats thrown haphazardly over the couch, a half-full glass of water on the coffee table, Jo's tools and Sally's riding equipment piled up in a corner. Anita rolled her eyes, went to the kitchen, and opened the fridge.

Twelve of yesterday's eggs sat on the top shelf of the door. Anita took five, closed the fridge, and was about to leave when she decided she might as well leave a note. The girls were bound to wake up soon, and if she was going to steal their eggs, she could at least invite them for pancakes. She found a scrap of paper on the kitchen counter and started looking around for a pen. Had this been her house, it would have been overflowing with stationary. Nikki seemed to drop pens and pencils wherever she walked. They were scattered about the entire house, in cups on tables and counters, lying on shelves, stuck on the fridge or beside the stove or squeezed between the cushions of the couch, and then forgotten there. But Jo and Sally either didn't write, or Nikki had stolen all their pens because there was none in sight. Eggs balanced in one hand, paper pressed between her lips, she made to check beneath the pile of blankets and jackets on the couch. As she reached her free hand to move them away, the pile moved.

Her lips, unwilling to part with the scrap of paper, stifled her scream into a squeak, and she took a few hasty steps backward, promptly tripping over a kink in the rug. Next thing she knew, she was sitting up, rubbing the back of her head with the hand that wasn't covered in smashed egg. A shadow passed over her.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright? You must be Sally. I didn't mean to startle you, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Anita said. She looked at the mess of egg in her hand.

"Yeah, imagine if you'd been those eggs."

Annoyed at the stranger for startling her and making her look like a fool, and annoyed at herself for the broken eggs, she looked up, ready with a retort, but was stopped dead in her tracks.

In the morning's shade, the eyes she met were a deep, intense blue. It was like looking at an azure ocean in a summer storm, and all thought of a rebuke fled Anita's mind. She felt suddenly small, small and lost in that gaze which seemed to see through her own and into her very soul.

The stranger blinked.

"Are you alright? Did you hit your head? Should I get some ice?"

Anita snapped out of it and shook her head.

"Just as well," the stranger said, "I don't know where the ice is."

"In the freezer, usually," Anita muttered. She tried to push herself up off the ground, forgetting the broken eggs. Her hand slipped out from beneath her and she felt herself falling again, but a strong hand caught her and pulled her to her feet. She was acutely aware that it was not her hand which now loosely held her wrist. She became aware, too, of how she must look, with her long, dark hair a tangled mess from the run and the fall, wearing a tattered apron which she hadn't thought to take off before leaving the house.

Kiss the Cook, the apron said. And now it was covered in broken egg remains. Great.

"Your eyes are closed," the stranger's voice said.

If I open them, the embarrassment becomes real, she thought, but she couldn't just keep her eyes shut forever. She'd need them, at the very least, to get out of the house without tripping over another bit of rug. And to wash the yolk off her hands. And apron. And possibly hair. So she opened her eyes.

Turned now, with her back against the window, she got her first glimpse of the stranger's face in the sunlight. A shock of disheveled hair, brown strands tinted golden in the early sunlight, stuck up at haphazard angles. Anita ran a hand through her own tangled mane, trying to pry loose some of the knots. He was tall, taller than her by a good deal, and Anita became keenly conscious of the fact that he was not wearing a shirt.

Greek gods would have wept.

Hoping the shade might hide her blush, she quickly focused her gaze back towards his face.

"Cerulean."

"What?" The stranger furrowed his eyebrows.

"What?" Realising she had been speaking, Anita began to stammer an excuse. "The, uh, I mean..."

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

"No! I mean yes. I mean no, I didn't and yes, I'm sure. I just meant..." She gave up. If this was how she was to start her day, so be it. "Your eyes," she said weakly. "They looked really dark before, but now they're more cerulean. I just... noticed."

"They change color with my mood," the stranger said, seriously.

"Really?"

"No, of course not." He chuckled. "It's just the direct sunlight. I'm sorry about your apron."

Anita looked down. The apron looked distinctly eggy.

"It's fine, it's an apron, it's meant to get dirty... I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Right, of course, sorry. I'm Tristan. Your friend, Flo-"

"Jo."

"Right. She picked me up last night."

Anita raised an eyebrow.

"That seems... unlikely."

"I needed a ride," Tristan explained, "so she offered to drive me, I asked her to take me into town, she said the motel would be closed and offered to let me crash on the couch instead. She wasn't sure if you were home last night, but I thought she meant you might come in during the night, not six in the morning. With eggs. And an apron."

Anita stopped. Why would she be coming home in the middle of the... oh.

"I'm not Sally. I'm Anita."

"Oh. Wait. You don't live here?"

"I live in the farmhouse. I needed eggs, and I didn't want to go all the way to the chicken coop, and... why am I explaining myself to you? You don't live here either."

Tristan laughed, and Anita felt a warmth that was definitely not sunlight.

"Well, nice to meet you." Tristan held out his hand. Anita looked at it, and then at her own egg-covered one.

"I need to wash my hands."

"Yes. Sorry about that."

"What's with all the darn noise?"

Anita looked up. Tristan turned around. Still in pajamas, with hair that looked like it was actively trying to escape from her head, Jo was leaning out of her door, looking disgruntled.

"Morning," Anita said. "I just met Tristan."

"Okay. Tristan, Anita, Anita, Tristan. Keep it down, guys, Sally's still asleep."

"So she's back?" Anita asked.

"I thought I heard something during the night," Tristan muttered.

"Yes. She went to the wrong bed."

"Sounds like fun," Tristan commented.

Jo frowned.

"She broke up with Connor," she said, directing her gaze at Anita. "It was bad. I think we should let her sleep off the hangover. Are those our eggs?"

"They were," Tristan said.

"Shut up," Anita muttered.

"Glad you're friends. I'm getting in the shower. You making breakfast?"

"Yep. Pancakes?"

"Sounds good." Jo closed her bedroom door and reappeared a moment later, fluffy pink bathrobe slung over one arm.

"Um, I'll just..." Tristan looked around uncomfortably.

"Want to help me with breakfast?" Anita asked.

"Yes. Sure. Eggs?"

"In the fridge. Hang on, Jo, I need to wash my hands."

They stepped outside a moment later, Tristan now sporting a snug white t-shirt, laden with six eggs and Sally's favorite blackberry jam.

"So, you and Sally and Jo... Anyone else I should know about? I assume you don't live there by yourself," Tristan said, nodding up at the farmhouse.

"Bella and Nikki, and the summer ranch hands share the spare bunk room. Connor arrived at the start of the year. Raoul's new, he's been here a couple of weeks."

"Sounds like a crowd."

"It's lively. And there are the animals."

"Chickens, right?" Tristan held up the eggs he was carrying.

"Horses, mostly. We have a couple of cows, too. And bees."

"Very idyllic."

"Very hard work," Anita replied.

"What, feeding horses and riding through the fields all day?"

"Yeah, sure that's all there is. Feeding, and cleaning, and mucking stalls, and checking food and drink supplies and quantities, and training the horses, and riding lessons, and keeping on top of the vet and the farrier and the suppliers, and that's for thirty-five horses, mind you, and then there's the cow, we got a calf needs looking after, and the chickens, facilities need cleaning, you have riders complaining about every darn detail day in day out, the garden needs tending, and the orchard, and the bees, and..."

"I get it, I get it. Wow." Tristan sounded genuinely impressed. "You do all that?"

"Well," Anita admitted, "we divide up tasks, really. Jo and I do most of the stable work. And Raoul. The summer season is always busier. Sally does riding lessons, I sometimes help out there, too. Jo does quick mechanical stuff, I think she worked in mechanics somewhere before she came here, but Connor is in charge of all the heavy-duty stuff."

"Jo's not from here?"

"Nobody really is. Well, Bella and Nikki have been here a lifetime. Or you know, a while, at least. I think Nikki moved out here when she finished school, needed a summer job and just stayed on. I got here five years ago. Mind the threshold."

"What? Shoot." Tristan stumbled over the front door but didn't fall.

"I said, mind the threshold. Jo and Sally arrived nearly at the same time. Sally's a professional teacher, I broke my wrist and she took over for a bit, and we decided to keep her on. Jo came from the city, she didn't really like it there I don't think."

"Aren't you jealous?" Tristan asked, following Anita into the kitchen.

"Jealous? Of Jo? Why would I be?"

"No, of Sally. She took your job, didn't she?"

Anita smiled. "Not at all. Made my life heaps easier. I much prefer being around the horses on their own rather than being around whining children who've never ridden a horse before."

"You don't like children, but you used to be a riding teacher?" Tristan asked.

"No. Kids are great, but I don't want eight of them kicking some poor animals just because they don't understand them."

"Children are like that, you just have to teach them not to use force."

"Mine won't be. Okay, pass me that bowl." She pointed at a shelf in one of the cabinets. She had told Nikki not to put the bowls up so high, but Nikki always, always forgot. Tristan, however, easily lifted the bowl off the shelf. His eyes lingered on the cabinet.

"How would you have reached that if I hadn't been here?"

"I would have used a chair," Anita said, trying to sound nonchalant, but thankfully her hair had fallen over her blushing cheeks as she checked the fridge for milk. "Or asked Raoul, if he was around. Here, whisk this up with the eggs." She poured out the milk in a smaller bowl from the drying rack and passed it to Tristan. They worked in amicable silence for a few minutes, and Anita wondered if Tristan felt as comfortable in it as she did. Perhaps he didn't, since, two minutes into the amicable silence, he broke it.

"Evita..."

"Anita. You're not very good at names, are you?"

He smiled apologetically.

"How long do I have to whisk this for?"

Anita looked at the frothy mixture.

"That's about right."

There was a steady click of footsteps in the hall.

"Mornin'. Ooh. Morning."

They both turned around. Nikki was standing in the door to the kitchen, looking inquisitive. Tall, poised, and in an outfit that could have cut diamonds, she finished pinning up her sleek, coppery hair with help of a hairpin she had been holding between her teeth, then raised an eyebrow at Anita in silent question as she adjusted her collar.

"Tristan," Tristan said. "Becca?"

"Bella," Anita corrected him.

"Nikki," Nikki corrected her. "Pleasure. Why... never mind, we're late. Have you seen Bella?"

"No, I thought you were both asleep," Anita said. She couldn't imagine why either of them would be up before ten on their only day off. "Why are you up?"

"We're going into town. Weattie wants to see us," Nikki said wearily. She felt tired just thinking about the man. But there wasn't any time to be tired. "Save me a pancake?"

"Maybe even two."

"Thanks. If you see Bella, tell her I'll be in the car and gone in five. Nice meeting you, Tristan." She smiled hastily, but her eyes lingered as she left.

"You too," Tristan said. "She seems nice."

"Yes, though she's been real stressed, lately. I think it's Weattie."

"Who's Weattie?"

"Who's nosy? I'm joking, I'm joking." Anita turned on the stove. "He owns the ranch, he employs us all. It's been a good long while since Nikki looked that stressed, though. Maybe Weattie got a big complaint from a customer or something. You know, they think we don't feed their horse the right stuff, or we feed it too much, or too little, or we don't give them enough time in the pastures, or too much, or too little, or all sorts of things."

"Hey. Who're you? Who hired the chef?" Bella walked into the kitchen and looked into the mixing bowl. "Pancakes. Save me a couple, will you? I'm off to see Weattie. Who're you?" She repeated.

"Tristan. Becky. No. Bella. Bella?"

"That's me. What are you doing here, Tristan?"

Tristan picked up the mixing bowl.

"Making pancakes. Are you looking for Vicky?"

"No. Who's Vicky?" Bella turned questioningly to Anita.

"Nikki," Anita said.

"Oh. Yeah, her I am looking for. You seen her?"

"She came by looking for you. She's probably in the car by now."

"Guess I'm in the car too, then. Nice meeting you. Enjoy the pancakes."

"You too."

And she was gone.

"You were right," Tristan said, handing Anita the bowl, "it is lively here."

They set the table for five, but Raoul, who usually spent his free day with friends in town, was nowhere in sight. Jo arrived on her own. The table in the living room was warm with sunlight, and Anita tied up her hair to better enjoy the warmth of the light against her neck. They ate amidst playful conversation, and Anita felt like it had been like this forever. It was strange, how naturally Tristan seemed to fit in, the casual ease with which he sat at the table as if it had been his chair all along.

"So your friend, Sa..."

"Sally," Anita said before he could get another one wrong.

"She's asleep?"

"Yeah," Jo said, all but pouring the jam out of the jar and onto her small stack of pancakes. "Must've been bad. They'd been going out for nearly six months. She didn't say much last night, it was mostly crying. Pass the powdered sugar."

"On jam?"

"Are you judging your hosts?" Jo asked sweetly.

"No, no. You do you." He passed the sugar. "Actually," he set down his fork. "I was wondering what I owe you."

"What?" Anita asked.

"What?" Jo repeated.

"I mean, for driving me, and taking me in, and making me breakfast. I'm not a freeloader."

"Well you technically made the breakfast yourself," Anita pointed out.

"And you made it for the rest of us, too," Jo added.

"With your ingredients. Come on. Please. I insist."

Anita looked at Jo, who shrugged.

"How much would you pay at a motel? Fifty bucks?"

"Jo!" Anita said sharply.

"Alright, alright. If you won't stay for free, why don't you help out on the farm for a bit?"

"Unless you have somewhere to be," Anita interjected.

"I don't," Tristan said quickly. "Nowhere to be at all. I'm all yours."

"Very sweet," Jo said dryly. She powdered her pancake and cut a bit off. "Actually, that's great, though. I have a feeling Connor may not be making a return anytime soon, so we could use the help."

"Who would've thought," said Tristan. "But yes. I'd love to help. Never worked on a ranch before, though. I may be more trouble than I'm worth."

"I'm sure you almost definitely will be," Jo said, patting his arm. "We can set you up at ours, there's a spare room. It's tiny and filled with junk, but there's a bed frame, and if you don't need too much space..."

"Sounds better than a couch," Tristan said with a smile.

"Great." Jo finished off her pancakes and got up. "I'm going to take some over to Sally," she said. "You good on your own for a bit?"

"Yeah, of course," Anita said, "I've got help now, don't I?"

"Yep. But don't go replacing me with the new boy," she teased, tousling Anita's hair before going towards the kitchen.

"I'd never," Anita said, trying to fix her mussed up bun. "Tell Sally to take it easy," she shouted, as the front door slammed shut.

"You too," came a shout back from outside.

Tristan raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"She's a bit strange," Anita said with a shrug. "Come on, dishes, then horses."

"I'm excited already," Tristan said.

## **CHAPTER TWO**

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It was Monday, which meant feeding the horses. Tuesday also meant feeding the horses, as did every other day. Because horses eat every day. This is what Anita explained to Tristan as they crossed the yard.

"So in the morning, you feed the horses, evening you muck out?"

"Well, mornings we muck out too. And horses don't just eat in the morning, you know."

"You muck out twice a day?"

"Horses are... messy," Anita laughed. They took a shortcut to the back of the red-roofed barn, a large, weathered building. "Here grab this." Anita handed Tristan a bucket of grain.

"I thought horses ate apples and sugar lumps?"

"Oh my," Anita laughed, shaking her head. "We have a lot of work to do. Follow me."

Anita led Tristan around the barn and to the adjacent stable. Tristan noted she was carrying two much fuller buckets of grain than himself, but he said nothing. Sliding the rusty red door open with her foot, Anita nodded inside.

"So where are you going?"

"I'm following you," Tristan said, raising a strong, dark eyebrow.

"No, last night. Where were you going?"

"Oh. I don't know."

"You don't know where you're going?" Anita stopped in her tracks. "Put that down there. What do you mean?"

"I mean, I left New York six weeks ago and... I don't know. I'm heading west. Have you never just set out without a plan? Let the chips fall where they may?"

Anita thought back on her life, considered seriously for a moment her childhood spent on a farm not dissimilar to this, and the friendly recommendation that had brought her to this ranch five years ago. She had driven for six hours, alone apart from the road atlas in the passenger seat. She had known exactly where she was going. "Yeah, sure. So you're from the city?"

"Yeah."

Anita opened the first horse box and walked in. "Morning, Artemis," she cooed, stroking the silver Thoroughbred. The horse impatiently stamped her hooves, shaking her black mane. "Alright, I'm getting to it." Anita turned around. "Tristan?"

Tristan was lingering at the stall entrance, warily eyeing the nickering horse. "I'm good here," he said.

Anita went to the stall entrance and grabbed his hand. "Come on." She led him up to the giant animal, who stood still, staring at the stranger. "Artemis, Tristan. Tristan, Artemis. Artemis is Bella's horse. Hold out your hand, Tristan, Artemis would like to say hello." Tristan raised his eyebrows. "Come on, we don't have all day." Letting go of Anita's hand, he slowly raised his palm to the horse. His eyes never left its bright, silver-white face. Holding his hand about eight inches from the horse's face, he was surprised when Artemis gently pushed her muzzle against his palm. The soft, velvety fur of her nose tickled his skin. He smiled.

Anita nodded, satisfied with the introduction. "Now you've met Artemis, the others should be a breeze." She began scooping grain from the bucket into the horse's trough. "What's the city like?"

Tristan looked through the open stable door at the lush green mountainside and feathery clusters of evergreen pines. Distant dark rock faces and sheer cliffs provided a dramatic backdrop to the rolling grassy hills of the ranch. "It's, uh, different."

"How? Tell me how."

Tristan copied her, scooping grain from the bucket. "Haven't you ever been to a city?"

"Not really," she said, thinking. She unlatched the door of the next horse box. "Does West Birkham count?" she asked.

"Where?" exclaimed Tristan from the next stall.

"I guess not." She patted Willow as she left the stall. "That's Willow, the buckskin."

"Buckskin?"

"It's the color. Willow's sweet, wouldn't hurt a fly. Go on." She nudged Tristan towards Willow, and he tentatively patted her neck.

"And that's Midnight, he's Jo's." She filled up Midnight's trough too and asked Tristan to tell her more about the city.

"It's not so green. It's not so fresh. Fewer horses, for sure." Tristan followed her into the next stall. "Who's this?"

"Adagio. Nikki's horse."

"She's beautiful."

"He's beautiful," she corrected. The Arabian Palomino always drew attention, with his golden mane and unusually silky sandy coat. "And I get that it's not the same, but tell me what it's like."

Tristan sighed, leaning against the wooden beam of the stall door. "It's gray. The tallest thing isn't mountains, it's skyscrapers — glass and concrete and steel. They're the backbone of the city. That, and tarmac. You have roads over roads over roads. You've got highways and freeways and junctions and crossings, all zigzagging over each other like some messed up game of noughts and crosses. There are buildings that take up entire blocks, they stretch a mile long and go up nearly as high. And the people — you can't cross the street sometimes for the people coming the other way, all busy and important with their tailored suits and golden Rolexes, briefcase in hand. Well," he mused, stroking Adagio's nose, "it's not all like that, not really. You have your business districts and shopping streets and theatres, but you also have the underbelly. The seedy side. The alleyways that wind past dripping gutters, hidden doorways under neon lights. Below the yellow taxis and blaring horns you have the fluorescence of the subway, people crammed like sardines in the underground. You have benches tucked beneath underpasses, with tramps sleeping rough. A city is a coin of two sides, and you have to flip it to see which side you are on."

"And you were in the underbelly?" Anita asked, imagining his piercing cobalt eyes as the only burst of color in a sea of grizzled concrete.

"No," he laughed. "Wait, do I look like a came from the underbelly?" he asked seriously, furrowing his brow. He ran his hand self-consciously through his gold-flecked hair.

She grinned at him mischievously. "I don't know, you were pretty disheveled this morning. No shirt, hair unbrushed, you were a regular mess."

He laughed. "At least I escaped the eggs."

She bit her lip, blushing. "True." She closed Adagio's stall, walked to the next one. "Are you helping, or just watching?"

"Sorry," he said, handing her a fresh bucket of grain. "And no, I wasn't in the underbelly. I was a city golden boy."

"So why did you leave?"

"You know. Sometimes it can be a bit stifling to always be in the same place. Have you never just felt that something was missing? That maybe there is more out there for you, somewhere?"

Anita looked around her at the stable rich with equestrian life. The glossy chestnut thoroughbreds, the gold and silver palominos, the dappled gray ponies, each stall bursting with velvet fur and silky manes, dark eyes cast inquisitively towards the new arrival. Through the back of the stable, she glimpsed the abundant green overgrowth, the leafy verdure, the mossy hillsides... a soft summer breeze wafted the fruity fragrance of the apple orchard through the stable, dissipating the smell of manure and the heady scent of straw. She was lucky, she supposed, that she was already in the place she had dreamt of as a kid.

"I know what you mean. So you just packed up your bags, and left?"

"Pretty much."

"Is no one missing you?"

"Maybe. I'm not missing them." He laughed. "I'm joking," he added when Anita looked concerned.

"Where were you before this?" They reached the final two stalls: an elegant dark brown bay Quarter Horse, and a tall chestnut Clydesdale.

"The side of a highway thumbing lifts. Who is this?" Tristan asked, holding his hand tentatively out to the dark bay.

Anita grinned. "This is Wildfire. She's my horse. I've had her since I moved here. I taught her everything she knows." She affectionately scratched the horse's chin. "And that," she said, pointing to the Clydesdale in the opposite stall, "will be your horse. Chestnut."

"Woah, you're giving me a horse?"

"No, while you're on the ranch you're borrowing a horse. His owner moved away last year, he visits once a year, pays for upkeep. But Chestnut always needs a rider." She grabbed Tristan's hand again, led him over to the stall. "He's big, but he doesn't bite. A gentle giant." She moved his hand to pat the giant horse's strong, muscled flank. Suddenly she was very aware she had her hand laced in Tristan's. She dropped it and quickly resumed feeding Wildfire in the opposite stall. Tristan was silent with Chestnut for a while. When Anita glanced over, he had moved up to the horse's neck and was gently talking in his ear. He had a natural charisma that seemed to work on people and animals alike. It was difficult to not trust his easy charm and friendly demeanor. In spite of herself, Anita felt completely at peace with this perfect stranger. Wildfire gently nudged her shoulder as she stared over at the Adonis in the opposite box. "I know," she giggled to her horse. "I know."

Stepping out of the stall, she latched the door shut and Tristan did the same. They walked down the stable together, passing the freshly fed happy horses, empty buckets in hand.

"You still haven't told me where you were before this," Anita said, closing the barn door. The sun was now high in the azure sky, streaming hot on her bare arms.

Tristan sighed, running his free hand through his hair, swinging the empty bucket in the other. "I don't know. I left the city on a train, I got a lift for fifty miles or so in a truck. I stopped at a fruit farm for a while, helping out with maintenance. It was nice to be out of the city, but I could still see the smoke of the factories. It wasn't far enough so I kept heading west."

"And then where?" She opened the storage shed and stacked the buckets inside each other on the shelf.

"You want a blow by blow account?" he asked.

"What's the point of traveling if you're not going to tell people about it later?" she joked.

He laughed. "That's true. Ok, well I camped out a few nights by Lake Michigan. And being a total hapless city boy, I caught a cold." Anita snorted. "A couple picked me up at the roadside, and they took me to see a doctor."

"For a cold? You princess!"

"They were a bit overzealous," Tristan admitted. "Anyway, I then spent a few days getting out of the city. I spent a while on the roads, trying to catch a ride out of town. I did a few days in a lumber yard, but it's so unbelievably loud. And there's something totally horrifying about seeing those trees come down. So then I moved on. I just moved from town to town for a while. You know — spend an evening at a bar, find someone to take you home."

"Oh, right," said Anita, rolling her eyes. She started pulling tools out of the shed.

"No, not like that!" Tristan protested, playfully pushing her shoulder. "No, it was mostly older men. They take me home to their trailer and put me up on the couch — all they want is for someone to tell their story to. Or you know, they take me back to the home with the wife, they want someone to lighten the mood at the dinner table, or distract their family for a moment from whatever mistake they last made. Sometimes it's women — but not like that."

Anita smiled to herself. The wave of jealousy that had swelled within her faded. "Ok, I believe you're not sleeping your way around the country," she said lightly. "Are you ready for the next job?"

"What's next?" he grinned eagerly.

She handed him a shovel. "Mucking out."

Tristan grimaced. "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess. Don't you have a stable hand for this?"

She laughed. "And who do you think you are, your highness?"

They laughed and joked as they went back into the stable. The sweet summer birdsong drifted in the wind, but Anita would hear nothing but the lilting music of Tristan's voice for the rest of the week.

## **CHAPTER THREE**

### **_-_**

###

"Over there, look."

"Where?" Nikki asked.

"Just there, behind the Rover."

Nikki rolled forward slowly and wedged the truck between the Land Rover and a black Ford. They squeezed past semi-opened doors and Nikki manually locked the truck — the automatic lock had broken millennia ago. Bella couldn't remember the last time it had worked. They had tried to persuade Connor to fix it when the mechanic had asked for a $150 for the job, but he had never gotten around to it. So manual lock it was. They stepped onto the sidewalk. Bella noticed Nikki adjusting her blazer. She had dressed up for the first few meetings with Weattie but had soon discovered he didn't give a rat's ass how people were dressed, so long as they made him money or gave him money. Not that he was a bad man: Bella knew there was far worse out there as far as landowners went. But Weattie had a way about him, something that irked her to her very core. He was open, loud, smiling, and hearty, but for some reason the only appropriate word Bella could think of to describe him was slimy. They walked down the street — Weattie's office street had no parking spaces — kicking up dust as they went.

East Birkham was a small town, even by small-town standards. At barely 5000 people and possibly as many horses, it had a small police station (but a sizeable fire department, thanks to the overwhelming amount of wooden structures in the area), three bars, a bowling alley which doubled as a cinema on weekends, one grocery store (with a small gourmet aisle), a bi-weekly produce market, a few doctors and vets (of which Bella was fairly certain at least a few did both), a positive overkill of riding gear and outfit shops, two farriers, and a school, which also housed the public library. And, of course, Bill Weattie's office.

Weattie owned land all over the county, and probably beyond. There was a nasty rumor circulating that he bought properties the owners couldn't afford, and then made them work their asses off all their lives to stay there. His office was in a squat, cubic building which had likely once been red brick, but had at some point in the past ten years been painted over with a violent shade of yellow, accumulating enough grime, dust, and rain that it now looked a bit like an old bath sponge. Nikki walked up the few steps and rang the doorbell for the first floor.

There was a moment of silence, then a smoky, contralto female voice was heard through the speaker. "Yes hi, Weattie Properties Management, how can I help?"

"Does she know that's not a phone?" Bella whispered to Nikki. Nikki ignored the comment and smiled brightly into the doorbell camera.

"Hi, is Weattie around? We have an appointment."

There was a moment's pause, then:

"Oh, heya, Nikki. Didn't recognize ya there. Come on up."

The door buzzed and they walked in.

Bella had never known or asked what was on the ground floor, but the first floor of the building was positively depressing. A cornflower carpet covered the floorboards. The walls were painted a blue so light it was almost white, and was decorated with large, blown up photos of the seaside. Each photo had a description, like some rare piece of artwork. Bella knew them all off by heart: Greece, Thailand, White Beach, New Zealand... It was, in Bella's opinion, the single most depressing proof of unachieved dreams. They looked into the room where Norah, Weattie's assistant, sat behind a desk, a cup of coffee held under her nose like it was aqua vitae. The edge of her desk was decorated with glued-on seashells — no doubt Weattie's purchase--but Norah had taken down whatever seaside photography had ever hung up in her room and replaced it with a single large painting of a frog.

"Morning, Norah," Nikki chimed, and Norah looked up.

"Heya."

"Rough night?" Bella asked, looking pointedly at the coffee.

"Oh, no, it was alright. Worked until two am, though, it was hard. Not so good at waking up early, either."

"Can't believe you're still working at the Tap," Bella commented, "you should ask Weattie for a raise."

"I have," Norah said, pointedly.

"Right. Well..."

"Oh, you can go right through, I think he's on the phone to his mother."

"Thanks."

"No worries."

"She works way too hard," Nikki muttered as they moved on.

"Yeah, well, whatcha know, Weattie's not as nice as you might think."

They knocked on the door.

"Come right on in."

Weattie's office looked like someone who had never seen the sea had described it to a blind interior designer. Bella sat down in one of the bamboo chairs, the back of which had been adorned with a row of dried starfish. Nikki's chair had a preserved seahorse hanging from the back.

"Ladies, what can I do for you on this fine morning?"

Bill Weattie, it couldn't be denied, was a handsome man. Though no longer in the prime of his life, his hair had a natural bounce to it that would have made any hairdresser swoon, and if his jaw was no longer perfectly chiseled, it was well-hidden behind a primly trimmed beard and mustache. His eyes were the washed out, watery green of dollar bills, and his teeth were so white it was painful to look directly at them. He leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly.

"You called us here, Bill," Bella deadpanned.

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Weattie said, with a chuckle. "Right, right, right. Now, where are we on..." He pushed his chair back and rifled through a drawer. "Ah. Yeah, here we go." He took out a large file and laid it on the desk.

"Girls, I'm afraid I got bad news," he said soberly. Nikki glanced sideways at Bella. Their eyes met, and Bella saw Nikki looked as nervous as she herself felt. "Oh don't worry, ladies, nothing tragic, I'm still single," he said and gave a hearty laugh. "No, no, let's get serious. It's about the ranch."

"Shocking," Bella muttered. Nikki kicked her ankle.

"What kind of bad news?" Nikki asked.

"Look, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but..." Weattie brought his fingers together in a contemplative gesture. "It's just not going great, is it? I know you got rent money coming in from the animals, and the lessons, and orchard..."

"And the honey," Bella added.

"And the honey," Weattie conceded. "But it just ain't enough. Last quarter's report? We're barely topping costs here, ladies, and something's got to be done."

"I think--" started Bella, but Nikki interjected.

"Are you firing us?" Nikki asked. She had never been one to edge her way around a question.

"What?" Weattie looked shocked. "No! No, darlin', of course not. You girls are the only reason we're bringing in anything at all! No, I'm speaking upkeep. Maintenance. Land." He took out a folded piece of paper from the file and opened it up. It was a map of the property. Bella could see the main house, and the guest house, and the edge of the lake. There were even tiny dotted lines for the fences, and circles drawn in for the beehives. He was a jackass, but the man knew his way around a map. He jabbed his finger at the guest house.

"Now this," he said, circling the guest house, orchard, and garden, "is the problem. You see, I did all the calculations, and Frank double-checked, and it doesn't add up."

Frank was Weattie's accountant. Bella had never met him herself, but she'd heard about the man often enough to deeply dislike him.

"What do you mean?" Nikki asked slowly.

"I mean, we don't need it. Look here, we can dilly dally round it all you like, but based on the last report, this land is costing more to maintain than it is worth. There just ain't no reason to keep it if we ain't gonna be putting more horses in it. Or maybe cows. Everyone's got cows now, I hear that's a good business."

"Wait, what are you proposing to do?" Bella asked.

"We? Nothing. I'm gonna sell it."

"Sell the ranch?" Bella asked.

"No, no, just this part," he said, jabbing his finger at the map.

"You can't split up the ranch," Bella spat.

"I didn't call you in here for a discussion," he said, with a patronizing smile. "This is your four-week warning. Land's going in a month, I found a buyer. Now he's being tough, but I think I can get a decent price outta him."

"What?" Nikki said. She stood up. "What do you mean, a month? We have people living in there! What do you propose we do, put them up in the barn? And what about the garden? That's a part of the main building, why on earth would you sell that, too? And this," she pointed at the orchard," is this not a part of the profit we're gaining? And four weeks? That's not enough time to do anything!"

Where Nikki had begun to sound panicked, Bella's voice took on a low, threatening tone.

"This is not what we discussed, Weattie."

Weattie raised his hands defensively.

"Now look here, Nikki, I woulda told you sooner, it's all happening fast for me, too. But the faster the better, as soon as we sell this we can maximise on everything else. And you know what that means?" He waited a few seconds, but when no answer came, he clapped his hands together and said, "Y'all are getting a raise! Come on now, don't look so damn pooped. This is business, right? You'll see, it'll all work out in the end. We're gonna have so much money we'll be using it for kindling!" He let out another barking laugh. "Well, that's it. Does y'all want a cup of coffee? Norah's been drinking it down like water, but I'm sure we got some left for you two."

"No, thanks," Nikki said. She tapped Bella's shoulder. "We really should get going. Lot's to do. Bees. Fruit. Horses. You know."

"I sure do. Not for long, though. Good seeing you ladies." He winked. "Always a pleasure."

They waved a hasty goodbye to Norah on the way out, and before Bella knew, they were back in the truck. Nikki was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

"What are we going to do?" she said. "How the heck are we gonna tell the others?"

## **CHAPTER FOUR**

### **_-_**

###

Tristan had spent the last four days mucking out the stables, endlessly refilling water troughs and weight lifting bucket after bucket of grain. The work was repetitive, but something about the constant physical exercise, the fresh Midwest summer air and the breathtaking mountainscape made it refreshingly different each day. That and the quirky individual personality of the horses. He was beginning to learn each of their defining traits.

Adagio was as even-tempered as he was beautiful, but he had an insatiable thirst and needed his trough filled twice as often as any other horse. Midnight would only eat grain from the left side of the manger, while Agnes had a terrible habit of laughing as she ate, spraying oats everywhere. Goodness knows what horses laugh at. Wildfire would neigh hello whenever he walked past, but neigh twice for Anita. Artemis always stamped aggressively when you unlatched her box, but would immediately still when she saw the bucket. An early riser, she was often the first awake.

He learned the horse's names faster than the ranch hands' — was it Raoul, or Ralph, or Rolf? — though he had learned all the girls, he thought. Although he had called Anita 'Annie' last night over dinner, and she'd scowled: "I don't do nicknames." Her nose wrinkled adorably.

He tumbled out of bed that morning, ran his fingers through his hair and pulled on a fresh shirt. He paused at the mirror, debated shaving his day-old stubble, but decided to forgo it in favor of dashing into the yard to see the sunrise over the mountains.

Anita was sitting on the steps of the porch, watching the yellow light filter into the candy blue summer sky. A violet midnight streak was a natural vignette to the scene. Tristan sat down beside her on the porch, his denim thigh grazing her bare one. She almost didn't blush when he touched her anymore. Almost.

She silently handed him a coffee, and he sipped it. There was nothing quite like a good, strong American coffee in the morning, though he noticed she religiously drank tea every time.

"So what are we doing today, boss?"

"What did we do yesterday?"

"Feeding, mucking out, feeding, mucking out."

"What do you think we should do today?"

"Feeding?"

"Good guess."

"Mucking out?"

"My, you are a clever boy."

He finished down the dregs of his coffee. "I suppose we better get started then?"

"Let's. But I'm gonna get dressed first," Anita said. She got up and took Tristan's mug, barely pausing when their fingers brushed against each other. "You can go down to the stables, you don't have to wait for me."

Tristan greeted the horses in the stable one by one, petting Artemis's nose, scratching Willow behind the ears where she liked it, stopping to admire Adagio's sleek, silky mane. Midnight had his back turned to him, but Tristan quipped a "good morning" anyway. Wildfire greeted him with her usual neigh.

"Hey, Chestnut."

Chestnut stuck his head over the stall door and nuzzled Tristan's hair.

"How are you, boy? Hungry?"

Chestnut snorted, and Tristan dug into his pocket for a carrot. He had started making a habit of carrying around snacks for the horses, and it had paid off. Chestnut really was a gentle giant, and despite his size, Tristan felt perfectly comfortable around him. He wasn't a loud horse, but Tristan could see in his kind round eyes that Chestnut was an understanding companion.

Wildfire neighed again.

"Sorry, Wildfire, Anita's still getting dressed."

Wildfire and Chestnut both perked up at the sound of Anita's name, and Chestnut gave Tristan a nudge in the chest.

"She's pretty great, huh?" Tristan said, more to himself than to the horse. Chestnut snorted derisively.

"What? It's just nice to have someone to show me around. Someone to talk to. I think she really understands me, you know?"

Chestnut nodded his head, then began to nuzzle Tristan's pockets. Tristan laughed and combed his fingers through the Clydesdale's shaggy mane.

"Yeah, you understand me too."

"What are you boys talking about?"

Anita approached Wildfire's stall and greeted her with a kiss on the nose. Then she turned accusingly towards Tristan.

"Nothing. Just gossiping about you."

"I thought so." Anita turned back to Wildfire. "Maybe we should make Tristan muck out all the stalls on his own today, huh?"

Wildfire nickered in agreement.

"Don't you dare," Tristan said, and Anita laughed making her way to the end of the stable to open the other door.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't trust you alone with a task so important. Come on, let's get to work."

They passed the morning in easy conversation, joking and quipping with each other as they worked side by side. Anita was pleased — she almost didn't have to tell Tristan what to do anymore.

As they finished mucking out, Jo came into the barn. "Morning! How's my favorite freeloader?"

She smirked at Tristan who playfully prodded her in the ribs. Anita rolled her eyes. "Dipshit. This boy just cleaned out your horse."

"Well I am eternally indebted to you, sir," said Jo with an eccentric bow. Turning to Anita, her face straightened. "Sally is... sick."

"Again?"

"The Tipsy Tap sent her home at three am. She's not looking great right now. I've asked Bella to take her classes — can you two take the horses out to pasture, though? I'm going to try and sort her out."

Anita nodded. "Sure. It would be good to get a ride in today."

Jo nodded, smiling gratefully. She gently touched Anita's arm, before saluting Tristan and ducking out of the barn.

"Pasture?" said Tristan quizzically raising a dark eyebrow.

"Taking the horses to the field. Give them some air, a chance to stretch their legs, find their own favorite patch of grass to munch on."

"So we lead them out, or...?"

Anita chuckled. "We ride out with them." Tristan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "What's wrong?"

"I've — well, I've never ridden a horse."

Anita waved her hand. "It's easy, you'll pick it up in no time. Like riding a bike."

She opened the back door of the stable, which opened out into an expansive field of lush greenery. She opened each stable door, lifting the latch and taking the horse by the bridle, gently slapping the rumps of those resisting the call of the wild. Soon, all but Chestnut and Wildfire were out in the field. Anita showed Tristan to the saddles and tack and demonstrated by saddling up Wildfire, who shook his glossy head in anticipation for the ride. Chestnut, patient as a rock, stood perfectly still as Tristan struggled with the stirrups. Once Tristan had adjusted the stirrups, he was surprised to see Anita take her saddle off Wildfire again.

"Aren't you riding with me?" He asked, alarmed.

"Of course I am," Anita laughed easily, "but I prefer riding bareback. It just feels more natural. Riding is all about communication, it's hard to really connect when there's a saddle in the way."

"Well that sounds better," Tristan said. He looked thoughtfully at his saddle.

"You're not ready," Anita said, reading his mind. "You have to learn how to ride with a saddle first."

"But wouldn't it be easier to just skip the saddle altogether?"

"No. You can't master the movement without learning the rhythm. And I don't want you falling off," she added. "Ok, so the important thing to know before you get on a horse: it's all in the heels. Chestnut knows the ropes, so don't be dragging the bridle all over the place. A little twist to the left, a nudge to the right..."

"And how do I get on?"

Anita bit her lip, trying not to laugh. As someone who had ridden horses since she was old enough to walk, this felt a bit like trying to explain how to use a spoon. But it was the first time she had seen this confident Adonis look uncertain, and she reveled in his vulnerability. So she kept a straight face, and showed him the technique, swinging herself onto Wildfire. He looked warily at Chestnut, a giant by any standards, and Anita hopped off, gently pushing a crate towards the mammoth animal. Stepping onto the box, and a few (a few more than a few, perhaps, but who was counting?) attempts later, Tristan was astride the velvet beast looking both ecstatic and alarmed. Anita stayed on the ground beside him.

"Ok, so press your heels — gently! — into his side."

Chestnut started forward and Tristan called out in surprise. "Help. Help!"

Anita laughed. "Don't worry, you're doing great. Now pull back on the reins — not too hard!"

The horse halted in its tracks.

"And that's it — start and stop. You're pretty much a pro already."

Tristan smiled nervously as Anita hopped onto Wildfire. She pulled up beside him and gestured to the open field before them. "Shall we?"

A flicker of fear crossed his piercing blue eyes, but he nodded, gripping the reins tightly. They walked forward together.

Anita chattered about the riding school and horse speeds. Tristan half listened, worried about the animal beneath him. "Ok, let's try a trot," she said. "Squeeze a little harder."

Suddenly the horse lurched out, striding forward. "Not that hard!" Anita cried, her own horse cantering after them. "Pull back!"

In a panic, Tristan jabbed the horse's rein hard to right. The horse veered sharply, nearly cutting Anita off. "Gently, back straight!" She yelled.

The horse slowed, and Wildfire pulled up beside him. "Ok, watch out, I'm coming on." She hopped from her horse onto the back of Chestnut. The horse whinnied a little. She placed her hands over his, unable to see past his broad, muscular shoulders. "Ok, feel my movement," she muttered. Her legs twisted around his, and he felt her heels move ever so slightly into the horse's flank.

Chestnut began to walk forward. Anita moved her left hand a fraction, and the horse turned, gently, to the left. She shifted her heels again. Tristan felt the flex of her thigh muscles against his, and Chestnut moved into a brisk trot. A hand gesture to the right and the horse followed her; another pulse of her thighs, a tightening of her calves, and the horse was cantering through the field. The wind whipped his hair, her long black hair streaming out behind them both.

"Ready for some speed?" she whispered in Tristan's ear. She didn't wait for an answer. Squeezing her heels to Chestnut's side, and gripping his hands tighter, suddenly the horse was galloping over the pasture. Tristan tried to remember when he had moved this fast. Driving in a car or riding a plane was different, an easy way to forget about the journey, to get from A to B with as little thought as possible. But this... the wind on his cheeks, the air snatching from his lungs... Even on the heavy saddle, he could feel Chestnut's muscles work with every bound, could feel the horse's power beneath him. It was unlike any modern form of transport. There was something utterly elemental about riding.

Anita pulled the reins back gently, and Chestnut slowed. She lingered a moment, her arms wrapped around Tristan's strong body, and then she swung her leg around and hopped to the ground. "What do you think?" she said breathlessly.

"That was... exhilarating."

"Are you ready to go solo?" Anita asked, gently touching his leg.

He looked down at her. "I guess I can give it a go."

Anita stood back and watched him trot across the field. He was a quick learner. Something about his deeply intelligent blue eyes told her that he'd never struggled to pick up anything new. She watched his figure receding towards the horizon, and rejoiced as he successfully turned and began cantering towards her. Nothing gave her more pleasure than his bronzed face smiling at her as he approached. She called over Wildfire, who dutifully trotted to her side. She was back in the saddle and darting past Tristan and Chestnut in an instant.

"Hey! Not fair! You're-" but the rest of his complaint was lost to the wind.

## **CHAPTER FIVE**

### **_-_**

###

The sun streamed across the yard as Jo walked from the farmhouse to the guesthouse. Taking a detour past the small paddock between the barn and the stable, she spotted Midnight grazing with Agnes and Fleetwood, the new arrival.

Jo whistled, and Midnight came trotting to the fence, shaking his black head in greeting. He was closely followed by Fleetwood.

"Hey boy," she said, scratching behind Midnight's ear, "what they do, forget to take you out to pasture? Not you," she said, pushing Fleetwood's head away from her pockets. "Who even put you out here? Anita would forget her own head if it wasn't screwed on. Although I think her forgetfulness might have something to do with a certain someone."

Midnight whinnied in agreement.

"You think so, too? How about you, Fleetwood?"

Fleetwood nudged her side.

"I don't know. He doesn't seem that bad. I don't get the fuss, though. He's not that good-looking, really."

Agnes, standing a few yards beyond the fence, snorted loudly.

"Alright, fine, he's not that bad. Not my type. I just wish everyone would stop drooling over him. It's like they've never seen a man before."

Midnight flicked his ears sympathetically.

"Exactly. Thanks, boy. I'm checking in with Sally for a bit, but how about a ride later, yeah? You can come too," she added, gingerly patting the Appaloosa's nose. He was the newest to the group and had already bitten four kids. But he seemed happier around adults and outside in the open, which Jo could appreciate. Midnight, Jo's own, was perfectly affectionate, and only rarely nippy.

She patted both animals goodbye, then turned towards the guest house. She had seen Sally go in not a moment before, and had decided the oil change on the truck could wait. She breathed in the fresh ranch air as she walked through the grassy patches between trampled ground, and smiled inwardly. Even here, she could smell the pine, the fresh needles that would just be coming out, soft and light, and which dappled the trees in the surrounding forests. Songbirds chattered noisily in trees and leaves alike, and somewhere — Jo suspected the garden — the low thrum of a lawnmower could be heard. Probably Raoul, mowing over all the flower beds. Bella would have a fit, but the freshly cut grass smelled like happiness, even all the way out here. It was all she'd ever wanted as a child: wide open fields, the smell of freshly cut grass and the sound of the wind through the trees — and now she had it. Her mind fogged over at the thought of the searing, dried-up landscape she'd left behind three years ago. She had never regretted it, not for a second. She heard from her family regularly enough, had even gone back to visit a year ago, but she didn't miss it. It wasn't really a loss at all, she thought, considering the family she'd made here. Her parents had always disapproved of anything she did, and as an only child, she had had no one else to divert their attention to. But here... here she had been accepted, immediately, no questions asked. She had arrived like a lost puppy and had been adopted without hesitation. And now, she thought, stepping into the guest house, she'd defend the place from anyone who broke her friends' hearts.

"Sally? Sally, you here?" She asked softly. Sally opened the door to her room. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she wasn't crying anymore.

"Hey," she said, stepping out. She had changed into her pajamas.

"You going to bed?"

"No. Just getting comfortable."

Jo could never understand that. Locking herself up in a dark room when she was upset seemed like the worst possible course of action; she always turned to the outdoors when she needed thinking space. Her favorite spot was the roof of the barn, accessible through a skylight in the loft. People rarely went up there, although she had once received an unwanted surprise when she'd climbed back down and found Sally and Connor rather busy in the loft. But she loved it. The air was always fresh and just slightly breezy. She knew Anita was the same, she had seen her a few times, heading north towards the lake, or found her, lying on the jetty, staring into the water. Anita always frowned, when deep in thought, as if all her questions might be answered by the waves if she could only figure out the language. One summer her hair had been so long it had reached into the water, sending small ripples radiating outward every time Anita sighed. Bella, too, had a private spot: she sometimes disappeared for an hour or two, though where she went was anyone's guess. Somewhere around the lake, probably in the woods.

But Nikki and Sally, they were different. Nikki would shut herself in her room and blast out music, and probably read or write, who knew. And Sally would curl up on the couch, or the bed, or the nearest available soft surface, and stare at the wall, and look so utterly desolate she could have brought rocks to tears.

"Want some tea?" Jo asked.

"Yes please." Sally disappeared in her room, and came back out a second later, trailing her blanket behind her, despite the pleasant warmth in the sunlit living room. She sat down on the couch, knees up to her chin, blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

"So, what happened, exactly?"

"I don't know. He just ended it." Sally sniffed.

"Just like that?" Jo asked. "That's strange."

"I know. We were having such a good time, we were having a drink, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, he just ended it. Said it wasn't working. That I should get on with my life and leave him alone."

"Darn." Jo grabbed a pack of tissues from a drawer and took them to the living room, along with the cup of tea. "What a jackass."

"I know," Sally said, with a nervous laugh. She raised the cup of tea, sniffed again, set the tea down and took a tissue. "I'm so mad. I mean I'm upset. But I'm so mad, you know? I thought we had something, a future, a... a something. Why would he do this?" She wiped her eyes.

"You know what, you're better off without him if this is how he treats people who love him. You don't need that."

"But I do," Sally whispered.

"Come on, cheer up. The world is full of men. Positively seething. Or, date women, that works too. Especially in small midwestern towns. You'll never have your heart broken."

"That's cause there'd be nobody there to break it," Sally said.

"You'd think," Jo muttered, but another sniff from Sally pulled her away from half-formed thoughts. "Alright, what can I do to distract you? Want to play a game?"

"What sort of game?"

"Any game."

"I don't know. I think I want to take a nap."

"Alright, alright. But do it out here. That dark room is depressing, you're much better off in the sunshine. There's more tea in the pot in the kitchen, want me to bring it out?"

"Yes please."

Jo obliged, and gave Sally a tight squeeze. She'd always believed company was the best cure for sadness, but she'd heard Sally up and sniffling for the past three nights, and a nap would probably do her well. Any sleep she could get at this point was a blessing.

"I'll see you in a couple hours. Don't eat anything, Nikki said she's making dinner tonight."

"I think I'm just going to nap tonight."

"No, you're coming to dinner tonight," Jo insisted. "You skip any more meals and you won't need a horse, you'll just be floating around."

Sally gave a feeble smile.

"See you in a bit." Jo stepped outside and closed the door. On second thought, she went back in, pulled open the windows in the living room, and left again. It was all good and well wanting to have your privacy indoors, but anyone who said they didn't like the smell of freshly cut grass was a liar.

## **CHAPTER SIX**

### **_-_**

###

Anita and Tristan were leaning against the pasture gate, deep in conversation, when Bella rode up to them. "Hey! You guys want to go to the lake?"

"I thought you were taking Sally's riding class?" Anita asked.

"I did the morning session, Nikki's taking over this afternoon," she said. "There's only so many times you can say 'Heels down!' in a day," she said to Tristan. He smiled politely. "So, the lake? And lunch? I brought food," she said, pointing to her saddlebag.

Anita looked at Tristan. "The lake sounds fun," he said. "I could do with a swim."

"Exactly," smiled Bella. "Come on!"

She burst into a gallop, slowing to a canter as she and Artemis cleared the field. Anita watched Tristan struggle into his saddle — though he made it, unaided. She easily pulled herself onto Wildfire's back. "Ready?" His striking blue eyes smiled, he nodded, and they rode together at a gentle trot behind Bella.

The fields gave way to forests of ancient pines and stoic oaks, lofty beeches, sweeping sycamores. The midday sunlight was scattered in a kaleidoscope of emerald and jade by the leafy canopy above their heads. The horses wove between the copper trunks, glimmering with wet, juicy sap, their hooves denting the soft, moist earth. In winter it was a frozen, dry dirt, and not the rich eggplant-colored soil that was now abundant with buds and saplings.

The lake lay to the north of the ranch, in a deep valley surrounded by the mountains and forest. While the north side was a steep descent of rock and forest right to the lake's edge, a grassy clearing on the south bank allowed easy access to the crystal clear sapphire water. A small gray wooden jetty, built in years past by previous ranchers, jutted whimsically into the lake.

Bella was already sitting with her feet dangling from the edge of the jetty when Anita and Tristan arrived. Artemis was grazing in the clearing, content with the dense grass.

"You must have been keen to swim," Anita remarked as they joined Bella at the end of the pier. Her bare toes grazed the water's surface, creating dark ripples in the glassy lake.

Bella tossed her head back, scrunching her eyes against the sun. "It's such a beautiful day." Anita slipped off her sandals and sat beside her. Tristan kicked off his trainers, and stood behind them, surveying the view.

"Do you come here often?" Tristan asked.

"Every other day," Bella said, "if I have the time. I think Anita is down here every day, though. She loves a swim when the weather's hot." She smiled at Anita playfully. "Sometimes she doesn't even undress, she's so desperate to get wet."

Tristan crouched behind Anita as she protested. "Is that so?" Before Anita could speak, he'd scooped her up as if she weighed no more than a feather. His chest was as hard as the granite rock of the mountains. "What will you do if I throw you in?" he asked, his brow furrowed very seriously.

"Drag you in with me!"

Bella ducked as Anita went flying over her head into the lake. Her head disappeared for a moment, reappearing with her long dark hair slicked back in a glossy black waterfall.

Bella cackled at the side. "That was — oh, no. No no no!" she exclaimed as Tristan lifted her too.

"You didn't think I'd forgotten you, did you?" he asked playfully. Bella was caught off-guard by the piercing blue of his eyes. That moment of hesitation was all he needed — she was flying through the air, landing in the water with a splash the next moment.

Anita watched her friend resurface, gasping.

"Your friend is a jackass!"

They both turned to where Tristan stood laughing on the jetty.

"Aren't you going to join us?" Bella asked. She kicked back, floating like a starfish. "The water's warm."

"Well, how can I turn down an offer like that?" He unbuttoned his jeans and shrugged off his shirt. While Bella floated beside her, Anita watched him, her eyes riveted to his glowing, tanned body, his chiseled abs and toned arms. His fitted black boxers snugly wrapped around his--

Anita felt something tug her foot and suddenly she was below the water. Bella's face smirked at her underwater. From below the surface, she felt the water shudder as Tristan dived in.

The three of them resurfaced simultaneously. "You said it was warm!" Tristan cried.

"You threw me in," Bella pointed out. Tristan splashed her, and she splashed him back. Anita, caught in the crossfire, sent a spray of water in his direction. He playfully leaped on her, wrapping his strong arms around her. Even in the cold water, the heat radiated off him like sunlight.

Anita didn't know how long they wrestled for. Their heads came to the surface just often enough for them to breathe, but otherwise, their fingers tangled together like lake reeds, their legs intertwined like the roots of the underwater foliage. He tickled her side and she laughed a stream of silver bubbles before he pushed her to the surface to gasp for the fresh summer air. His hands slid up her calf, her thigh, his head gently butted her stomach before he too surfaced; then she would dip below again, tugging playfully at his arm, wrapping her body around him to use her full weight against him. It was useless, of course, with his gently bulging biceps.

When they both surfaced, finally, Bella was sitting on the jetty in her underwear, shaking her wet hair out, squeezing water droplets from her t-shirt. "You two want food?" She asked as they swam towards her. She stood up, adjusting her underwear.

"Yeah. Did you make it?"

"If I say yes, do I get to eat it all?"

"You're hilarious. We'll eat. I'm starved."

"Me too," said Tristan, climbing out. He offered Anita a hand which she gratefully accepted. Bella was already rummaging through the saddlebag, pulling out ginger beer, lemonade, and cling-wrapped sandwiches.

"Ham, cheese, or tomato," she stated, laying them out on the makeshift blanket of Tristan's shirt. He forewent redressing at that moment in the spirit of the picnic and instead sat basking in the sun, his tanned chest glowing in the iridescent light. He did, however, pull on his jeans — or Anita might have had difficulty concentrating on her sandwich.

He caught Bella staring at him once or twice as they sat eating and joking in the sunshine, but he couldn't work out the tone of her stony gray eyes. He thought he sensed a little admiration, maybe even open desire; but also perhaps demurral and irreverence. Her blank face gave nothing away, and he noted that she rarely smiled except in jest. Once the joke was done, her lips reverted to the set line she most often wore.

"Summer is the best time," Anita was saying. "The ranch is busy, there's always extra people coming through."

"Like me," Tristan said, smiling.

"Like you," said Anita, looking down at the grass shyly. The power of his striking blue eyes overwhelmed her at times.

"Well it's going to be extra busy this summer," Bella grimaced. "Connor told me he's not coming back."

"Really?" Anita exclaimed. "He and Sally are really over?"

"It seems so," Bella shrugged.

"So you're a hand short?" Tristan asked. Anita smiled at him.

"Technically. But we'll manage. Connor spent most of his time hanging out at the guest house with Sally anyway. I'm sure we'll fill the void," Bella said dryly.

After lunch, they pulled their clothes back on. Tristan shook the bread crumbs from his shirt. His bare chest had nearly dried in the sun, but little droplets of water ran in silver rivulets from his golden flecked hair down the nape of his neck and fell in streams down his spine. With his back to Anita, he could not see but only feel her warm, dark eyes tracing the movement of the water down his body. When he finally turned around, she was concentrating very hard on fastening her boots, her cheeks only faintly pink.

## **CHAPTER SEVEN**

### **_-_**

###

The ride back was decidedly colder than expected. Bella looked over at Anita, who was visibly shivering. Tristan seemed to have gotten the best deal, though he hadn't completely dried off before putting his shirt back on, and he did seem to be squirming around a lot in his saddle.

"You know, Chestnut isn't used to people dancing on his back."

"What?" Tristan said.

"Stop squirming. And watch out, you're pulling the reins when you look around."

"Right," Tristan said, looking on forward.

"Come on, give him a break," Anita said, bringing Wildfire up to a trot to catch up with her. Artemis snorted and shook her head. "He's only just learning."

Bella smiled.

"I know, I know. It wasn't meant as an insult, I promise. City boy! Back straight! Heels down! Heels down!"

Tristan jumped in his saddle, and the Clydesdale gave a snort, tossed his head, and started to trot. Bella laughed, watching man and horse bounce away. For such an athletic looking man, he sure looked like he was made of rubber right now. Anita leaned over and slapped Bella across the back of the head.

"Ow."

"Dipshit," she said, but she, too, couldn't quite suppress an outburst of laughter as she kicked Wildfire up to a canter. Bella watched as her friend caught up with Tristan, circled Chestnut and brought him back down to a walk. She couldn't hear them from here, but whatever Tristan said, it wasn't good, because Anita slapped Chestnut's rump, and the animal dutifully broke out into a fast canter. Bella heard him shout in protest, and Anita laughed and picked up her own pace, her hair streaming behind her in damp strands. Bella thought she might have rolled her eyes if anyone had been around to see her do it. Artemis snorted.

"I know, I think they're ridiculous, too," Bella said, patting the horse's neck. "Home's getting pretty crowded, huh?"

Artemis whinnied in agreement.

"I know. He can't stay."

The horse halted and stamped her feet.

"Oh, come on, Artemis, don't be like that. I mean, sure, he's — you know — but you said it yourself, we don't have the space."

Artemis pawed the ground, flicking her tail in disagreement.

"Okay. Fine. I didn't realize you had the hots for him that much." Bella ignored Artemis's snort and prompted her back into a walk. "Yes, okay, you might not be the only one. Those eyes, huh?" She looked at the vast, empty field. "What do you say, girl, one last round?" As if following her thoughts rather than her orders, Artemis veered towards the pasture, and they were off at a sprint.

Dinner was a grand affair. The smell of roasting potatoes reached Bella before she'd even stepped onto the porch. She could hear something sizzling in the kitchen, and the merry sound of voices. When she stepped inside, she was greeted by Jo, who thrust a fork into her hands.

"Try this! Nikki cooked, isn't it great?"

Bella looked at the piece of potato stuck on her fork, then shrugged and put it in her mouth. Burning tongue aside, it was delicious, cooked just enough to give it that melt-in-the-mouth feeling, and with a distinctive taste of...

"Almonds?" She asked, peeking into the kitchen.

"Get out," Nikki said, without even turning around.

"What have I done?" Bella asked, her mouth still half full.

"I'm almost done, and you don't know how kitchens work. Out. Go sit down. Bye."

"Fine, fine. Anita's cooking is better, you know." She went to the dinner table, where she found Tristan setting down the last two glasses.

"That was fast, I didn't see you at all in the stables."

"You took ages, where did you go?" Tristan asked in return. Bella looked like Tristan had felt until a half hour ago: cold, damp, and drained. Her hair had nearly dried but was in a frenzy from whatever riding acrobatics she'd been doing. It looked nothing like her usual neat, shiny brown braids. It struck him that he had never seen her before she got dressed for work; the others often (and, in Sally's recent case, almost exclusively) had breakfast in their pajamas. Jo and Anita got especially bad cases of bed-hair, although Anita was decidedly more agreeable in the mornings than her friend. Nikki always seemed to look flawless, even with sleep-filled eyes and in pajamas, but Bella... Bella always arrived downstairs dressed and ready for work. Tristan got the feeling she may be somewhat of a perfectionist. "Anita and I got home as fast as possible," he told her, "it was freezing. And... uncomfortable. You look half frozen yourself."

"Yeah," Bella said, sniffing. For all that she looked like she might catch the flu, her storm-gray eyes were alive with a light Tristan now understood as the thrill of galloping across an open field. "We did a last round, just to the edge of the first pasture and back. Artemis needs to be tired out, or she gets snippy. I think I'm going to get into something dry."

"Good idea. Hey," he grasped her upper arm as Bella started towards the stairs. Bella stiffened up. She wasn't embarrassed by physical touch and had always been somewhat perplexed at Anita's sudden and inexplicable gracelessness and constant blushing around men. But when Tristan took hold of her she couldn't help but be instantly aware of the strength of his grasp. She could feel the flex in each finger, imagined the muscles in his arm. He must not be straining himself at all, either, but she found herself thinking of how she could never free herself if he decided not to let go. She felt weak.

She didn't like to feel weak.

For whatever reason — perhaps her facial expression gave her away, perhaps her stance — Tristan let go almost as fast as he'd got there.

"Sorry. I just wanted to say thanks."

"Thanks? For what? Nikki's the one who cooked, you know."

"I know," he said with a smile. "But seriously. Anita said you pretty much run the joint here as it is. Thanks for letting me stay. And tell me if I'm an inconvenience, or if you don't have the space, or whatever."

"Oh." Bella relaxed. "Yeah. Of course. You're welcome. As long as you're making yourself useful."

"Yeah. Of course. But still. Thanks."

"You're welcome. And now I need to get into something that won't make me feel like I'm turning into a swamp." She headed to her room and changed as fast as she could peel off her wet riding gear. She briefly considered a hot shower but decided she may as well make a proper bath of it afterward. Maybe with wine. So she pulled on a pair of jeans and an old shirt and went back to the dinner table.

"Where's Anita?" She asked. The table was set for five.

"She's putting the horses to bed," Tristan said.

"Every night," said Jo. "I mean come on, can't work wait until after dinner?"

"Give her a break," Sally said, "she loves it there. And when you find something you really, truly love, it isn't work. It's..."

"... Passion," Nikki finished, coming out of the kitchen.

"You're telling me," Jo muttered.

"Ribs, anyone?"

Bella had never really understood the phrase "to eat like a king." Food was food, it was for nourishment and sometimes it was delicious, but she had a hard time imagining royalty really pigging out. But after the ribs, potatoes, broccoli and homemade mozzarella sticks, Nikki came out with a huckleberry pie, and Bella, who could have stopped after the ribs if it had been down to her stomach, was first served.

"Oh, my favorite," Sally exclaimed, taking the second slice.

"Yeah, you know, thought you could do with a bit of spoiling," Nikki said, with a wink. Then she sobered up, briefly, and opened her mouth as if to speak, but was interrupted, Sally.

"Thanks. This is perfect. A perfect end to a crappy week," Sally said. Bella thought she might start crying again, but whatever Nikki had put in the pie seemed to work, because Sally perked up visibly after the first slice, and by the second slice she was laughing at jokes and even drinking beer, a first since Monday's horrific hangover.

"Well," Tristan said, at the end of the meal, "I have nothing to say but this: if that pie had been a girl, I'd have married her."

"If that pie had been a girl, we'd all be in prison," Jo said. Sally looked at the last few slices of pie in dismay. Then she shrugged and helped herself to another slice.

"Worth it," she said. "Tristan, your wife is delicious."

There was a round of laughter.

"Nikki, you alright?" Sally asked her friend. Nikki was prodding her slice of pie, cutting off pieces with her fork, but leaving them on the plate. She had her elbow propped up on the table, her head leaning against a closed fist, and seemed deep in thought. She snapped out of it when Sally said her name. Everyone was looking at her. The laughter had died down.

"Yeah, yeah I'm..." She pursed her lips. She didn't want to ruin the dinner, she especially didn't want to ruin Sally's first good night in a week. But something had to be said, and if Bella wasn't going to do it, Nikki would. She took a deep breath.

"It's the ranch. It's... it's not going well."

There was a split second of silence, then chaos erupted at the table as Sally and Jo started asking frantic questions, and Bella and Nikki tried to calm them down.

"What do you mean, not going well?"

"But riding classes are fully booked."

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

"Does this have anything to do with Connor?"

"No!" Nikki said, silencing the room. She took another deep breath and turned to Sally. "No," she repeated, seeing a promise of tears in her eyes. "Of course it doesn't have anything to do with Connor. What would make you think that? It was Weattie, he--"

"Weattie?" Jo interrupted. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," Nikki tried to explain, and was cut off once more, this time by Bella, who huffed in derision.

"Sure," she muttered, as if to herself, though loud enough for everyone to hear clearly, "nothing at all."

"That's not what I mean! Would you all just listen to me please?" She banged her fist on the table, and the room was silenced.

"Look," she continued, "it's no one's fault, it had nothing to do with Connor, it's not the end of the world." The last phrase came out somewhat less confident than she had hoped. "Weattie told us when we went to see him the other day. I know we shouldn't have waited so long to explain but hear me out." She said hastily, seeing Jo frown.

It only took a few minutes. There really wasn't much to explain, but the gravity of the situation hit the table like a curse.

"What are we going to do?" Sally asked, but Jo placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her head.

"Hang on," she said, "wait a minute. You still haven't told us why you waited until today." Her eyes narrowed. "Didn't you think we ought to know?"

"I didn't want to scare you," Nikki said.

"Why, are we children? Do you think we can't handle bad news? This affects us, Nikki, more than it affects you. It's our home Weattie wants to sell off!"

"You should have told us," Sally said, "we're all part of this ranch, we deserve to know what's going on."

"I know, I know," Nikki said. She was starting to feel cornered. "I didn't want to worry you all without a solution. Especially after all that's happened this week," she added, looking at Sally. "I've made a plan," Nikki continued, "I think if we make some budget cuts, and make space for more riding lessons in the long term, we should be able to make up for what Weattie thinks the guest house is worth. And with Connor gone," she said, carefully, "we have one less wage. I know it's not what you want to hear, it was a coincidence, but it looks like we'll have to pick up the slack, and save on rehiring anyone else."

Tristan, who had sat quietly this whole time, listening attentively, now spoke up.

"I know I just got here, and if you want me to leave I understand, but if you want the help, I'd be happy to stay on for a bit longer."

Nikki nodded.

"We can go over everything after dinner," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Let's enjoy the pie. Might be the last we see for a bit."

Sally and Jo looked at her wide-eyed.

"I'm just kidding," Nikki said, with a forced laugh, "I'm not taking away pie. But we may have to stick to more of our own produce and less supermarket stuff."

Conversation slowly regained its natural pace and lost the fear and tension it had held, and soon there was only one slice of pie left.

"I'll take it to Anita," Jo said, standing up, "and break the good news."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll go," Tristan said. He was up and wrapping the pie in a piece of kitchen paper before anyone else could say anything. "Where are the beers?"

"Bottom shelf of the fridge, stacked up," Nikki said.

"Thanks."

"Jo, sit down," Nikki said. Jo sat down. Bella tried to catch her eye, but Jo was busy playing with the last few crumbs on her plate.

"Well," Bella said, standing up, "Thanks for an excellent dinner, Nikki. If I had any beer left, I'd drink to you, but I think Tristan took the last two. I'll raise a glass in your honor in the bath." She pushed her chair in, but Nikki caught the hem of her shirt before she managed to escape.

"Hang on there," she said, as Bella tried, briefly, feebly, to tug herself away. She knew what was coming.

"I'm all dirty," Bella protested, "I'm grimy from riding and I'm still cold. I'll do them later."

"There's no such thing as doing the dishes later. If you don't cook, you do the dishes."

"But you won't let me cook," Bella protested.

"Because your cooking is awful."

"I'll help," Sally said, "and Jo. Right, Jo?"

There was a click as the door shut.

"Jo!" Nikki called, but too late. "Darn it."

"Come on," Sally said, starting to gather plates. "You wash, I'll dry, we'll be done in no time."

Bella sighed and resigned herself to her fate.

## **CHAPTER EIGHT**

### **_-_**

###

Anita wiped her brow, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. The horses had all been put to bed, and Anita had planned on dropping things off at the barn and heading to dinner, but something had held her back. The barn was perfectly silent, perfectly still. Five minutes, she had thought, putting away the grain buckets. Five minutes of perfect, silent solitude, and she would head to dinner. She loved her friends but relished these rare moments alone, just her and her thoughts, and some menial task to keep her occupied. She wondered what the others were doing, what Tristan was doing. She thought about their morning spent riding in the fields and swimming in the lake. She remembered how the clear water streamed across his strong, muscled--

"I brought you a beer," said a voice.

"Shoot!" Anita dropped the rake in her hand. It landed softly in the straw as Tristan stepped into the barn.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you," he said. "Again. I thought you might be thirsty." He held out a beer, and she smiled shyly as she took it from his outstretched hand.

"At least I don't have egg on me this time," Anita joked. Tristan laughed again, the warmth radiating from his wide, white-toothed grin.

"How'd you find me here?" Anita asked.

Tristan shrugged.

"Oh, you know. Chestnut's a chatterbox. Didn't even have to bribe him."

Anita smiled in the semi-darkness.

"They're really warming up to you, the horses."

"Not just the horses, I hope. Are you busy? I can leave," he said, gesturing to the open barn door. There was something in the clarity of his striking blue eyes that told Anita he didn't want to go.

"It's ok, I just forget about the rest of the world when I'm in here," she said. They clinked bottles, smiled at each other, and swigged the cool ale. Anita pressed the bottle to her cheek, felt the smooth, cold glass. She wondered if he could see the faint blush of her cheeks. She licked the condensation from her lip and placed her bottle on the floor, picking up the rake.

"Do you need any help?" he asked.

"It's ok, I was just keeping myself busy. How's dinner? Did they scare you away?"

Tristan ran his hand through his hair.

"What?" Anita asked, sensing the tension.

"Well... it's the ranch. Nikki says there are some issues, some guy called Beattie..."

"Weattie?"

"Yeah, him. Nikki says he wants to sell part of the ranch."

Anita listened to all the details, feeling her spirits fall at every word, but she pulled herself together when Tristan finished, and said, "I'm sure we'll figure it out. Nikki's great at this stuff, if anyone can fix it, she can." She felt more confident as she said it. "We'll figure it out. Somehow."

They both fell to silence, sipping on their beers. Tristan stepped to the barn door and gazed pensively into the twilight.

"It's so dark here," Tristan observed after a few minutes. "I don't think I've ever been anywhere so peaceful. You can't see the stars, in the city," he said, turning back to face Anita. She looked up into his penetrating blue eyes, and all the world's worries seemed to lift off her. Anita felt her throat tighten and her pulse quicken, a warmth rising from her thighs to her cheeks.

"Oh," she murmured shyly. "Stars... haven't you ever gone stargazing?"

"I don't know. Not since I was a kid, and we summered in the Hamptons. But that was a long time ago. But I could stare at these skies forever."

"You know the best place to stargaze?"

Tristan shook his head.

"The roof." He looked at her, eyebrows raised inquisitively. "Come on, I'll show you." They walked through the barn in amicable silence, Anita eating the slice of pie Tristan had brought her. She licked a bit of jam from her thumb, put the rake with the other tools, and climbed deftly up the hayloft ladder. Tristan looked up at her, and she gestured for him to follow. In the dark, hot loft, she scrabbled over boxes and old riding gear to open a skylight in the roof, pulling herself through the open hatch. Staying low, she carefully crawled to the relative flat of the pitch. Tristan followed, tripping over worn saddles and tangled bridles, and sat beside her, his shoulder gently grazing hers.

"You have to be above the other lights," she said, gesturing to the single porch light by the ranch house. "That way, there's nothing obscuring your vision."

They looked up into the violet sky; a sky Anita knew by heart. She had always preferred daytime to nighttime and in the dark, it was the stars that made her feel safe. They were the familiar blanket she had wrapped herself in since childhood.

Tristan looked at the sky blankly. "What's that star called?" he asked, pointing at the brightest object in the sky. Glowing slightly green, it had the pearlescent opaqueness of an opal.

"It's the Morning Star," Anita smiled. "But it's not a star at all. It's Venus."

Tristan pursed his lips. "I've never seen a planet before."

"You probably just didn't know it."

"Alright then, smart-ass," he said lightly, folding his hands behind his head. "Give me an astrology lesson. What's what where?"

"Let's see, let's see," Anita joked, "where to start with one so naive?" He playfully prodded her side and she squealed. "Ok, ok! That's Orion," she said, pointing up. "Can you see his belt? The three stars all aligned, and you can see the triangle of his shoulders and legs."

"I think I've seen that one from home."

"Well, you can see it almost everywhere, so probably. It's the one everyone knows."

"Is this the creme-de-la-creme of your expert knowledge?" he mocked playfully.

"Wait, I'm getting to it," she said. "What most people don't know is that if you follow the line of his belt, all the way down, that's Sirius."

"Is that a planet too?"

"No."

"So what's his deal?"

"I'm getting to it. It doesn't look it, but it's one of the biggest and brightest stars in the universe. It glows white and red because it's actually not one star, but two: one large white star, and one small red dwarf star next to it."

Tristan followed the movement of her finger a moment, tracing his eyes across the sky. "Where did you learn about the stars?"

Anita shrugged. "There wasn't much else to know when I was a kid. I taught myself the skies instead of the names of television characters, or the words of songs. My parents would tuck me in, turn my light out, and the light of the moon and the stars would fill my room."

"It sounds amazing."

"It sounds romantic now," she sighed. "But it means I always know where I am. Wherever I go, I can find my way home."

"Did you grow up far from here?"

"Out of state. But not far."

"And is Orion your favorite?"

"No," she said, raising her arm to the skies again. Tristan shuffled to align with her gaze, and his strong, muscled arms pressed against her side. Anita became increasingly aware of the warmth of his thigh against hers in the cool summer air.

"Just to the side of Orion," she murmured softly, "is Pegasus, the winged horse. See the square? His legs rear out to the side."

"Why that one?" Tristan asked, his head next to hers.

"I mean... he's free. He can do whatever he wants. But also he's a horse."

"You've always loved horses?"

"It's all I wanted when I was a kid: to have my own pony ranch. My parents were in produce farming, and they wanted so badly for me to take on the farm for them. But I've always loved horses."

"It can be difficult, disappointing your parents," said Tristan, suddenly serious.

"Is that why you left the city?"

"Among other reasons," he said nonchalantly. "Parents are just a more intense rendition of the expectations the world has of you. Parents project their fears onto their children — all their unfulfillment becomes your duty."

Anita had never felt she fully understood the guilt she had harbored for leaving her parents and the farm until that very moment. Tristan had put into words feelings she had had for years. Now, in his voice, she understood her own heart. She felt a rushing wave of relief wash through her: someone else felt the same. He looked at her, noticed her smiling at him. "What is it?" he asked, but she just shook her head.

"Oh, nothing." She moved her head to his chest, felt his arm snake around her shoulders.

"I left my parents' farm to come here," she admitted then. "It's not too far from here, about a day's drive, but still. I felt guilty. They made me feel guilty, I think. I love them and all, and we get along, and I think they're okay with it now. But at the time... It felt like I was betraying them, you know? They have a fruit farm further south. It was nice, and I learned to ride on my mother's horse, and I had Wildfire, the last couple of years. But it just wasn't what I wanted. I know it's not quite as dramatic as leaving some big city..."

"You can't compare yourself to others like that. Your emotions aren't less valid just because you experience them in different circumstances to others."

"I guess you're right. And I did the right thing. You know, I get it: people who go out, looking for their destinies or their dreams or themselves or whatnot."

"You mean people like me?" Tristan asked. Anita couldn't see him, but his voice had a smile all over it.

"Yeah, people like you. And like me. All I ever wanted when I was a kid was to work on a ranch."

"And you are."

"And I am," Anita agreed. "So why..." she stopped, wondering how to phrase her thoughts.

"Why do you feel like there's something missing?" Tristan finished her sentence for her. She felt him exhale, deeply. "Maybe it's just how we're made. Maybe there will always be something missing. You grow up in a big city, you start realizing that people always want more. More money, more things, more friends, more love..." He stopped short.

Anita thought about this for a moment, then she shook her head.

"No," she said. "No, I think you're wrong."

"Really?"

"Yes. Maybe the people you know are trying to fill up their emptiness with money and all that. But I don't make a lot of money, and I'm perfectly happy with my job. I have great friends, I have Wildfire, I live where I've always wanted to..."

"So what's missing?" Tristan asked.

"I don't know. But I'll let you know when I find out."

They lay in silence for a few minutes, each rolling over unspoken thoughts in their minds, each feeling the slight, nearly imperceptible quickening in the other's heartbeat.

"What did your parents do?" Anita asked. She had never been very good at tense silences. But she kept her head on his chest as he answered, and her ear to his heart.

"Oh, you know. Business, this and that. I don't know, my dad wanted me to get into it — the family firm. He wanted me to head to Harvard, become a lawyer like him. He wants to have someone for his legacy — like your parents."

"And law isn't something you want to do?" Anita asked him.

She felt his shoulder shrug beneath her, his fingers loosen on her skin. "It's interesting, sure. But it's not about the law, it's the entire world that goes with it. I started the class but it was the people, the schmoozing, the socials that go along with it. It's an entire network, and you're a part of it or you're not very good at your job. There's a role you have to fill, and I wasn't ready to be told who to be before I knew myself."

"I know what you mean. It's the expectations again, isn't it? The idea that who you are is already decided for you by someone else."

"Exactly. All I wanted was space to grow." Anita looked at the endless rolling sky, cloudless and glittering. She sighed, and Tristan squeezed her shoulder. "I've found this space, with no boxes or labels, and I'm beginning to think I've found what I'm looking for."

Anita lifted her head, propping herself up so she could look into Tristan's fierce midnight eyes. If ice melted into crystal Arctic pools, it would be the same shade and depth as his irises. He met her gaze, tucked her dark, wild hair behind her ear, and ran his fingers along her soft cheek. Without quite realizing, he was pulling her in and she was simultaneously falling into him. Her body searched out his, found him warm beside her, met only the resistance of his taut, muscled chest. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek, feel the quickening of his blood pulsing in his fingertips, which still pressed lightly on her chin. She closed her eyes.

The screech of tires punctured the silence. The skidding of dust and stone rumbled like thunder. Anita sat bolt upright, staring at the blinding headlights flooding the yard with an unnatural yellow light. She felt Tristan sit up behind her. His hand went to her shoulder. "Who's that?"

That car came to a halt, and the driver door was thrust open. "Sally!" a voice yelled in the dark. "SALLY!" A man stumbled from the car, a bottle gleaming in his hand.

"Oh no," Anita murmured. She started, leaped up, scrabbling up the roof back to the hatch.

"Who is it?" Tristan asked again, following her.

"It's Connor," Anita said hurriedly, jumping into the hayloft and sliding down the step ladder. "Sally's ex."

The voice kept screaming. "Get out here, I GOTTA TALK TO YOU. Now, SALLY!"

Anita raced out of the barn and into the yard as the porch door swung open and Bella stepped out, with Jo and an ashen-faced Sally behind her.

"You should leave," Anita said, standing between the ranch house and Connor. The backlight of the porch cast a blue glow on her ebony hair. "Get back in the car and get out of here."

Tristan stepped beside her in silent solidarity. Connor's dark clouded eyes, unfocused, looked him up and down.

"Sally! SALLY! Who're you? Who's this? Did you replace me so easily? Move aside, man, I need to speak to Sally. It's important. Out of my way."

Sally buried her face in her hands. Jo wrapped a comforting arm around her while Bella watched on, face blank.

Tristan's strong, dark brow furrowed as he looked at Anita; Anita looked back at him, speechless.

"I believe you were asked to leave," Tristan said calmly.

Connor howled in rage and lunged forward. He flung the empty bourbon bottle to the ground, sending a spray of broken shards flying. Anita felt Tristan's arm fly into her as he pushed her back, his full weight hitting her chest. She gasped, winded, as she hit the ground.

"Sorry," he murmured, rolling off her. "Are you ok?"

Connor was yelling, striding towards the porch. Tears streaming down her face, Sally began to step forward, but Jo pulled her back. It was Bella who stepped forward instead.

"Enough, Connor," Bella said quietly. Anita had never heard her voice like that: the soft menace that felt both like a silken scarf and a hangman's noose. He started to protest but Bella walked straight up to him, a lioness protecting the pride. She put a hand on his shoulder and firmly turned him around. "You're leaving," she said quietly, muttering something else in his ear and walking him back to his car.

Tristan helped Anita up, still panting. "I'm so sorry, I thought the glass would hit you," Tristan apologized again.

"It's okay. If anyone is going to bowl me over it should be you," she joked, then paused awkwardly. "I mean, thanks for looking out for me."

Tristan ran his fingers through his perfectly disheveled locks. He brushed the orange dust from her shoulder, and his fingers lingered on the soft skin of her arm; she could still feel the warmth of his fingertips as he pulled away.

Connor's green Chevy disappeared down the drive. Bella walked back to the porch, spoke softly to Sally, and nodded when Jo said she would take her home. Tristan saw them walking across the yard together. "I should probably go with them."

"Yeah, of course. See you tomorrow?"

"Bright and early."

"Maybe you can bring the eggs over so I don't have to come get them."

He laughed and jogged into the dark to join the disappearing figures. Anita walked towards the house, following Bella inside.

"I can't believe Connor turned up."

"I know."

"I hope Sally's ok."

"She'll be fine. She's better off without him," Bella stated firmly.

"Maybe." Anita glanced over her shoulder at the disappearing figures as she closed the front door. "He seemed upset."

"He seemed drunk."

"I don't think I've ever seen him drunk. Have you?"

"Yes."

A moment of quiet, then Bella's blank face lit up with a mischievous grin. "How about you and Tristan, though?"

Anita looked up sharply. "What about us?"

"Come on," Bella smirked, "it's so obvious."

"What is?"

"You like him."

Anita felt her cheeks redden. "Whatever. Maybe. So what?"

"Just an observation. I'd be wary of getting attached."

"Why?"

Bella shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, you know. People come and go. He'll be on his way soon, I'm sure. We don't have a permanent job for him here."

"We could, though, couldn't we? Now that Connor has gone?"

"And you're not interested, yeah?" Anita blushed again. "I'll see you in the morning."

Anita went to her room, dressing for bed quietly. She could already hear Nikki snoring down the hallway. As she turned off the lights, she noticed again the stars shining in the black sky. Tristan, too, stared at the skies as he went to his own bed — or so she imagined as she drifted off into a dream-filled sleep.

## **CHAPTER NINE**

### **_-_**

###

The sound of rain against her window was light as a kiss as it roused Anita from sleep.

No, Anita thought, listening more closely, not rain. It was too regular for rain, more like a steady drip, a tap... a knock? Anita opened her eyes wearily. She'd been having a dream, she thought. She stood up and walked to the window. The steady tap stopped when Anita opened the window. A playful breeze whirled up around her, sending ripples across her satin negligee. It pressed up against her body and billowed out behind her, and she closed her eyes to breathe in the night.

"Anita?"

It was barely more than a whisper, but she recognized the voice instantly. It was deep as the ocean and warm as summer rain, and she couldn't suppress her smile when she looked down to see Tristan gazing up at her window.

"Hey," she said.

He dropped the pebble he had been holding.

"Hey. I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see stars."

"And you thought you'd rather see them for real?" She finished.

"Yes. I was just going to go back to the roof, but then I wondered if, maybe..."

"I'd love to." Anita tried not to let her exhilaration show too much. "I'll be down in a minute." She closed the window and smiled, secretly, and opened the door to the hall. The house was in utter darkness, the hall and landing black with no moon or stars to guide her downstairs, but she had long since memorized the floor. Taking care to avoid creaking steps, she descended the staircase. She almost slipped into her shoes by the door but left them standing on the porch. The porch steps were cool against her feet, the ground firm and comforting, somehow.

"Back to the roof?" Tristan asked as she came around the corner, and they started off.

They walked side by side, and though they weren't touching, Anita thought she felt his warmth beside her, but it was something more than that. She could have closed her eyes and known exactly where he was as if some invisible bond linked them together. They walked past the orchard and to the barn. It rose up above them, blocking out the stars, and as Tristan went to open the door, Anita stopped him.

"No, wait."

"What?" he said, looking around at her, his eyes suddenly tinged with worry.

"Just... Follow me." The idea had come to her suddenly, and she grabbed Tristan's hand in a moment of giddiness.

"Where are you taking me?" Tristan asked as she pulled him around the side of the barn.

"You'll see," she answered. They walked around the barn, and Tristan made to turn right to the stables and grazing meadows, but Anita pulled him to the left, where the edge of a forest marked the boundaries of the ranch.

"Where are we going?" He asked again, as they moved to the trees.

"Just wait." The trees darkened their vision, but Anita was sure-footed, and the trees seemed to almost move aside for them as they made their way through the forest. The ground was covered in a soft bed of moist earth and needles, and the air was rich with the smell of pine. A cicada sang somewhere above them.

The clearing opened up between the trees, just as Anita remembered. It was a quiet place, though not far from the ranch. The trees which had so cruelly denied them starlight now protected them from the lamps in the driveway, and the more distant lights of the road. The occasional car which passed by the ranch did nothing to disturb the perfect peace here. The grass was soft and lush beneath Anita's feet, as she and Tristan stepped out of the coverage of the trees.

"Wow," he said, in a hushed whisper. It was beautiful here, beneath the stars. The aspens, gold and white in the day, were tinged in silver by the sliver of moon which hung low above them, and the grass looked like an ocean, bathed in starlight and rippling softly with every breeze. There was a brook past the other side of the meadow, its water whispering secrets over the rocks.

Tristan started.

"I think I saw a light," he said, pointing, "over there."

Anita giggled. "Have you never seen a firefly?"

"Oh. I saw one, once, in the city."

"Well then, watch this." And Anita pulled Tristan into the silver sea.

They appeared slowly at first, one at a time, then more and more rose from the grass as Anita and Tristan ran through it, and by the time they reached the center of the meadow they were surrounded by them. Like pinpricks of sunlight, they filled the air around them with their glow, and the silver of the meadow was tinged with drops of gold.

Tristan laughed.

"Amazing," he said, turning around to take in the sight. "That's amazing." A firefly came between them, its little light blinking serenely. Tristan tentatively raised his hand to it but was gone before he could catch it. Now it was Anita's turn to laugh.

"What?" he asked, feigning offense.

"You'll have to be faster than that."

"I didn't want to hurt it," he explained.

Anita's laughter faded to a smile.

"You shouldn't try to catch it, then. Besides, if you hold it, you can't see the light. Some things are best admired from afar," she said thoughtfully, looking out at the myriad of lights.

"Not all things, though," Tristan whispered.

She turned her gaze towards him and their eyes met. Anita felt the air go out of her, and the night became silent around them. Anita could hear nothing but their breath, and see nothing but him. The smile had died from his lips and been replaced with something else, a fervent anticipation. Tristan's eyes seemed to drink up the moonlight and looked a deep, intense blue in the darkness, so dark Anita thought she might fall into them.

And then he was leaning towards her, and she fell. The world exploded into life as their lips met. The air seemed warmer, the breeze seemed to rise to a hurricane, and the brook rushed past like a river, a flood, and Anita wondered if she had ever really experienced life before now. It was as if she had only been half awake, half aware until this moment, but now that she was finally awake, finally alive, none of it mattered anymore. The wind whipped at her negligee and her hair, the brook rolled towards them like an ocean, the moonlight beat through her eyelids and set the world aflame with silver, but none of it meant anything against the man standing before her. Tristan's lips were chapped against her own soft ones, his hands calloused, though they felt soft over the satin of her negligee, as he pressed them into her lower back, pushing them closer together. His lips parted and she tasted oranges, sweet and tart and hot on his breath. She wrapped her arms around him, standing on her toes to reach up to the nape of his neck and his thick, soft hair.

She was barely aware of him lifting the negligee over her head, and then he was lifting her up, and Anita was light as a feather as he lowered her into the fragrant grass. The meadow cradled her like a dream, cool and fluid against her skin, as Tristan pressed down on her, warm and solid and real, more real than anything she had ever felt. He broke off the kiss, then, to gaze down on her. His thumb traced a line down her jaw. He lowered his lips to Anita's neck, where he kissed her, and nipped her, and breathed her in. He moved down slowly, deliberately, drawing his tongue along her collarbone, kissing a path down between her full breasts, only to stop and lightly worry a nipple with his teeth. She felt her nipples harden and sighed, and never felt the first drop of rain. Tristan's hand grazed her ribs, her waist, her hips. He stroked her thigh, raised his head to look at her, and she drank him in. Something played about his lips, but it wasn't a smile, exactly, and his eyes glinted in the darkness as his fingers found her pleasure. She moaned then, but the drops had become rain, and even as she said his name he seemed to disappear from view. The fireflies were gone, the trees were melting into the night, and the musk of Tristan's skin and the taste of his breath became the light, flowery smell of her own room as she sat up, panting.

A window had blown open. Likely she had not closed it properly yesterday, and now it was letting in the rain, and the drops of it splattered on her bed sheets, her arms, her legs. She had thrown the covers off in her sleep, she realized. Dazed, she rose from bed to close her window. The sheet would dry soon enough. She lay back down, but couldn't get quite comfortable — whichever way she turned, the mattress was no meadow, and the covers had the wrong weight and felt too cool and damp on her skin. She turned to the window, but the sound remained rain, not pebbles.

A dream, she thought, but the disappointment was short-lived. A dream it may have been, but Tristan was a whisper away. A whisper away and asleep, Anita thought, and she wondered what he might be dreaming of.

## **CHAPTER TEN**

### **_-_**

###

Sunday night was dancing night at the Cock 'n' Bull in East Birkham. The local whiskey joint turned into an all out barn dance from seven p.m. every week, and to Anita, there didn't really seem a better way to welcome Tristan to town.

"It's easy," she said to him as they bounced along in the back of the Chevy truck, squeezed between Jo, who was staring out the window, and Sally nervously biting her thumb. She had some reservations about who else might be in attendance.

"But you said that about horse riding," he said.

"Yes, and how quickly did you pick it up? You're a natural," Anita said breezily. Bella snorted from the driver's seat.

"Well, you're a good teacher," Tristan murmured. Anita beamed inwardly.

"Nikki's a great dancer," Bella chipped in, gesturing to her redheaded friend in the passenger seat. "She could show you a step or two."

"It's an offer I can't refuse," laughed Tristan, though his hand gently grazed Anita's. There was only one person he wanted to learn from.

A traditional barn dance was a variety of reel and line dancing, with a strong social element involving changing partners. In a town where your nearest neighbor was perhaps 10 or 15 miles away, it was a great way to catch up and socialize.

Raoul had already made his way down earlier and was leaning against the faded red-painted wall outside the bar when Bella pulled up the truck. Tall and broad, his gleaming smile met them as they jumped out of the cab. "Howdy! What took y'all so long?"

"Tristan couldn't pick between his beige shirt and the ivory one," Jo said wryly.

Bella ushered everyone out, locking the truck door.

"What if he's here?" asked Sally quietly as she walked in between Jo and Raoul. "I don't think I can be here if he's here."

Jo scoffed, pushing the door to the bar open. "He wouldn't dream of showing his face, the lousy cowardly-"

"He's here." Sally froze. Across the bar, Connor was nursing a short glass of scotch, deep in conversation with Norah, who appeared to have a rare night off from the Tipsy Tap. As the group stopped in the doorway, letting the summer breeze whistle through the open door, Connor glanced up, saw Sally, and froze.

"I can't do this," Sally whispered, biting her lip as Connor kicked back his bar stool and started striding towards her.

"Sally," he called out.

"I have to go," Sally said, turning back around, but Raoul wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. "Go outside for a moment, and when you come back, he won't be here." He stepped forward to block Connor's way.

"Come on, man," Connor said, trying to walk around him. "Let me through."

Raoul stood firm in the doorway.

"She doesn't want to speak to you."

"Well, I want to speak to her. C'mon Raoul, I have to speak to her."

"Well, whatever it is, she doesn't need to hear it," said Raoul solemnly. "If you won't respect her wishes, how do you expect her to take you seriously? You think that her friends are going to let you within a country mile of her after your performance on Friday?" Connor at least had the decency to blush, though he remembered little of what had actually passed. "Why don't you do Sally a favor, and let her be?" Raoul lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "I will not let you hurt her any more than you already have. Look at what you've done to her. The last thing she needs is to speak to you. Leave her alone."

Connor was not a shy man, nor one to back away from a fight. But staring up at Raoul, who suddenly seemed heads taller, Connor realized he was first and foremost not a stupid man.

"Fine," he scowled. He stormed back to the bar, throwing back the last of his whiskey and slamming the glass down. It shattered in his hand, and Norah let out a little scream. Connor stared at the fat droplets of crimson blood now glistening on his hand silently for a moment and then shook it nonchalantly. Raoul watched him from across the bar, his arms crossed fiercely across his bulging chest, his biceps straining through his thin white t-shirt. Connor started to walk to the back entrance, and then he stopped dead. He turned back, approached Raoul one more time.

"Look," he said, and all of his aggression seemed to have drained away. "I just want to speak to her, and I think she might want to hear what I have to say. But I get it. I get why she wouldn't want to." He sighed, the sincerity breaking his bravado. "Can you give her this?" he asked, pulling a letter from his jacket pocket. Droplets of crimson blood stood at a stark contrast to the bleached white envelope. "If she still doesn't want to speak to me... well, that's her choice. But she should know... She should know who she can trust... and who she can't." He thrust his hands back in his pockets, wincing at the fresh pain, and ducked out of the back door. Raoul turned the letter over, looked at Sally's name scrawled in untidy writing on the front. Should he give it to her? He heard the door open and close behind him: the girls were in the bar, Sally pink in the cheeks, bright eyed, but smiling. He would decide later, he thought, folding the letter into his back pocket. It could definitely wait until tomorrow; Sally deserved a night free of worries.

Partnering up was always an intriguing activity. Jo, ever reluctant to engage with the neighboring ranch hands, asked Anita to dance, and Sally and Raoul paired up. Bella pushed Nikki and Tristan together while she asked Graham, a young, fresh-faced sheep herder from West Birkham to be her partner.

The first dance was a slow partner dance. Hands laced into each other, bodies moved in rhythm.

"So how long is Tristan staying?" asked Jo.

"I don't know. A while, I guess. I hope." Anita said, smiling.

Jo frowned. "I thought he'd have moved on by now."

"I don't think he has a plan."

Nikki stared into Tristan's piercing blue eyes. Gosh, had they always sparkled like that? Her porcelain cheeks turned faintly pink. "How are you liking the ranch?" she asked him.

"It's great, I love it," Tristan enthused. "It's such a beautiful place. And everyone has been so welcoming." He glanced over Nikki's shoulder at Anita, deep in conversation with Jo. "And honestly, I don't think I've ever eaten so well in my life."

Nikki smiled. "We can't have our guests going hungry."

"No, really. You need to show me the recipe for that blueberry pie. Maybe you can teach me?" He smiled that winning, white-toothed beam, and Nikki felt her stomach knot and tighten as a delicious warm glow spread through her.

"Of course," she smiled back, biting her cherry-red lips.

"How did you get him to leave?" Sally asked Raoul. The two of them should have looked faintly ridiculous dancing together, with Sally's petite five-foot-three frame against Raoul's towering six-foot form; yet, something about the simple sincerity of the two put them beyond ridicule.

"I told him that he needed to start respecting you," said Raoul, "and he does. If you want to talk to him, that's your choice. Don't let anybody feel you ever have to do anything you don't want."

Sally smiled, watery eyed. "Thanks, Raoul," she murmured, hugging him gently. Raoul squeezed her back and repressed the stirrings he felt inside. The letter shuffled in his back pocket.

"So, I hear y'all are getting kicked off the ranch," Graham said to Bella, a teasing smile on his lips.

"You heard wrong," Bella responded curtly.

"So he ain't selling bits of land?"

"Why, are you interested in buying?" Bella asked. "You couldn't afford our land if you sold all of yours."

"Sorry, sorry, I was just teasing. I just heard rumors..."

"Do you know who Weattie's buyer is?" Bella said quietly. Graham's hand was snaked around her waist, pulling her uncomfortably close to him.

"Wish I could tell you, sugar," Graham said gruffly. "I don't think it's George — he let a bunch of the farm hands go this summer. Right before shearing season, too. This is my last night off for three weeks." He lowered his voice, put his unshaven cheek to hers and spoke softly in her ear. "Wanna get out of here? Grab a drink at the Tap and then maybe take a drive to the lake?" He squeezed her ass. Bella grimaced.

"Maybe another night, cowboy," she muttered, slapping his hand away. "Why don't you ask Norah?"

The music changed, the caller ordered the pairs into a circle. The dance began: walk three, turn, back three, walk three, turn, back three, side kick, side kick, twirl, and move on. Ladies changed partners after the twirl, men stayed put. Anita began to cross the dance floor towards Tristan and was cut off by Raoul begging her hand. She obliged, staring longingly across the circle at Tristan, now partnered with Bella. Jo and Sally stood behind them, Nikki and Lee Jackson, the farrier, behind them. Anita counted the number of partners until she could lace her fingers through Tristan's as the dance began.

"I saw you by the lake again this morning," Tristan said to Bella. She raised an eyebrow, her gray eyes impenetrable. "Sorry," he said quickly, "I wasn't spying. I just — I was practicing riding. Chestnut. I wasn't really paying attention to where we were going."

Bella shrugged, walking back in time with him. "It's ok, it was hardly a private moment."

"Well, I know everyone has their own special place around here."

"Oh, I don't go to the lake, I go--" Bella paused, laughed nervously.

"Where?" prodded Tristan, his piercing azure eyes curious. Bella hesitated. "You don't have to tell me," he added as they turned in unison.

"No, it's just — I don't know if anyone else knows about it."

"I wouldn't dream of mentioning it."

Bella smiled briefly at him, shook her head a little. Her mouth reverted back to its usual straight, firm line. Tristan took her silence, understanding he still had much to do to earn her trust.

"Willow's Peak," she said suddenly as he twirled her away.

"What?"

"Willow's Peak. It's a pool, in a cave, on the mountain. Hard to get to if you can't ride."

She moved swiftly on to her next partner, and Tristan found Sally at his side.

"Hey, partner. Have you got the moves down?"

"Just about, I think," he said, grabbing her hand and beginning to walk forward with her. He tripped over his own foot, and she giggled.

"Sorry, I'm--"

"No need to apologize," she said, laughing. "I'm as much of a klutz as you are. I've just had about twenty years more practice at this particular form of uncoordinated hell."

"That's true. You seem happier, tonight. If you don't mind me saying."

"Not at all." Sally leaned in as they moved together for the kick. "I'll let you in on a little secret. It's the tequila." She laughed again and twirled on to her next partner.

Nikki sidled up next to Tristan. "Mind if I cut in?" she joked.

"Not at all," he said, flashing her that perfect smile. Grabbing her hand, he was surprised again by how soft the delicate flesh of her palm was. Nikki was very aware of Tristan's warm touch. Concentrating on the steps, she tried to stop the glow of her cheeks as she felt the bulge of his muscled arm against her back.

The music continued, the pace quickening, the tempo reaching a climax as Anita partnered with Jo — and then cutting as she stepped forward to take Tristan's hand. "Next dance?" he asked gallantly. She smiled, stepping forward, when--

"We'll be back in 15," said the band, putting down their instruments.

"Typical," Anita laughed lightly, though she was irritated that this was the closest she'd been to Tristan all night. "Are you having a good night?"

"Yeah, it's been fun so far," he said. "Want to get a beer?"

"Sure," Anita said, following him to the bar. He ordered two drinks, and they clinked glasses together with a soft, "Cheers." She sipped the cool, golden liquid.

Tristan chuckled as she placed her beer back on the bar. "What?" she asked.

"You have a little..." he gestured to his upper lip, "beer mustache." Anita clapped her hand to her face, feeling the soft foam below her nose. She blushed, wiping it away.

"You missed a bit," Tristan said, gently wiping the last bit of foam from her face. His finger lingered on her lip, and Anita felt herself stepping into him until her face was inches from his. She could smell his sharp, sweet, citrus cologne.

Tristan moved his hand slowly from her cheek, his own turning a little pink. "Um, you — we should head back up to the room sometime. The roof!" he said quickly. Anita giggled and he smiled at the melodic ring of her laughter. "We never finished looking at the stars."

"Maybe we can get out --" Anita began, but was interrupted by Jo.

"Hey guys," she said, giving a Tristan a friendly punch on the shoulder, and swinging a familiar arm over Anita's shoulder. "What's the goss?"

"Ah, ranch stuff," Tristan said. Anita smiled secretly.

"Hey, take a night off from learning about ranching. Anita will talk your ear off about those damn horses if you let her. Let's talk politics — let's talk fashion. Tell me about the shirt, Tristan."

Anita rolled her eyes at Tristan and he smirked. Anita tried to give Jo a hint to leave them, but Jo seemed insistent on hanging around, quizzing Tristan on every shirt he had with him in his single backpack: "So what made you choose the ivory over eggshell; and did you ever consider stone?"

Sally was ordering another tequila. "You want one too?" she asked Nikki as she approached the bar.

"Why not?" she smiled.

"Two tequila slammers, please," Sally asked. The two of them leaned against the bar, surveying the dance floor.

"I'm so glad he didn't stay."

"It's decent of him to leave."

"Yeah. Tonight is fun."

"Tonight is fun," Nikki smiled. "Plenty of... talent." She giggled to herself, eyeing Tristan, who was talking to Jo. He really had picked up the dances very quickly.

"Ooooh, who's got your attention, Nikki?" Sally asked.

"Who do you think?" Nikki gushed, turning to her. "Ever since Jo brought him back it's been like living with a demi-god. Have you seen his abs? He was working shirtless in the stable yesterday, I nearly died." Sally laughed. "I don't know how you can sleep in the same house as him. I'd be drooling over him all night."

"Get off it, Nikki, he's good looking but... oh, he's not my type," Sally said, handing over a 20 dollar bill and sliding the two tequilas towards them.

"What, Herculean muscles and eyes the color of paradise isn't your type? Your drink," she said, passing Sally a shot of tequila and tossing back her own.

"You're drinker," Sally slurred. She gazed across the bar, where Anita was being dragged off by Jo for the next dance.

Raoul joined Tristan at the counter.

"Drink?" he asked.

"What was that, the one we had with dinner the other night? The ale."

"Hey, John, two pale ales."

"Thanks," Tristan said.

"No worries. So, how're you liking life as a country boy?"

Tristan laughed.

"Yeah, it's great. I think my riding still needs work, though."

"Yep."

"Sorry?"

Raoul laughed as he passed Tristan a beer.

"Look, man, you've been here, what, a week? Less than that. You're doing pretty good for an amateur."

"Well," Tristan said, taking a swig of the beer, "can't be as bad as your dancing."

Raoul stopped with the bottle halfway to his lips, then laughed.

"Fair enough."

"So," Tristan asked, "you and Connor are friends?"

"Not really. I mean, we shared a bunk, but I don't really like sharing my personal space with guys, you know? We got along okay. He's not a bad guy. Well, I didn't think he was. He was always decent to everyone, one of those people pleasing types."

"Looks like he's gone through some changes."

"Sure does. I can't believe he'd do that to Sally." Raoul frowned. "He used to speak about her all the time. About how well they got along, how much he loved her. What a liar."

"You're really protective of Sally, huh?"

Raoul shrugged, but his eyes softened at the mention of her.

"She seems very sweet," Tristan said.

"She is. Kind, selfless, wouldn't hurt a fly. It sucks, seeing her like this."

The band return, and a song later Anita realized she would have to forgo her dance with Tristan. Her and Raoul ended up carrying Sally back to the truck. Similarly incapacitated, Nikki was also steered to the truck by Bella, and Jo and Tristan dutifully followed their friends. Tristan sat in the front seat between Bella and a slumped-over Nikki; Anita couldn't help wishing it had been her.

## **CHAPTER ELEVEN**

### **_-_**

###

Some people need coffee to wake up, or tea, or breakfast. For Tristan, the best way to wake up was with a good shower. Well, it was the second-best way, but it worked wonderfully. Still half asleep, he had grabbed his towel and stumbled past Jo's empty room and Sally's closed door, and all but tripped into the bathtub.

He'd talk to Anita later, he decided, as the hot water cascaded over him, streaming down his bare back and chest. He wondered what Anita might be doing now, whether she was also in the shower, perhaps thinking about him... It was the thought of her, and her hands on her body, and the way her wet hair had looked in the lake that day, and how it might look now, plastered against her warm skin. He felt a low, dangerous heat rise in him at the thought of Anita, water flowing down her sleek black hair, her back, her every curve. It was intoxicating, how the mere thought of her could raise in him such passion.

His own pleasure rose, and the edge of the world began to fade from view, and all he could think, all he could see was her.

The door swung open and banged against the wall, and Sally walked in, swaying slightly. She didn't look tired and must have been awake in her room for a while. Her hair was wild from the previous night, and makeup had smudged around her eyes. She was still in her pajamas, laced shorts, and a loose white top. A strap had fallen astray across her upper arm, and the thin material did little to hide the soft curvature of her breasts.

She looked about for a moment in mild confusion, and then their eyes locked.

"Hey, Tristan..." Sally's greeting trailed away as her eyes trailed down. She raised her eyebrows.

A moment's hesitation and Tristan had grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist. Sally teetered and stumbled to the bathtub, where she sat down, grasping its edge.

"Are you alright?" He sat down on the edge as well, feet still in the bath, and lifted her chin. She looked at him, and her eyes took a second to focus.

"Hey there, you," Sally said.

"Are you alright?" He began to ask again but never finished the question. She rose up to him, one hand balanced on the edge of the tub, the other pressing down on his own, and their lips met. All he had thought of Sally's sweet, demure disposition went up in smoke in an instant. She pressed herself against him with a ferocity almost like hunger, her hand rising from his up to his arm, his shoulder, then finding hold in his hair. Her lips were chapped from days spent riding in the wind. She tasted like sugar, like blueberry jam, and something else, something sharp, lime and liqueur. Her kiss became deeper, more desperate, and he felt the towel strain as she swung her leg over it to straddle him. Her breath became sharp and shallow. She fumbled with the knot in the towel, and he brought his arms up around her back, pressing her smooth, soft body against his own torso.

They dipped backward over the edge of the bathtub, crashing onto the tiles in a tangle of shirt and towel and limbs. Tristan felt a stab of pain and tasted blood. He cursed, bringing his hand up to his mouth. There was a second of awkward, breathy silence before Sally quickly disentangled herself from Tristan and stood back up, face flush, legs trembling. She sat back down on the edge of the tub.

"I'm so sorry," she said.

"No, no it's not that. I bit my tongue." Tristan stood up and removed his hand from his mouth. It came away flecked with blood. "Great," he muttered.

He rinsed it off in the sink and spat out a mouthful of blood along with it. Turning around, he noticed Sally was still there. She pursed her lips apologetically, then gave a little cough and raised her eyebrows again.

"What?"

"Your towel," she said pointedly. And then Tristan was scrabbling for the towel once more, and she was laughing hysterically, and before he knew it, he was too. They were caught in the moment, keeling over, sides in stitches.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated, slightly breathless. "I don't know what came over me. I'm not even the one you want."

"What? What are you talking about?" Tristan said quickly, his usually collected manner disappearing in a flurry of stumbled words.

Sally laughed, thinking of Nikki's admiring gaze last night. "Oh come on, you know who I'm talking about. Don't think I haven't seen the way you two look at each other."

Tristan thought about Anita's deep, soulful eyes, her soft skin beneath his fingertips. "Is it that obvious?"

Sally laughed. "Yeah. Just get together already. You both obviously want to."

"I do want to," he murmured. "I just — we're all living together, everyone is so close, I don't want it to get messy, you know? Like what happened with you and Connor--" Sally bit her lip and Tristan regretted mentioning it instantly. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive."

Sally shook her head. "Don't be silly. You're right — there's a lot of opportunities for things to get messy when you're all living in close quarters. I'd hate to be the cautionary tale that stops two people from being happy, though." She stood up from the edge of the tub. "I'll let you get dressed. Maybe don't mention this?"

"Mention what?" Tristan smiled. She laughed and left the bathroom. "Um, Sally?"

"Hmm?" She peeked back in through the door.

"I'm sorry I brought up Connor."

She shrugged.

"And I just--are you alright?"

She shrugged again, though he saw the sadness creeping back through her eyes.

"I'll be okay."

"You know, whoever he is, he's not worth this," Tristan said. He was still keenly aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing but a towel, but it felt like something Sally had to hear. "You're such a good person, and you're kind and generous, and you deserve better than some idiot who makes you want to hide away in your room all day."

"Yeah. Okay."

"Seriously. Don't belittle yourself for the sake of others. People who love you should bring out the best in you. Love isn't love if it leaves you feeling small or insignificant. You deserve to be loved by someone who will know himself lucky to have found you. Anything less isn't worth a second of your time."

Sally sniffed.

"Thanks," she said quietly. "Thank you. I'll, um... I'll leave you to get dressed. Coffee?"

"Yeah, coffee sounds good," Tristan said, and Sally closed the door with a quiet click.

## **CHAPTER TWELVE**

### **_-_**

###

Jo slid into the back seat of the truck and slammed the door shut.

"They're screwing in my bathroom," she said before Bella had even cleared the driveway.

"What?" Nikki asked sleepily.

"They're screwing in my bathroom," Jo repeated. "I heard them, panting away in there, I heard them."

"What?" Bella said, more sharply. "Who?"

"Who do you think?" Jo asked seethingly, "Anita and that ungrateful, freeloading--"

"Really?" Bella asked. "Huh."

They drove for a half mile before Bella decided that someone had to say something.

"You seem upset," she noted.

"No, it's just... come on, at least use your own bathroom, you know?"

"How do you know it was Anita?" Bella asked.

"Her scarf was on the couch. She probably forgot to tie it to the door handle. You know, 'hey, sorry to disturb, I just need a moment of privacy in your house.' Come on."

Nikki tensed up.

"Scarf?"

"Yeah, the purple one she was wearing last night."

"That's odd," Bella said, "why on earth would they use your bathroom? They've both got bedrooms, and let's be honest, there are plenty of more private spaces around here than a bathroom without a functioning lock shared by three people. You know, there's this spot by the lake, just past the clearing, where..."

"Did you see them?" Nikki interrupted.

"What? No. The door was closed. What do you think I did, take pictures? Come on. Like I said, it's their problem. They just ought to take it out of my bathroom. Why do you care so much?"

"Nothing," Nikki said, "I don't. It just... seems odd, is all." She bit her lip nervously.

They dropped Jo off by the mechanic and promised to pick her up in a half hour.

"Remember the budget," Nikki called after her. Jo waved the comment away, still stomping furiously. Bella had barely started the car up again when Nikki exploded.

"How could she?" she said, sitting up, all tiredness forgotten.

"How could she what?"

"Do that?" Nikki said, "with Tristan. To me!"

"What?"

Nikki took a deep breath.

"Anita gave Sally her scarf last night because she was cold. It wasn't Anita in there with Tristan, it was Sally. I know it. I can't believe it!"

"Why not?" Bella asked innocently. "He's free to sleep with whomever he likes, is he not? They're both consenting adults, I don't see why..."

"Because I told her I was interested in him," Nikki said hotly. "I told her last night, and she said he wasn't her type."

"So?"

"So, what, is she doing it to upset me? Why would she do that? It's vile, I can't believe she'd lie to me this whole time."

"Maybe she changed her mind."

"Seems so."

"Look, maybe you sweet-talked about the guy until she understood what you were seeing. Could happen. Not unheard of, definitely. And he's hot, I mean, good for her."

"Why are you on her side? What, you think she deserves him more?"

"No, of course not." Bella raised her hands in momentary defense but quickly placed them back on the steering wheel. "I'm just saying, she got there first. I never really got the impression he was interested in Sally, to be honest."

"Yeah. Me neither."

Bella glanced sideways at her friend, who was sitting, feet hunched up on the seat, arms crossed, glaring angrily ahead.

"Honestly, I'm sure it was just a spur of the moment," Bella said soothingly. "They were probably both still drunk. He'll have forgotten all about it by lunchtime."

"Maybe I should have made a move on him yesterday," Nikki sighed, uncrossing her arms.

"What? No, look, you were all drunk, it would have been terrible. Besides," she muttered, "it's not like he's in a hurry to leave."

"What do you mean?"

Bella cleared her throat.

"I mean, you know, he's still here. You're still here. I can't really see it working out with Sally. She just wanted a rebound, I don't think she's actually into Tristan."

"He might be into her, though," Nikki scoffed.

"Well aren't you the comedian. Look, sitting in here and moping around isn't going to solve anything. Just go and talk to Sally later."

"Yeah, right."

"Or," Bella said, more slowly, "go and talk to Tristan."

Nikki's eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe. Oh, right here."

Bella stopped the car.

"Should I park?"

"No, don't worry," Nikki said, stepping out, "I'll be here a while. Go pick up Jo, I'll catch a ride later on. Just want some time to myself, really."

"Alright, see you later."

Nikki closed the door, and Bella did a round of the town in her car before turning to pick up Jo again. Jo stashed the can of oil in the back, and came round to the passenger seat, slamming all doors slightly harder than necessary.

"You okay?"

"What? Yeah. I'm fine."

"Alright. It's just that you seem..."

"It's just that this man waltzes into our lives in the middle of the night, and now he's having sex in my bathroom. With Anita. In my bathroom."

"Jo, you brought the man home."

"I know, I didn't think he'd be staying around for so long," Jo complained.

"Tell me about it," Bella muttered.

"You don't like him either?"

"I... no, I... look, why are you even upset? You don't know it was Anita, it could have been anyone."

"Yeah, sure. Right. Like he hasn't been drooling over her since he arrived," Jo said. "What am I going to do?"

"Get on with your life?" Bella suggested.

"I know his type, you know. Grew up in the city. Spoiled rotten. Probably filthy rich. And now he's out here, trying to 'find himself' or whatever because he got upset when Daddy wouldn't buy him a Ferrari. I just don't think this guy is good news."

"Then why did you take him home?"

"I didn't know at the time, did I?" Jo slid down in the seat. "I'm just annoyed. And it's not like I can just go up to him and ask him to stop having sex in my bathroom with Anita."

"Why not?"

Jo opened her mouth, closed it again, and pursed her lips.

"It's your bathroom. If you don't want people having sex in it, that's fair enough, really."

Jo sat up straight again.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I will talk to him. You know, it's probably time he moved on as it is, it's not like we're drowning in cash, we can't be feeding and housing this man for the rest of the year."

"Yes, you should definitely speak to him about that," Bella said.

"Thanks."

A moment of silence, then:

"I went over budget."

"Tragic," Bella said dryly, and both of them laughed.

"Do you ever feel like life dishes out everything at once?" Jo asked.

"All the time," Bella said. "All the time. Don't worry about the budget so much, we'll figure it out. Unless you spent the entirety of Connor's salary."

"No, a dollar-fifty. But I don't think Nikki understands how money works."

"I think she understands it more than most," Bella mused. "Anyway, it's not budgets we need to cut."

"No?"

"It's Weattie," she said grimly.

"Well, you said it."

Back on the ranch, Jo hopped out of the car.

"Thanks, Bella," she said, "you give the best advice." Forgetting the oil in the trunk, she ran up towards the guest house, thinking that if Tristan would be anywhere, he would be there. When that was empty, she made her way to the barn. Sitting on a fence, a bowl of strawberries in one hand, was Anita. Jo approached her.

"Hey, Jo."

"Hey. Have a good morning?"

Anita shrugged.

"Yeah, it was alright."

"Just alright?" Jo asked. "Well, that's disappointing."

"What? Why?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd settle for 'just alright'. And honestly, it sounded like you were having a good time in there. Sorry, I wasn't listening in, I was just looking for Sally. You know. Who actually lives there."

"What? Who was having a good time? Where?"

Jo stopped.

"You. You and Tristan. Wasn't that...?"

"What? Where?"

"Just earlier this morning, in the guest house, in the bathroom, there was..."

Anita blushed.

"You think I'm hooking up with someone in your bathroom? That makes no sense at all..." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes lit up with sudden understanding.

"Oh my God." She hopped off the fence and pushed the bowl of strawberries into Jo's hands. "No. No, she wouldn't." Anita darted off across the yard.

"What? Anita. Hey! Anita!" Jo stared at the bowl of strawberries, and at the fading figure. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but it didn't feel like good news.

## **CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

### **_-_**

###

"Anita. Hey! Anita!"

But Anita was already past the orchard and running up to the guest house. It still hadn't quite sunk in, and she wondered if perhaps Jo had lied to her. It was preferable, she thought, for her friend to have told her a painful lie like that, than for Tristan to have been... She slowed down her pace, and shook her head, as if she could fling the thought, the image, right out of it. If it was true, she decided, she wouldn't cry. She would definitely not cry. After all, Tristan wasn't hers, he was just a man who was passing through.

She laughed bitterly to herself at her inability to lie to her own heart. Tristan wasn't just a man. There was no one she had ever felt so comfortable and at ease around. Of course, the others probably thought she was awkward and clumsy, but that didn't matter. She felt like she could be herself around Tristan. She liked that she could show him things, and that he listened to her, and that he enjoyed listening to her. Not that the others never listened, but sometimes it felt like they were just doing it to do her a favor. Tristan wanted to know what she had to say. He actually went out of his way to discover more about her. That was special, more special to her than he probably realized.

They could always just be friends, she thought bitterly. They didn't have to be... anything else. Whatever they had begun being.

Right?

No. Even as she entered the guest house she knew she could never just be friends with him. There was just too much there, and it would hurt, it would hurt too much. She realized as she opened the door that she wasn't prepared. She didn't know what she was going to do if she found Tristan there with any of her friends. What could she do? Laugh and leave? Blow it off as if she had just been passing through, looking for some eggs? No, that wouldn't be believable. She'd just have to be upfront.

Even if he had been just a guy passing through, she thought, she would not have expected this from her friend. How could her own friend do this to her? Surely she had made her feelings for Tristan clear to them. They knew. They all knew. The horses probably knew. Or at least that was what she had thought until now. But now... had she been misinterpreting Tristan's signs? Had he not been interested this whole time, after all? Perhaps he really was just using her, using them all, to get free board and food, and a vacation in the countryside. Free riding lessons, swimming in the lake, picnics, and five beautiful women between whom he could choose at will — well, sort of, at least. That sounded a lot more like most men Anita had known. And if Tristan had not felt like all other men, maybe that had just been her imagination. Maybe she had projected her own hopes and desires onto him, and what she had seen had been merely a reflection of her own emotions.

But the guest house seemed empty. All the doors had been left ajar, the sunlight streamed through the windows and motes drifted through the air like flecks of gold. She stood quietly, still, looking at them, remembering how she had met Tristan, right there in that corner, and how his own hair had seemed haloed in gold against the sun. She thought of how easily he had joked with her, even before knowing who she was, how his hand had lingered around her wrist, and she had felt, just for a moment, his heartbeat seeming to reach her through his touch. She had never seen anyone so beautiful. It had been in his eyes, the kindness and nonchalant grace that had shone through them, through those intensely blue irises, which shimmered in the early morning like sunlight reflected on the water.

But still waters do run deep, and deep waters are treacherous.

"Hello?" she asked, tentatively taking a look around. But it was well and truly empty. Perhaps Jo had just been playing a prank. A cruel, needless prank, but perhaps it had just been a prank. Her room was a mess, and Sally's even more so, but it didn't look like either of them had been recently occupied. The bathroom, however, was still damp, the steam on the mirror had not quite dissipated from the edges, and the shower curtain stuck to itself and the side of the tub. So someone had been here recently, after all.

Anita looked at the crack in Tristan's door. It was just an inch, but it was open, and it was empty. She had been in Jo and Sally's rooms before, had even slept there when her own room had been repainted, and the two girls weren't overly private about their home They never even locked the door, not even at night. But going into Tristan's room was different.

It felt, she thought as she pushed the door open, a bit like betrayal. But she had to know. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but when she found it, she'd know.

The spare room was smaller than the other two, with just a single bed haphazardly put together from the old steel frame Nikki had found hidden away in the loft. The mattress had come from Connor's old bed in the farmhouse. The bed was made, the covers pulled over it, the pillow fluffed, and if the room was a mess, it was just because it had been used to store everything that didn't fit anywhere else. The writing desk was an antique, scuffed and worn, but still beautiful. Nikki had moved it, in favor of a larger desk for her own room. There was a small stack of plastic chairs in a corner, and a folded up garden table, which they used for barbeques but couldn't fit in the shed. Two tall lamps, both probably broken, stood in the corner behind the door, and the bedside table was actually a stack of old books. Tristan didn't seem to have arrived with anything much: there was no sign but the bed that anyone else lived here, and even the bed was so pristine it may have been unoccupied for weeks.

Which, Anita thought, made sense, if Sally and Tristan were... She shook her head again, and the thought ran like ripples through her raven hair. Feeling dejected, she sat down on the corner of the bed, making sure not to crease the covers too much.

That's when she saw the bag. It had been placed under the small desk, probably to not take up any more floor space than necessary. It was a regular looking backpack, red and black, with reflective stripes across it for cars to see.

And it was open. Not the kind of open that the door had been, but completely unzipped. Anita could see its contents, some shirts and a book, and a small stack of letters. Curiously, she looked up, and peeked outside into the living room again, just to make sure she was alone.

She really shouldn't. But then, she was already here, and she had shared enough with Tristan, she thought, that he owed her some explanations. He had always been so vague about his life, didn't she deserve to know something about him? For all they knew he could have been an escaped murderer, or an arsonist, or a drug dealer. She took the letters from the backpack. This wasn't bills or bank statements, she thought, looking carefully at the handwritten addresses on the front. This was a correspondence. The handwriting on the front was beautiful, looping and elegant... A woman's handwriting, though Anita knew she shouldn't be so quick to judge. Perhaps it was his mother. At the top of the pile was a postcard, depicting a scarlet sunset. Anita turned the card over.

_February 4_ _th_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_It was lovely meeting you the other week! Your brother has nearly recovered from his hangover, but I told him that's what being 21 is all about. I asked your brother for an address, so I could send you a postcard, you said you like receiving mail. I took the photo myself the other day. I hope that you're enjoying being back in NYC. Send me something from the city?_

_All the best,_

_Callie_

__

Callie. Anita looked at the last two lines. So it was a girl. But "all the best" didn't particularly inspire romance or love. She put the postcard aside and after another glance at the door pulled out the first letter.

_February 28_ _th_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_Thank you for the postcard! I was so excited when I saw it, the picture is beautiful. I can't believe you live so close to the sea. I've never seen the sea, but it's on my bucket list. I always want to head off, take a trip, maybe go and see New York or San Francisco. I'd love to see San Francisco. Have you been there? I hear the people are really nice. And the sea must be beautiful. But things just always seem to get in the way, work, family, life. It's a shame. It must be great to have a job where you can work with such a great view. I think the highest building I've ever been on was five floors, and I was a bit terrified, to be honest. I don't think I can imagine being on the thirty-second. It must be dizzying. Classes are finishing up next week for spring break. Maybe I should take a city break this year... ?_

_All the best,_

_Callie_

So they were sharing bucket lists and aspirations. And was she flirting with him? But it meant nothing, Anita thought, even if she'd gone to see him in New York. Friends visit each other. The next one was dated

_March 14_ _th_ __

_Dear Tristan, _

_Thanks for showing me around NYC on the weekend. I don't think I'd have been able to do it without you. I've included the photo that couple took of us in Central Park — I think it came out really well, don't you? Let me know when you're back in Denver. I know you grew up here, but you've never seen Denver until you've seen Denver with me! I promise, there are some excellent coffee shops here, too._

_Callie_

__

_March 28_ _th_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_I'm sorry about your father, I hope he gets well soon. I went to see him with your brother, he seems to be doing better than last week. It's strange, isn't it, how life seems to go faster and faster the longer you live? Your brother says you and your dad don't get along, and I know we've only been writing to each other for a short while, and I don't really have any right to stick my nose into your business like this, but I feel like we can be honest with each other, you know? Maybe it's writing that brings out the honesty in me, but I think you should go and see your father. There's no relationship so strained it can't be mended, I think, and running away is never a solution. It just postpones the problem, it doesn't make it go away. If you don't want to stay with your parents, you could sleep here, there's always a couch for you to crash on._

_Think about it._

_Callie_

Anita's hands trembled as she pulled out the next letter. It was dated the July fourth.

_July 4_ _th_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_The fireworks are going on outside, but they feel less vivid without you here. It was so good to see you again. That connection you spoke about on the last night, I feel that too. I think we really have something special. You're not like all the other guys, and I feel like with you I can just be myself, you know? I know you love to receive mail, but I miss seeing you, looking into your eyes, hearing you laugh, feeling your touch... How long until you can come back again?_

_Love,_

_Callie_

Love. It hit Anita like a slap in the face. But this had been July last year. It was over a year ago. It was probably no longer relevant. And yet, he'd kept the letters.

_September 6_ _th_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_I'm so sorry. I know you didn't think you got along, but losing a parent is always painful. I'm writing to let you know that everyone wants you back for the funeral. Your father put you in his will, too. You're the eldest son and you should be there, and if you hate me for saying it, then so be it. But I know that if you don't go, you'll never forgive yourself. I can't watch you eat away at yourself with the guilt, I love you too much for that. Please consider it. You know you always have a place to stay here, and I will come with you if you want me to, and not if you don't. _

_I know the pressure must feel like too much, but remember that you're not alone in this. Your brother says he's tried contacting you but you're not answering. He's your brother, Tristan, and Thomas was his father, too. There is no cure for grief, you just have to wait for it to pass on its own. I would know. And I know you think that it might be better to be alone, but it never is, in these situations. Please don't lock yourself away from the world, I've seen people get lost in their work and forget all the beautiful things life has to offer. I don't want to lose you, and your family misses you._

_Write back soon._

_Love, as always,_

_Callie_

Anita lay the letter down on her lap and wiped her eyes. No wonder he didn't like to talk about his parents if his father had died. She quickly dug out the next letter.

_September 21_ _st_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_You said my letters keep you going, so I'll be writing more often. I'm so glad you came, and I know how hard it must have been for you, but your brother and mother really needed you, and you may not think so, but you needed them, too. I know it's a lot to take in, but you'll be glad, someday, that you did this. And I know I said that it was the grief and the funeral making you say things and that you should think about it, first, but if you were serious, then know that I love you, and I can't imagine my life without you. So, although I know these things should be done in person: yes — if you still want to?_

_Yours,_

_Callie._

__

_October 5_ _th_ __

_Dearest,_

_That was the best surprise I could ever have hoped for! I know that you have always been under a lot of pressure from your father, but I think he would be proud to know that you're taking on this job. With your father's name and firm, I'm sure you'll do wonderfully. Your father would be so proud. Your mother is, and your brother, too, I went to dinner with them last night, they're all very excited to see you next month — and I can't wait to see you next week on break! Can we visit the Chrysler building this trip?_

_Love you, always,_

_Callie_

__

_November 5_ _th_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_I haven't heard from you in a while, is everything alright? I know you're stressed, and I know it's hard, leaving behind a life, but I'm excited for us to start a new life here, together. You should see your office, it's beautiful! Panelled with mahogany, and a view over the edge of the city. You always said you love the countryside. You'll definitely love your new office, it's forest all the way to the horizon outside. I can't wait to see you again._

_Love,_

_Callie_

__

_PS. Your father's will is taking a while to get through, but your mother told me it won't be long now._

__

_December 31_ _st_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_I miss you. I'm sending a few photos with this letter, consider it a new year's gift ;)_

_See you in February,_

_Callie_

Anita closed this and picked up the last letter. It was heavier than the others. Hands trembling, she extracted the paper from the envelope.

_February 20_ _th_ __

_Dear Tristan,_

_I don't know what your brother told you, but_ _—_

There was a shuffle outside the front door. At a speed she didn't know she possessed, Anita stuffed the letter back in the envelope and put the pile back in the bag. She was just about to walk out of Tristan's room when he opened the front door. She looked at him, the way a strand of hair had fallen across his forehead and nearly over his eyes; his fierce, piercing, lying eyes. She felt as if someone had shoved a red hot nail through her stomach. She trembled, on the spot, for a moment, before composing herself. She would not be seen as weak. She would not be seen as helpless. If he was sleeping with Sally, or Nikki, or Bella, or Callie, or whoever else, that wasn't her problem. There were plenty of men who would appreciate her, in a way he obviously didn't.

But it broke her heart, nonetheless.

He beamed at her. "Hey, Anita, what..."

"Oh, I just came to see if Jo was home," she said, quickly. She couldn't pretend she was looking for Sally, what if he told her where she was? And Nikki and Bella didn't live here. She realized, with a pang, and another burst of red-hot pain in her stomach, that it was only Jo now. How could she trust any of the others, when any of them might have been... Maybe all of them. She could ask them, she knew, but she was done. She was done feeling weak and useless and betrayed. Whatever anyone was doing with Tristan was not her problem.

Not her problem.

And Jo, sweet, loyal Jo, she would be there, Anita knew, she'd be there for her until this all blew over. Until Tristan left. Until Anita got over it.

If she could.

"Oh, I think I saw her on the roof of the barn. Where we were the other night," he said, crossing over to her. "You still have stars to show me," he said softly, reaching out her hand, but she quickly pulled it away.

"Yeah. Sure."

He frowned. "Anita, are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

He grinned at her again, that sunshine-filled smile that kindled a warmth deep inside of her. The kind of smile that almost made her forget what she had read, about the lies, about the deception. She briefly wondered if she could forget it all: the world they inhabited together was so removed from her reality, did this new truth really matter? Could she ignore it for those singular moments of pleasure? Could she pretend--

"I kind of wanted to speak to you about--"

No. The sunshine was tortured with bruised clouds and the promise of thunder. She didn't want to tantalize herself with promises of paradise anymore. The world they had inhabited together had been magical, but the bubble had burst. It was time to get back to reality. "I need to find Jo."

She breezed past him, and his arm brushed her shoulder like a bolt of lightning, and then she was gone. The barn was only a few minutes away. All she had to do was hold out for a few minutes. Striding, back straight, face set, hair billowing behind her, she must have looked, she thought, perfectly in control. Never mind what she felt inside. The desperation, the devastation, she balled it up until there was nothing left but fury. Desperation would eat away at her. Fury, she could work with.

## **CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

### **_-_**

###

A storm was approaching.

Anita had checked the barn, but Jo had left. She was probably in the stables — some of the horses got nervous during storms, and Midnight was especially restless. Sliding open the heavy stable doors, Anita saw the empty horse stalls and felt empty herself. Through the open door at the other end, she could just see the horses, grazing in the pasture, tails flicking. She pulled the door closed behind her and leaned up against it, stifling a sob.

Suddenly she heard a rustling. She straightened up, took a deep breath. "Jo?" she said softly. Someone stepped out of Willow's stall.

"Oh, hey," said Raoul. He pulled his headphones from his head and slung them casually around his neck. "I didn't know anyone else was here." Shirtless and glistening with sweat, he wiped his forehead on the back of his gloved hand. The headphone cord lay against his sculpted chest, twisting in a knot around the dark hair trailing lightly down his toned abs, disappearing into the pocket of his jeans.

Anita felt as if she were seeing Raoul for the first time. His wayward black hair was matted and disheveled, but it fell perfectly across his chocolate brown eyes; and something about the square of his strapping shoulders and his glittering, moist skin made Anita forget why she was upset. Standing in that stable, she felt as if the only thing that she wanted and indeed would ever want was standing right in front of her.

He set the rake against the stable wall, below a shelf of riding helmets, soft leather saddles and a dangling row of riding crops. He cocked his head. "Anita? Are you ok?"

She walked slowly towards him. The dusky yellow light filtering through the sliver of open stable door cast a shadowy glow against his sculpted torso. She lightly fingered the soft leather of a riding crop, tugging it gently from the wall. Then, very deliberately, she placed the end of the riding crop against the gleaming bow of his collarbone.

He breathed in sharply, and she slowly raised her eyes to meet his. His dark eyes looked at her questioningly, but he did not pull away. Holding his gaze, she traced the riding crop down his muscled chest and stomach. As she passed his navel, she felt his whole body tense. He held his breath as she slid down to the top button of his jeans... and then she sharply pulled the riding crop away and slapped it against his thigh. He gasped as she slipped her hand into his pocket.

Pulling out his Walkman, she twisted her finger around the cord. "You should take this off," she whispered.

Raoul grabbed her and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. With the riding crop between her teeth, he lifted her up and pressed her against the wooden beam of the stall box as she twined her legs around his brawny body, crossing her riding boots behind his back. Dropping the Walkman to the stable floor, she tugged the cord from his neck and tossed the headphones to the side. He kissed her neck, moving his lips from the soft skin beneath her jaw to the slopes and valleys of her collarbones. The heady scent of straw mingled with his sticky sweat. Anita breathed in his skin. She remembered the sharp, zesty fragrance, like a fresh cut lime, of Tristan's cologne.

She felt him pushing against her, hard. Hard. She groaned as he kissed down her chest. Gripping her ass in one hand, he deftly unbuttoned the top of her shirt, kissing urgently between the folds of white fabric. His warm, wet tongue gently massaged the soft skin of her breast, slowly maneuvering to her erect nipple. He sucked on it, nibbling lightly as Anita writhed with pleasure.

She ran her fingers through his midnight hair and was surprised by how silken it was. She thought of Tristan's tangled, disheveled mop of hair. Running her hand down Raoul's strong, taut neck, she fumbled at the button of his jeans — but just as she unfastened it, he pushed her hand back above her head. Smirking, she tilted her head back, exposing her neck for Raoul to lick, suck and bite as he pushed her denim skirt up around her waist and grabbed the riding crop from her red lips.

Anita gasped as she felt Raoul delicately slide the riding crop up her thigh, gently tracing a line on her warm skin. Tristan's face swam in her mind; she recalled the touch of his fingers on her legs in the lake; she pushed the thought away. Raoul played lightly with the lace of her underwear, tugging it to one side with the soft leather of the whip. He hesitated; not in uncertainty, but with delicious anticipation. The riding crop circled her pleasure, traced again the taut muscles of her thighs, and again, faster this time. Stroking and spanking her gently, rhythmically, he smiled as a small moan escaped her lips. She thrust her hips against him as he brought her ever closer to climax, gasping in exhilaration.

Suddenly he dropped the riding crop, and she panted in disappointment. Her disappointment would be only momentary, though: he unzipped his jeans. Anita felt his engorged pleasure throbbing with desire as he thrust himself into her. She moaned as he pulsed inside of her.

"Turn me round," she whispered, and she unwrapped her legs from his torso. Holding her waist, he lifted her easily. Anita leaned against the stable box door as Raoul lifted up her ass and pushed his pleasure into her again. The sound of his gratified moans thrilled her as he pulled her to him, wrapping his hot, rippling body around her. He gently but urgently squeezed her breasts, rolling the stiff nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Anita groaned, pushing her ass against his hips. Above and outside, a clap of thunder announced the oncoming storm.

Once the immediate feeling of euphoria had begun to fade, and the shuddering of Raoul's pleasure had ceased, she didn't feel as triumphant as she thought she would.

He pulled out of her, straightening up, zipping his jeans. Anita wriggled her skirt down and began buttoning her shirt. She felt Raoul step up behind her: she let his warmth envelop her as he ran his hands across her clothed breasts and thighs. She turned around and he kissed her on the mouth for the first time, squeezing her to him.

He smiled as she pulled away. "That was, uh, unexpected," he said softly. Anita opened her mouth to reply but was stopped in her tracks as the stable door opened.

A pair of piercing blue eyes glared through the violet evening light.

## **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

### **_-_**

###

Something wasn't right.

Tristan wasn't sure what had just happened; but when Anita left the guest house, something didn't seem right. The cold way she had looked at him, the blasé way she had breezed out of the house. No jokes, no lingering looks...

Sally came in, on the phone, brow furrowed.

"No. No, don't come over. No. What letter?"

"Are you okay?" Tristan mouthed. She gave him a feeble smile and a thumbs-up, before going to her room and closing the door.

He quietly made a cup of coffee, gingerly moving about the kitchen so as not to disturb Sally's conversation. He gave the living room a quick turnover, stacking up papers on the table, grabbing the empty mugs to wash, and cleaned up the kitchen. He didn't have anything to prove to Sally, he felt like they were becoming good friends; the same was not true for Jo, who seemed to be harboring a grudge of some kind, but Tristan was determined to be a good house guest.

But still, the feeling persisted that something wasn't right. Outside, night was falling. A violent violet hue tinged the horizon beneath bruised yellow clouds. A storm was coming. Tristan felt unsettled.

A clap of thunder spurred him into motion. He wanted to speak with her — that had been his resolve this morning. What had changed?

He left the guesthouse and made his way across the yard. A strong wind was picking up. Anita had gone to find Jo — she'd be in the barn. He hoped she was still there. The last thing he wanted was a scene up in the big house.

The roof of the barn looked empty, but Tristan climbed up the ladder and peeked through the skylight just in case.

"Jo?"

No answer. He wondered where she might be, if she wasn't home or in the barn, and made his way, at a run, to the stable. Tristan slowed as he approached the stable. Apart from the sharp whistling of the wind, the yard was quiet. The stable door was eerily ajar; Tristan had only ever seen it wide open or shut tight. Reaching out a hand to slide the door open, a sound from within made him stop.

He heard a rustling, a grunting, a quick breathless panting. Was it just the horses? Stepping closer to the door and peering through the gap, Tristan squinted into the half-lit stable.

Silhouetted in the dark, the erect figure of a man was thrusting against the soft, curving form of a woman. The light caught only the outline of their form, though their faces remained anonymous. Embarrassed, Tristan began to step back; then Anita groaned loudly, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder.

Tristan froze. He watched the man thrust once, twice more, and still. He wanted to move. His mind was screaming for him to move. He wanted nothing more than to unsee this whole moment. But his feet were glued to the spot. The single glimpse of her ecstatic, pleasure-filled face was seared in his mind eternally.

He watched her wriggle down her skirt, fix her shirt, and then the man stepped forward into another embrace. Tristan could watch no more. In his mind, he walked away; in reality, he opened the stable door.

It creaked loudly as he rolled it open. His furious eyes found hers in the dark. He saw something in her face; surprise, shock, anger?

"Anita?"

Raoul turned around. He was shocked. "Um. Hi," he croaked. "I, uh, better get the horses in. Storm's coming." Raoul jogged out of the stable.

Tristan could barely feel the straw-laden concrete floor below him as he crossed the stable. His fury made him fly. But he tried to remain calm. He tried to not jump to conclusions, but--

"Anita?" he asked again. He could see it now on her face: surprise, yes. Anger, more so. And something else, still, which bubbled up into the wet sparkle of her eyes, the slight purse of her lips.

"What?" she spat back.

He laughed a short, barking laugh. It was mirthless; cold. "Oh, right, ok. So you're with him?"

"What does it matter who I'm with?" she asked defiantly.

"What does it — what does it matter?" he shot back. "I thought we-- how long have you been with him, then? You kept that quiet."

"Well, we all have our secrets, Tristan," she said bitterly. "At least I didn't--"

Anita was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream from across the yard. They turned in unison, the fight forgotten.

Tristan darted into the yard, scanning for the source of the scream: and his eyes rested not on a person but the guesthouse. Blazing like the sun, billowing plumes of purple smoke into the midnight sky--

"Oh my goodness," Anita cried behind him, as screams of "FIRE!" tore across the silent yard.

Racing towards the guesthouse, the two arrived to find Jo being restrained by Nikki and Bella. Tristan surveyed the scene. The single story guest house was completely engulfed in a fury of flames, flickering golden and crimson, spitting sparks into the night sky. A dark green Chevy parked to the side of the house was already covered in soot and ash. Another rumble of thunder echoed across the blackening sky, and the first drop of rain fell.

"She's in there! SHE'S IN THERE!" Jo screamed, trying to wrestle her skinny arms free of her friends' strong grip. Bella's face was pale, Nikki's cheeks were streaming with tears. Jo howled in frustration.

"Who's in there?" Anita yelled.

"Sally!" cried Jo, choking on a sob. Anita darted forward, but Tristan pulled her back. "No," he said, "stay here."

As Tristan ran towards the house, a silhouetted figure began to stumble from the flames. Shielding his face against the burning heat of the fire, Tristan called out: "Sally?" but was met only with a throaty cough.

The figure stumbled on, tripping down, dropping something to the ground. Tristan ran forward. Face down in the ash-strewn dirt was Connor; at his side, Sally, covered in damp towels, with a cloth across her mouth.

The girls were at his side as he rolled the two lifeless figures over, shaking them. "Sally! Sally! Sally!" Bella shouted, shaking her. The girls lifted her between them, dragging her further from the flames. Tristan pulled Connor back to a safe distance.

Sally was sitting up, coughing, when he lay Connor down beside her. Sally looked dazed until she saw his body in front of her.

"Connor," she screamed, shaking him. Her hands clenched in little fists gripping his burnt and torn shirt. His eyes were closed, his mouth agape. "Connor," she repeated, crying, pounding her fists feebly against his chest. "Wake up, wake up, wake up."

Bella gestured for everyone to step back, and the group moved away, without breaking the protective circle. Anita's face was ashen. Jo was clasping her hand tightly, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Nikki was crying silently, the fire reflected in her glistening cheeks. Bella, her face as blank and unmoved as ever, could not disguise the fear in her eyes. In the distance, a siren wailed as the fire crackled on behind them.

Sally buried her face into Connor's chest. "Wake up," she begged, pressing her lips to his.

Connor coughed slightly, wheezed, coughed again. Sally started crying harder, repeating his name in between sobs.

"Sally," he coughed, "Sally, I--" but his wheezing cut him off as he gasped for air.

"You saved me," she cried into him, squeezing his hand. "You saved me, you saved my life. Connor, please don't leave me."

The glowing red and blue of an ambulance tore up the drive, followed by a piercing ring of the local fire truck. The truck headed straight for the blaze, while Tristan waved the ambulance over to the sad huddle of people.

"Connor, just hold on, the ambulance is here," Sally sobbed.

"I have to... tell... you some... thing," he wheezed between coughs.

"Connor, it can wait. You saved me. Why did you save me, you could have gotten out. You saved me," she cried, her tears now pooling on the ground with the rainstorm.

Connor grasped her hand. He coughed; blinked twice. A single tear cleared a track in the black soot on his face. "Love," he coughed, "requires... sacrifice." His eyes rolled back into his head and he wheezed again as Sally started screaming his name. Paramedics surrounded the lifeless body, pulling him from Sally's tight grasp onto a stretcher.

"She should go to the hospital, too," Tristan said to the paramedics, gesturing the crumpled, crying heap of Sally, now surrounded by her friends. Sobs wracked her body in long, shuddering waves.

"I'll go with her," said Jo instantly. She led Sally to the ambulance, helping her in the back. The doors slammed, and the three figures watched it race out of sight down the driveway.

The four of them stood outside watching the firemen fight the blaze. They watched the flames fall and rise, burn from crimson to violet. They stood, fixed to the spot in silence until, in the darkness, the sooty, steaming wreckage of the guesthouse was revealed amidst the smoke. Only the concrete pillars still stood, though these, too, were now crumbling. The wooden frame of the house had disappeared; the glass from the windows melted or smashed. The metal from the doorknobs lay in the piles of splintered wood and charcoal.

It was eventually Tristan who led them in from the rain, Tristan who made the tea, and Tristan who answered the phone from the hospital: Connor was dead.

## **CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

### **_-_**

###

The storm had died down somewhat in the past day and now fell as a steady drizzle over the ranch. The living room of the main house was quiet. Nikki and Jo sat at the table, beers in hand. Nikki had long since given up on pretending to read her textbook and was now staring absentmindedly at the page, reading the words but understanding none of them. Jo was drawing circles on the oak table with the moisture from the beer bottle, watching the wood darken and then dry up again in an endless cycle. Anita sat by the windowsill, the alcove sheltering her, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She watched the rain create patterns on the window, mesmerized by how the droplets ran down the glass to join other streams, to pool together at the windowpane. Sally looked utterly forlorn on the sofa, in a pair of Anita's pajamas. Her own had gone up in smoke, along with all her other possessions. Along with the man who had saved her life. All four sat in complete silence, the shock of what had happened still hanging over them like a veil, none really sure what to say, or if to speak at all.

Bella had disappeared into the attic over half an hour ago and hadn't been seen since.

"Here you go." Tristan came in, carrying three mugs of tea. He placed one on the table, and carried the other two to the couch, watching Anita's grateful nod of acknowledgment, the way she clasped the mug in two hands and met his eyes across the room.

There was a dull thump upstairs and a muffled curse. Everyone looked up briefly, as if expecting Bella to drop through the ceiling, then went back to their quiet contemplation.Tristan held out a mug of tea to Sally.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Hey, if you need to talk..."

"...Then we're all right here for you," Jo finished. She sat down on Sally's other side and put her arm around Sally's shoulder. She glared at Tristan, and he cleared his throat.

"Yeah. That's right. I..."

Interruption arrived just in time with Bella's entrance.

"Right, y'all," she said, clapping her hands together in a highly unmournful manner, "I've got all the extra things. And we have nothing."

"What?" Nikki looked up, perplexed, followed by the others.

"Well," Bella said, moving a loose strand from her ponytail behind an ear, "You three," she looked at Sally and Jo, and then at Tristan, "need a place to sleep. The guesthouse is gone and you're welcome to sleep in the barn or the stables if you like, but I wouldn't recommend it. So we're gonna put you up here."

"Here?" Nikki asked, looking around.

"Well, no. Upstairs, in the bedrooms." She waited for someone to disagree with her, but no one did. The general agreement that nobody wanted to be left alone was felt throughout the room.

"I'm going to get some tea, then we can sort out who's sleeping where," Bella said, with another business-like clap. She turned curtly on her heel and disappeared into the hall and through to the kitchen. Keen not to have to spend more time in the tense atmosphere in the living room, Tristan followed her. He found her in the kitchen, clasping the edge of the counter. Her hands were trembling.

"Are you okay?" He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, stood up straight, composed, and gave him an insincere grimace.

"Yeah. Peachy. Had a great night. And you?"

"No, I mean... You're acting strange," Tristan said. He leaned back against the fridge and watched Bella take out a mug and a teabag, then leave them on the counter.

"Grab me a beer, will you?"

Tristan obliged, and handed her the beer. She leaned back against the counter, looking stubbornly anywhere but at Tristan.

"Need to talk?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Cause you know, you can. With me. If you like."

He saw something pass across her eyes, something like consideration, but then her lips narrowed and she shook her head.

"No, I'm just... I'm just upset."

"I didn't know you and Connor were close," Tristan said.

"No," Bella said curtly. "But that doesn't mean I wanted him to die. How heartless do you think I am?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just meant... I didn't mean to insult you," he said sincerely, "please don't think that. I just think that it probably won't do you much good to get all tense and solitary. The best way to go through grief is with help. Trust me, I had the option and didn't take it, and I wish I had."

Bella fell for the bait, and Tristan saw her shoulders relax a bit.

"Really? I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" she asked mockingly.

He looked at her. She was smiling feebly.

"Poor joke," he commented casually, "but sure. My father... we never had a very good relationship. He wanted me to do things with my life that just weren't me, you know?"

Bella shrugged.

"I always got along with my family. Well, with my grandparents. Parents can be difficult."

"Yes," Tristan agreed, "they really can. I never really thought much of it, you know, a lot of people don't get along with their fathers. I think it's a father-son thing. I moved to New York, which made Dallas look like a village, really, and I got a job and everything and I was happy there. Then my father got sick."

"I'm so sorry," Bella said. She was looking at him now, not exactly with pity, but certainly in sympathy. Better than that stone-faced facade she'd been wearing all night, Tristan thought and continued.

"It's alright. I had time to make amends..."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Of course."

"And?"

"And," Tristan sighed, "he died. We thought he might get better for a while, but he didn't. And that's how it goes. I was upset, you know, but we'd never been close, and I didn't feel like I had the right to mourn like my brother and mother did. Afterwards, I went to the funeral, and the will was read out, and I was to take up my father's law firm, move back to Dallas, take over the family business, you know. But I didn't want to. I couldn't. And there was just so much pressure, from my family, and from... friends, and I couldn't deal with it. So I shut myself off. From everyone. For a long time."

"And then?" Bella asked.

"And then I came here."

Bella snorted.

"What?"

"Well, you're telling me to be open and speak to people and share and all that. But you didn't do that, and now you're here. Are you happy here?"

Tristan thought of the girls, and he thought of Anita, and then the image of Anita and Raoul, pressed up against each other in the stable...

"I guess," he said, but even he knew it felt faint-hearted now. Still, he couldn't write off the place because of one moment. He'd learned so much here, and had been treated with almost nothing but appreciation and respect. "I do," he said more forcefully.

"Then what kind of an argument is that? Looks like if I want to be happy, I should stop talking to people and then disappear in a few months, or years, or whatever."

Tristan waved his hands up in surrender.

"Fine. As you wish. I'm just saying, I would have felt a lot better if I'd had friends like yours to talk to."

"Yeah..." Bella's eyes seemed to darken again. She shook her head. "What made you such a sharing guy, anyway? Aren't men supposed to be stoic and unemotional?"

"I'm not like other men," Tristan said, simply.

"Aha. Well, I'm going to sort out living situations."

She pushed Tristan aside and grabbed another two beers from the fridge.

"Bella..." Tristan asked as she left, "do you think I could just sleep on the sofa?"

"Nikki will flip, it's where she does all her work. And it's a communal space. I mean, fine by me, but Anita and Nikki might not want it invaded, you know? Anita is very particular about these kinds of things."

"Right," Tristan said. He wondered how cold the barn would get at night. He could always grab a blanket.

Back in the living room, Bella set one of the beers on the table and took a sip from the other one.

"Right," she said. She didn't sit down. Everyone turned to look at her, vaguely confused and, in Nikki's case, nearly scandalized at Bella's matter-of-fact tone. "Look," Bella continued, slightly more somberly, "I know it's been a rough day, and I think we should all get some sleep. It's not doing anyone any good sitting up all night feeling sorry for themselves."

"Connor just died, Bella, have some respect," Jo said quietly. Sally let out a sob and ran out of the room. Jo glared at Bella as Nikki followed Sally to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Bella said, more tersely now, "but this is just not helping. Just because something terrible happened doesn't mean we all forget about ourselves."

"I need some air," Anita said, suddenly feeling nauseous. She crossed the room as Bella called after her in exasperation.

Anita let the screen door slam and leaned against the veranda rail, listening to the murmur of voices inside. Bella was probably still desperately, hopeless trying to control the situation, as always. Anita wished she would just stop; for once, this wasn't a problem that could be solved with logic.

It had been raining for hours, and the hot, muggy air had broken into a fresh, wet breeze. Water pooled on the gravel drive like liquid silver.

The door creaked behind her, and she turned around. Tristan gently closed the door.

"Hey," he said softly. "Are you ok?"

She smiled instinctively, but suddenly remembered the argument, remembered the letters, remembered his cold words in the barn. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he said, stepping towards her. "And you're shivering." He reached out a hand to warm her bare arm, but she pulled away.

"Why are you acting like nothing happened?" she asked angrily.

Tristan suddenly remembered the barn, remembered Raoul. His hand dropped. "You really want to talk about this now?"

"I--I don't get you, I can't do this hot and cold thing," she said exasperatedly.

"Me with the hot and cold?"

"You're fooling around with someone else, and yet you're acting like I've screwed you over," Anita yelled.

Tristan bit his lip, wondering how she'd found out about the moment with Sally. "It doesn't even mean anything."

"How can you say that?" Anita cried. The words of the letters were burned into her memory. "You know what, I don't know what we're arguing about. We weren't ever anything to each other anyway, and it's probably best that it stays like that."

Tristan started to reply, but she stormed off the veranda into the rain. He cursed, chasing after her.

"You know that's not true," he yelled through the downpour. "I don't know what's going on with you and Raoul, and I don't really know where I fit into any of this or if I'm the other guy, or if he is. But you know that there's more happening here than two people who just work together."

She halted in her tracks. Rain was streaming down her cheeks like tears when she turned to face him.

"I don't care, Tristan," she shouted, her eyes burning with anger.

"You do care," he whispered. His hair was soaked, the wayward strands sending droplets down his cheeks.

"I--," she said, her voice breaking. "Not caring about you is killing me. Not caring about us is killing me. I'm fighting every instinct because I do care, I care so much, but--Tristan, I don't want to."

"Stop fighting," he murmured softly. He laced his fingers through her damp hair, cupping her chin and lifting her mouth to his.

His lips met hers, pressing urgently and softly. It sent tingles down her spine, as the rain poured around them, running in streaming rivers down her bare arms, plastering his t-shirt to his strong chest.

Anita didn't realize she'd stopped breathing until Tristan pulled away. For a moment there was no rain and no cold, there was no up or down, there was only this single moment. There was only him and nothing else mattered.

But she remembered Sally, or had it been Nikki, and Callie, whoever she was, and she shook her head. Anita disentangled herself from Tristan, shaking his warm hands from her. "You can't just kiss me and make me forget everything. You can't just come in demanding I care, you have to earn it."

"Is this because of Raoul?" Tristan asked sharply. "Are you with him?"

"Raoul has nothing to do with this, it's you! You can't just charm your way into my life, you can't mess people around and then sweep them off their feet when it suits you. I never know where I stand with you because one minute your Romeo and the next it's Casanova."

"All due respect, but I wasn't the one screwing the stable boy in the barn," Tristan snapped.

Anita bit back tears. "Well, I wasn't the one getting off with your friend in the bathroom. I'm done."

She stormed back to the house. The rain dripped off her as she shook at the doormat. Sally and Jo sat together on the sofa, Jo's arm protectively around her shoulder. Nikki raised an eyebrow. "Everything ok?"

"Just great," she said, sinking into a chair. Tristan re-entered a moment later too, but no one said anything.

"Ok, now that we're all finally here, let's sort this out," said Bella firmly. "Right now what's most important is that we all get some sleep so we don't collapse tomorrow. I'll make some calls to cancel the lessons, and we can deal with... with everything. But for now, we need to take care of ourselves. I mean look at us, we're all exhausted."

There was a moment of silence, then Jo and Nikki nodded. Sally said nothing, but tears continued to stream silently down her face.

"You're right," Anita said flatly. "We should go to bed. What have we got?"

"What?" Bella asked.

"You know, mattresses and all that," Anita asked.

"Nothing," Bella said. "The only extra mattress we had was in Tristan's room, and that's, well... gone. We have a few extra blankets in case people get cold, but I think we'll be alright."

Tristan started wondering where he would lay out his blanket in the barn. The loft would be the most comfortable but might get cold with the rain and the wind. He could always snuggle up to Chestnut or one of the other horses.

"Oh," Anita said, "I thought we had an extra mattress upstairs?"

"Eaten by moths, and also really, really moldy," Bella said, shaking her head. "I tried taking it downstairs but I couldn't get it out of the attic. We'll have to throw it out later."

"Is that what that noise was?" Nikki asked.

"Yep."

"Okay," Jo said, "where am I sleeping, then?"

"Well, I thought Tristan could sleep in Raoul's room..." Bella began.

"No," Tristan said. He didn't even realize he'd said it until everyone turned to look at him. He met Anita's eye, but she directed her gaze back towards the window.

Everyone else turned to look at him. Bella raised a questioning eyebrow. Jo cocked her head inquisitively to one side. Even Sally looked up from where she was sat on the sofa, eyes wide at the sudden rise in volume.

"I mean..." He started, but was interrupted by Nikki.

"You can stay in my room if you like. I have an old yoga mat. It won't be super comfy, but it should work."

Tristan nodded. Anita scoffed, but he didn't look at her.

"Alright. Thanks."

"Right, and Sally, I thought you could stay with Anita, so..."

"No," Anita said. Now everyone turned to look at her. She couldn't bear the thought of sharing a closed space with Sally, not when it might have been her with Tristan, in the bathroom. "I mean," she stammered, "it makes more sense for me to share with Jo, right? We do all the same jobs, so we'll be getting up at the same time. It makes more sense."

Tristan saw Jo squirm in her seat.

Bella sighed. She bit her lip, and Tristan saw that same expression she'd worn in the kitchen, not sadness, exactly or anger... But it passed before he could pinpoint it.

"Guess that means me and you," Sally said between tears, with a weak smile at Bella.

"Yeah," Bella said, forcing a smile herself.

Nikki stood up and stretched.

"Well, I'm beat," she said, glancing at Tristan. "I think I'm going to bed."

Anita nodded.

"Me too. Jo?"

"Yeah, I'll be right up."

Bella's shoulders sagged.

"Okay. Good night, guys."

There was a murmur of "Good night," and everyone headed upstairs. Bella set down the empty beer bottle and grabbed the second.

It wasn't until he was getting ready for bed that Tristan realized what the expression on Bella's face had been.

Guilt.

It had been guilt.

## **CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

### **_-_**

###

Tristan was still contemplating Bella's expression as he climbed the stairs. Nikki stood at the end of the hall, watching his dark brow knitted in concentration. She had gone ahead, turning on the bedside light, throwing her worn, untidy clothes from the bed to the chair. She now stood, holding the door open.

"Welcome," she said, gesturing inside. Tristan's bare arm brushed against hers as he entered. She froze, the warmth of him flashing through her. She wondered briefly how to spend a night alone with him. She swallowed, trying to quell the lustful desires he aroused in her.

He felt it too, a spark that became a flame. The simple brush of her smooth, marble skin kindled in him a passion that had been burning for someone else. He had noticed, of course, that Nikki's eyes endlessly traced the fine square of his jaw, the bulge of his biceps, the line of his form. He had felt the tension in her words, in her looks. And he, in his turn, had admired her too: the cherry red of her lips, the warm auburn of her hair, the flawless porcelain skin and deep, thinking green eyes. But as Anita's friend, he had never considered it. But Anita--

The door clicked closed. Nikki paused, holding the cold metal knob in her hand. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she turned around to face Tristan.

She expected him to be sitting on the chair in the corner of the room; perhaps unfolding the camping mat from the closet; maybe even sitting on her bed, flicking through the Financial Times on her bedside table. But when Nikki turned around, he was standing in the middle of the room, facing her.

When terrible things happen, people either withdraw or come together in solidarity. Tristan and Nikki had both felt it — the consuming isolation seeping into every social space in the house. In a room of friends and loved ones, Nikki had never felt more alone than today. She didn't want to be alone.

She leaned against the door. She turned the lock as he walked toward her slowly.

Reaching out his hand, he gently tucked a flyaway strand of her red hair behind her ear. His hand lingered on her jaw, his fingers trailing down her cheek until they reached her red, wet lips. He softly stroked her bottom lip with his thumb.

Nikki smiled self-consciously, looking at the floor, but he lifted her chin. He stepped closer, staring into her glittering green eyes with his piercing blue ones. "You're beautiful," he whispered, kissing her gently. His hand snaked around her waist as he pulled her closer to him, his other hand moving from her jaw through her silken hair.

She could feel his pleasure pressing against her thigh. The heat of his body was making her bubble with desire. She kissed him back passionately, savoring the taste of him, the soft stubble of his cheek grazing hers.

He pulled back for a moment. She worried that he was hesitating: reconsidering his timing, reconsidering the situation. She knew it was now or never. She raised her eyes to his and saw a look of wicked desire. "What do you want to do?" she asked seductively.

"I want to kiss you," he said, putting his lips gently to hers. "Head" — he kissed the soft, tender skin in the hollow under her ear — "to" — moved his mouth across the taut tendons of her neck — "toe". He licked the long strut of her collarbone and sucked on the hard, curved end of her clavicle.

He unbuttoned her shirt, kissing each piece of revealed skin like a secret. She shrugged the soft linen from her shoulders, the supple, satiny skin of her voluptuous breasts spilling delicately over her lacy periwinkle bra.

Tristan hardened as he moved his mouth down her chest bone, between her breasts. He was enveloped in her soft, lavender fragrance. He unhooked her bra with one hand. She gasped and giggled as her breasts sprang free. He nuzzled the velvety skin beneath the generous curve of her breast, his hot breath tickling her.

Rubbing her pert nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he slowly moved his mouth around her breast. She held her breath, waiting in eager anticipation for--

His mouth closed around her nipple and she squealed zealously. He rolled the delicate bobble of her breast with his tongue, pressing it lightly to his teeth and feeling the quickening rise and fall of her chest.

She pushed her fingers roughly through his gorgeous, tangled hair, humming under her breath as he kissed down her stomach, spreading his wet lips across her hips, kissing along the waistband of her jeans, and delicately unbuttoning--

Suddenly, he stood up, grabbing her by the waist. She barely had a moment to register what was happening and giggled as he tossed her on the bed. On her back, she panted as he repeated his kisses down her body. But when he reached her jeans this time, he didn't stop.

He carefully unzipped them, and then slid the denim off her smooth, alabaster thighs, revealing a lacy thong. He smirked at her, fingering the lace seductively. He kissed her hips again, this time following the line of the bone in a V along the lace.

Pushing her legs apart, Tristan nuzzled between the heat of her smooth, pulsing thighs. He kissed the soft inside of her legs gently, relishing the feeling of her squirming with exhilaration. Moving up, he teased her underwear to the side and put his lips to her pleasure.

Nikki sighed as a delicious heat rose in her. Her back arched as it rushed through her, a tingling feeling that shot from her stomach to her toes, that twined itself around her heart and lungs and made her cry out.

Tristan wiped his mouth against the creamy inside of her thigh, feeling his own pleasure growing with every moment. He crawled over her panting body, and she laughed as he kissed her.

She kissed his strong neck and pulled his t-shirt over his head. His muscles were etched on his chest like an Adonis. She sighed, stroking his sculpted abs, letting her finger trail across his smooth body to his jeans, bulging with desire.

He kissed her again, this time pulling her on top of him as he rolled underneath. She kissed him back, harder, hotter, with growing urgency, and they pulled off his jeans together in a growing frenzy of passion. She felt him pulsating beneath her as she pulled his pleasure into her. They cried out in unison, and she moved on him, slowly at first, and then gathering speed as she felt him growing.

If the rest of the house had been awake, they may have heard Nikki's half-screamed cries of delight; but the late hour meant that the moonlit lovers were the only ones who could hear each other's pleasured moans. Lying together on Nikki's bed, Tristan stroked her hair, and she drew circles on his chest as they each recovered their breath. The tragedy had not passed, but at least they were not alone.

Tristan thought of Anita, sleeping only a few doors down. Was she dreaming of him? Or was she seeking comfort in Raoul?

The silence was not uncomfortable, and although Nikki was guarded he found her easy to be around. There was a lightness about her that was encouraging. It was only when she shook herself from his embrace, kissed his cheek lightly, and began rummaging for a nightdress in her dresser that he broke the silence.

"You read the Times?" He said, pulling on his boxers.

"Yeah, I get it delivered here especially," she said, pulling a pale blue cotton nightdress over her head. It skimmed her ivory thighs.

"Not into Horse Weekly?" he grinned.

"That's Anita. No, economics for me."

"You really like it, huh? Anita says you're studying?"

"Well, I'm trying to," she sighed.

"What do you mean?"

She sat on the bed beside him. "When I finished high school, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. This is everything I've ever known, and I had this feeling I wanted to head to the city, I wanted to work in business, with money — but I was afraid of change. Afraid of leaving."

"So you came here?"

"Yeah. And for a while it was interesting, it was fun, I love the girls, even the horses. But I never really stopped craving that dream. I guess it sounds stupid."

"No! Not at all. If you want it, you should go."

"I know. I decided I was going to go, this year. I applied for a bunch of schools, and... well, I was exhilarated, you know? But I'm also worried--"

"--I'm sure they'll get back soon," Tristan cut in.

"They did," Nikki said quietly. "I got an offer, from Chicago."

"That's amazing!"

"It is. But I wasn't worried about getting an acceptance — I was worried about what happened if I did. If I applied and was rejected it was easier because at least I tried and then maybe I could just be, and stop chasing dreams. It's easier to be disappointed. Hope and potential mean the work is just beginning."

"Don't you want to go?" Tristan asked, his dark brow furrowing in confusion.

"No, I do! I'm just worried about leaving."

"Oh. You haven't told the others yet?"

"I haven't told the university yet."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know if I can leave them. And especially after everything that's just happened. With all that's happening with the ranch and Weattie... I can't just leave. Bella has been doing accounts for years, but I pretty much took up payroll and invoices from the start. I can't just dump all of that on her."

Tristan turned to her, putting a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Nikki, you are one of the best people I've ever met. And I hope that I can call you my friend."

She laughed, raising an eyebrow. "I think that we could probably say that."

"Ok, well then, from one friend to another: you have to go. You have to follow your dream. You'll regret it forever if you don't. And none of your friends here — Anita, Bella, Jo, Sally — none of them would expect you to stay for them. They're adults and they can handle themselves. And they would want you to be happy. They will champion you all the way to the finish line. Friendship is about support. You've shown your support for them, and I'm sure they will support you if you ask them to."

Nikki smiled. "Yeah, I hope so."

"Well, I know so. Come here." He gave her a hug. "Will you call Chicago in the morning?"

Nikki paused, considered her life on the ranch. She weighed up her tangible life against the possibility of what it could be. Of what she dreamed it could be. "Yes." He squeezed her tighter, and they lay back on the bed together.

"Friends, then?" She said, as they lay, side by side.

"Yeah."

"Do you do that with all your friends?" she asked, laughing.

"Only the hot ones," he joked.

"Well, I guess we all need that friend once in a while," she smiled, rolling over and turning off the bedside lamp. "Thank you," she whispered in the dark. He kissed her cheek gently before he rolled the other way. They slept soundly, not touching, but safe in the knowledge they were not alone.

## **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

### **_-_**

###

The next morning, Anita woke up to the sudden feeling of empty space as Tristan got up from the bed.

"Tristan?"

"Nope."

Jo. Just another dream, then.

"Nothing, nothing," she said, turning over to look at the ceiling. It had been a strange dream, and with every passing moment, she remembered less of it. She had been looking for him — or had he been looking for her? His voice lingered on the edge of her mind, calling out to her. He'd been in the stables, but when she had gotten there, he had disappeared, to appear on the horizon, in the pasture, then at the lake. But every time she had reached him, he had gone. She had jumped into the lake after him, certain he was there — or had she fallen? Anita shook her head clear of the dream and the memories that rose up with it and rolled over to watch Jo picking clothes off the back of a chair.

"Hey, the other day," she remembered, as she watched Jo throw on a shirt, "did you want to tell me something?"

"What?" Jo asked, frowning.

"Never mind. What are you doing?"

Jo had slipped into a pair of jeans and was halfway out the door.

"It's late, and the horses need feeding and Sally... Sally and I are going to the guest house. We want to see if there's anything we can save."

Anita nodded but said nothing. Jo knew as well as her that there was nothing to salvage from that wreck. Anita herself had gone back briefly after they had all returned from the hospital yesterday morning, and the place had looked a disaster. But she understood Sally and Jo's need to see for themselves. Sally must be terrified.

After Jo had left, Anita gave herself five more minutes and then got up. She threw on a dress — she would take care of ranch work later, she decided, Jo and Sally were already on it and lessons hadn't started again yet, so there was an extra person to take care of one less job.

She put on a dress, a light summer one she had bought on impulse at a summer market a few towns over, and which fit flatteringly around her curves, without losing the breezy flow the light cotton gave it.

Pulling her hair up into a messy knot she headed for the stairs — and walked straight into Tristan.

"Oh, hey," she said, surprised. She flashed back to her dreams: she'd spent all night chasing him, and she'd finally caught up.

"Hey," he said, his piercing blue eyes guarded and cautious. "How, em, how's it going?"

She hesitated. "I... I wanted to say I'm sorry."

He let out a huge, relieved sigh. "I'm sorry, too. I said some really terrible things to you, and I don't think I've been fair to you."

She smiled shyly. "Same. I think I might have jumped to conclusions, and--"

The bathroom door opened and Nikki emerged in a cloud of steam, hair dark and slicked back, her skin glistening with droplets of water, a fresh white towel wrapped around her.

She didn't notice the tension between Anita and Tristan, deep in conversation at the top of the stairs. "Morning' cowboy,' she joked, winking at Tristan as she passed them, heading into her room to get dressed.

Anita knew in that moment everything that had happened behind closed doors last night. Tristan saw the realization dawning on her face and started stuttering an apology.

"It's not what it looks like--"

"You are unbelievable," she spat, turning away before he could explain.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she went to the kitchen to boil the kettle. Raoul was sat at the dining table, eating a slice of toast and drinking a strong-smelling coffee.

"Morning," he said, without looking up. Then, noticing who she was, he sat up a bit straighter. "Hey."

They hadn't seen each other since the stables. "Hey," she replied distractedly. She was still thinking about the overly familiar way Nikki had greeted Tristan.

"How, um, how are you?"

"Yeah, I'm ok."

"You maybe want to go riding later?"

"Yeah, whatever." Anita sat down beside Raoul, sighing loudly.

"We could--" Raoul began when Tristan and Nikki entered the kitchen.

There was a terse silence. Raoul coughed.

"Good morning," Tristan finally settled for and sat down opposite Anita as if nothing had ever happened. He stared at her, but she looked resolutely at her tea, avoiding his piercing blue eyes.

"Mornin'," Raoul replied cautiously.

Nikki made herself and Tristan coffee with the hot water left in the kettle, and she sat down beside him. The four sat in silence, with Nikki looking sideways at Tristan, who was staring at Anita, who was looking in her tea. And Raoul was still slowly eating his toast, wondering if they were really going riding later.

Tristan cleared his throat and began to speak, but Anita cut him off.

"So," Anita said, turning to Raoul, "want to go down to the lake later?" She ran a finger up his tanned, work-hardened arm. He hesitated for only a moment before the bewildered expression on his face fled, and he grinned.

"Sure," he said, "absolutely."

She heard Tristan inhale sharply but said nothing. She took no notice of him.

"Great," she said. "There's this hidden little spot past the jetty that feels like you're cut off from the rest of the world."

"Sounds great," Raoul said, before he went back to his toast, somewhat more voraciously than before. Tristan and Nikki drank their coffee in silence, but Anita could see them, glancing at each other.

The relief was almost tangible when Bella entered the kitchen. She was already dressed for ranch work, her braids in disarray. One had a piece of straw sticking out of it. It would have been comical, Anita thought, under different circumstances. Her boots, normally shined to near-blinding perfection, were covered in mud and muck. She carried in the smell of hay and horse that made Anita feel so at home.

"Morning," she said grimly and sat down.

"You look good," Anita commented.

"Thanks. Just mucked out the stalls."

"On your own?" Anita hadn't forgotten about the horses. She never could. But every once in a while, she was allowed a rest. She would not have slept in if she'd known Bella was doing it all on her own, though.

"Jo helped. A bit."

"Oh." What a pair, Anita thought. If Bella had been acting strange since the fire, she was well-matched by Jo. Anita had always known Bella to go through moody, thoughtful spells, but Jo had always been there for a chat, or a beer, or a mood lifter.

"It's fine, don't look so guilty. I wanted something to do, anyhow. But you guys will have to take them out to the field today, Weattie's coming in."

"What?" Nikki asked, setting down her coffee. "Why? And why didn't you say?"

"Sorry. Slipped my mind. With all that's been going on... He wants to talk about insurance, I think."

"What does that have to do with us?" Anita asked.

"Well, the insurance for the building would go to the owner, so Weattie," Nikki explained, "but all of the stuff inside belonged to us. Some of it was pretty valuable."

"And it was all insured?" Anita asked. She couldn't picture anyone insuring a bed, or a bedside table, or that old couch.

"Well, it would all be under the same insurance, but Weattie would give us a part that went towards furnishing and all that."

"Either that or he pays for the new furnishing," Bella said. "Is there any coffee left?"

"Yeah," Nikki said.

"Thanks." As she busied herself pouring coffee, the tension at the table rose again. They all ate in terse silence. Raoul finished first. He polished off the toast at the speed of light, then cleared his plate and cup, though not before giving Anita a wink.

"Meet me at the stable? We can take the horses out together."

Bella raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Do you guys need a hand?" Nikki asked lightly, "Though, I should probably be here for Weattie's visit."

"Why, because nobody else can possibly know what's going on?" Anita snapped, gathering up her own plates. "Bella, let us know when Weattie gets here, I want to hear what he has to say."

"Yeah, sure."

She left the house in a huff, briefly bumping into Jo, who was on her way in.

"Hey," Jo said, "listen, do you think we could..."

"I gotta go, horses need me," Anita said. "I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"I... Yeah, fine," Jo said, defeated. She stepped inside and kicked off her boots.

Bella looked up when she came in.

"Coffee in the kitchen," she said. Jo nodded and turned around after a rushed good morning to Tristan and Nikki.

"Guys," she heard Bella's voice next door, "someone's got to milk the cow and collect the eggs. Do you mind? I'm tired as a bear."

"Yeah, sure," said Nikki.

"I've never milked a cow," Tristan added helpfully.

"I'll show you, it's not so hard."

Jo lingered in the kitchen while the two of them pulled on boots and left. Then she made her way back to the living room.

"Bear?" She asked. She took a slice of toast off Bella's plate and sat down.

Bella shrugged. "They hibernate."

Fair enough.

"So, them two, huh?" Jo nodded towards the door.

"Looks like it. I'm surprised, really, I thought it was Sally. Well, I thought it would be Anita, but..." She shrugged. Then she caught Jo's eye. "You know, I think Anita's up to something. With Raoul."

"The stable boy?" Jo asked. She scoffed. "Nah. She isn't. Is she?" She swallowed her toast.

"Look, why don't you just talk to her?" Bella asked. She pointed at Jo with her coffee mug. "You're not doing yourself any favors. Or her. And it's about damn time she knew how you feel."

Jo set down her own coffee and leaned over the back of the chair.

"But what if she doesn't feel the same way? How could I get over that? Ever?"

Bella shrugged again.

"You just gotta decide, then. I mean, if she feels the same way, then great. Peachy. If she doesn't..." She broke off, lost in thought. "Then you'll just have to decide. What's more important to you, your friend's chance at love, or your own? Some things are meant to be," Bella said, "and some aren't. But if you can't talk to your friends, then who can you talk to?" She stood up and finished her coffee. "Mind taking this back when you're done? I need a shower about twenty minutes ago. Look," she said, turning back at the door, "secrets shouldn't be locked away. Trust me, it never works out well."

But then what are they secrets for? Jo wondered. She finished her breakfast, lost in thought, only barely aware, as she began walking, of where she was headed.

## **CHAPTER NINETEEN**

### **_-_**

###

Anita wasn't sure how exactly they had ended up in the lake. One minute, they were riding along, watching the horses, and the next... Well, the horses could take care of themselves, for a little while. Clothes lay scattered across the jetty. She had forgotten how easy it was to feel cold, even on such a hot day.

"It's f-f-freezing," she had stuttered.

"I can help with that."

The water was too deep for her past the jetty, but Raoul had found a foothold. He stood, strong and warm and comforting against the cold lap of the water. She pressed herself against his sculpted chest, reveling in the heat that grew between them. It was easy. This was easy, she thought, sighing as he kissed her jaw, her neck, along her collarbone. His fingers drew ardent lines across her back, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, willing him to give more.

It was easy. Why should it be anything else? This was enough, she thought. He kissed, sucking slightly. His teeth caught on her skin, and she felt his pleasure grow between them. Their breath became shallower, more desperate.

Had he done this? Anita thought, as Raoul's hands caught in her hair and pulled back, just enough to expose her neck and push their bodies closer together still. Had there been such heat, between him and Nikki, that night? The thought of him filled her, more than the immediate heat and anticipation between her and Raoul: it spread from her mind, blurring out everything else. She felt Raoul sucking her nipples, his tongue tracing greedy circles, his hand in her hair, his pleasure throbbing impatiently... But it was only skin-deep. It didn't feel wrong, it just wasn't right. She forced the thought of Tristan out of her mind. Skin-deep was enough, for now, she thought, and she had always been a firm believer in carpe diem. Seize the day. Well, if she was going to seize... It was she who grabbed his hair now, pulling his head back, and his breath hitched when she met his lips, and...

"Did you hear that?" she asked, pulling away.

"Hear what?"

"I'm sure I heard something." It had been a crack. Or a stumble.

"I can't hear anything," Raoul said, impatiently, "it was probably one of the horses."

But then she heard it again, and he must have, too, because his arms left her back as he turned to look towards the shore. She kept her balance, but only barely, grasping onto his shoulders.

And then, from the trees by the shore, Jo came through, tripping over every twig, branch, and root along the way. She landed inelegantly by the side of the lake, looked up, looked at Raoul, whose back was still mostly turned. Looked at Anita. And deftly turned around towards the trees.

"What are you doing here?" Anita cried out.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," Jo said. Her hands were up. Was she covering her eyes? "Bella said you'd taken the horses out and that you wanted someone to call you if Weattie came by, and I didn't see you in the field so I thought maybe you'd be here."

There was a pause.

"So I guess I was right."

Another pause.

"I'm going to go."

"Good idea," Raoul muttered, but Anita disentangled herself. There was a momentary shock of cold, as her body left him, but she found she quickly readjusted when she moved. It was almost pleasant, the cool water against her own warmth.

"Wait," she said.

"What?" said Raoul.

Anita turned around apologetically.

"I... I can't. I'm sorry, Raoul, I can't, I just... I feel like I'm leading you on, and I don't want to do that, and I really need to be there when Weattie gets here, and..." She trailed off. She was running out of excuses. The spell was broken: all she really wanted now was to get out of the water and into a warm towel.

Raoul sighed audibly behind her. She couldn't see him, but she could imagine him, running a hand through his hair, shoulders drooped, not in disappointment, really. More in acceptance. He was a good guy, she thought. Perhaps the only one.

"I... Yeah. Alright. You two talk. I'll be right out. I'm going to go for a swim."

Jo kept her gaze steadily fixed on the trees as Anita stepped out of the water and around onto the jetty. She dried herself off with her shirt and got dressed as quickly as possible.

"Are you okay?" she asked Jo, squeezing the last of the water out of her hair. "You can turn around, I'm dressed."

"I'm sorry about that," Jo said, again. She wrung her hands nervously. "I was just wondering if..."

"It's alright. Really." Anita took Jo's hands and laughed. "You don't need to look so nervous, it's fine. I actually don't think I would have... Well, maybe I would, but it just didn't feel right, you know?"

Jo looked up. Their eyes met. There was something curiously intense about her gaze.

"Jo, I need to tell you something."

"Yes?"

Anita took a deep breath in, and a step back. "I think I'm in love with Tristan," she said. It felt good, to say it out loud. And once it was out, the rest followed with ease. "I didn't want to admit it at first, I thought it was just, you know, a thing, an infatuation, there aren't exactly dozens of men around here, I just liked that we really got along. But then he was sleeping with Nikki this whole time, and I just pushed it aside, you know?" She sat down on the soft grass. "I was so upset. I am so upset. But I really do love him. And I know this is crazy, but I think he loves me too."

"Really?" Jo asked. She sat down next to her friend.

"I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but I really think so. It's just there, you know, every time I see him, even when I was trying to ignore it, even when he was, I could still see it. I could still feel it. And I think I just need to try, you know?"

"What about Nikki?"

"What about her?" Anita said, heatedly. "Look," she took a deep breath, "I'll just have to ask him. I'll just have to tell him. And if he loves her, if he wants to be with her, then..."

"Then?"

"Then," Anita said, "I'll accept it. I don't have to like it, but it's not my choice, you know? What use is love to me if it's not reciprocated? We could be friends," she continued, slowly, though the thought of it pained her a bit, "that would be alright. It would be better than nothing. I just want him to be happy. I just want him to be happy, and I want to be his friend. And I'd love to be more than that if he wants it too. But otherwise, I'll be happy with his happiness, you know?"

Jo let herself fall back in the grass.

"Yeah. I know."

"You don't think I'm crazy?" Anita said, turning towards Jo.

Jo propped herself up on her elbows and grinned.

"Well, maybe you're a little crazy, but I like that about you."

"So you think I'm making the right decision?"

"Yeah," Jo said. "You really do love him, don't you?"

Anita felt herself blush.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Jo sat up and brushed a strand of hair out of Anita's eyes. "Well," she said, smiling, "if he makes you happy, and if telling him could make you happy, then you should do it. You deserve all the happiness the world can give you."

Anita smiled, and the smile turned into a giddy grin. She hugged Jo around the neck.

"Thanks. You're the best. Come on, let's go." She stood up and helped Jo to her feet. "We'll be late for Weattie."

"Ah, never mind, the guy's a jerk, anyhow. I never liked him."

"Me neither," Anita said. She took Jo's hand and they walked back towards the horses. "Hey, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Nothing," Jo said. She squeezed Anita's hand. "Just wanted to make sure you're okay."

## **CHAPTER TWENTY**

### **_-_**

###

The two arrived in what seemed to be the midst of a heated discussion.

"What do you mean, 'it's very unlikely'?" Nikki asked.

Weattie shook his head.

"I mean that I don't think we'll get it." The man looked beat, Anita thought. His pristine boots glistened with lack of ranch work, and his white jacket positively glowed with bleach, but there were deep circles under his eyes, his usually too-white grin now a somber line across his face. He sat less straight, hands fidgeting nervously with the edge of his hat. Even his mustache seemed to droop.

"But all of our things were burned up!" Sally said. The look of astonishment on her face was truly pitiful, and Anita had a moment of anxiety, thinking about how she might feel if all her possessions, her whole material life was burned to ashes from one moment to the next.

Weattie shook his head again.

"It doesn't seem likely at all," he continued. He was playing around with his hat, and a look at the other girls told Anita they wanted as much as her to take that damned hat and shove it down Weattie's throat. Or maybe elsewhere.

"But why?" Nikki asked passionately. "What reason could they have for denying us insurance? It was a fire, insurances cover fires!"

"Well, that's true, but the insurance doesn't cover fire if it was set with intent," Weattie said.

There was a moment of silence.

"Arson?" Sally whispered. "Someone did that on purpose? Who would do something like that?"

"What do you mean it doesn't cover arson? It was a lightning strike," Nikki said.

"Well, that's the problem, see," Weattie explained, "there's no sign in the house that it was lightning. It seems to have started from the bottom."

"But I saw..." Nikki stopped. "I think I saw it. There was lightning. It was a storm."

Weattie shrugged. "Fire department seems to think otherwise."

"Alright," Nikki said, slowly, "but even if it was arson, arson should be covered. It's not our fault if someone started a fire."

Weattie sighed. "And here it gets real unpleasant. Only way it makes sense is for it to have been done by someone on the ranch. Which means no insurance." The frustration finally bubbled over and he banged his fist on the table.

"Well, you didn't know this was going to happen," Nikki said, though it didn't seem so much to console the man as to avoid him denting the table with his heavy ring.

Sally still looked like someone had just slapped her across the face.

"Someone tried to burn down the house," she repeated, so quietly Anita could barely hear her at all, "with me inside it?"

Jo grasped Sally's hand.

"Who would do something like that?" she asked Weattie.

"Well," Weattie said, "someone who doesn't like you, I'd wager. Although it's more likely they didn't think you were in it."

"But why would they do that?"

Weattie shrugged.

"Might've been an accident."

"Or a try at an insurance claim." Sally glanced at Nikki. As did, briefly, Bella.

"I need to speak to you for a moment," Bella said to Weattie. "Alone."

Weattie followed Bella outside.

"Well," Jo said, leaning back in her chair. "I was with Bella when the fire broke out."

Everyone looked momentarily confused, then understood.

"I was in the stable," Anita said, biting her lip. "So was Raoul. And Tristan." She looked at Tristan. He looked back at her, stony-faced, but she saw, in the corner of his eyes, something go out. "I wish," she added, continuing to look at him. "I wish I hadn't been. But I was."

Jo glanced at her.

"I was busy dying inside it," Sally said, "doesn't make sense for me to set a fire with myself in the building, does it?"

All eyes turned to Nikki.

"What?" Nikki said, dumbfounded.

"Where were you?" Anita challenged her.

"I was in the orchard," Nikki said.

"Alone?" Sally asked.

"Yes," Nikki said, slowly, "what are you getting at?"

"You were already there when we got there," Jo said, equally slowly. Warily.

"I... What are you getting at?" Nikki repeated.

Sally blanched.

"You've been talking about leaving for months," she said quietly.

"And?" Nikki laughed nervously. "Why would I burn down the house? Why would I burn down the house with you in it? This is ridiculous. You're all acting paranoid."

But Anita could see it. It made sense. Her heart clenched up. She still felt wronged, still felt cheated by Nikki. But they had been friends. And yet...

"Moving is expensive," she said, as the thought formed, "moving is expensive and college is very expensive. I don't reckon your part of the insurance would have covered much, but it would have gotten you out of here."

"The insurance doesn't go to me," Nikki said, raising her arms, "it goes to Weattie! I didn't live there, I had no possession there, what claim do I have to the insurance?"

"So you didn't think it through," Sally said. "You didn't think it through and now it's biting you in the ass."

"Guys," Tristan said, quietly, "maybe we should all calm down."

Anita glared at him.

"We can't know who was on the ranch that day. And even if it wasn't lightning, it could have been gas, or a fuse, or..." He trailed off lamely, but his words seemed to take effect. Jo looked slightly mollified, and Sally, though still visibly tense, lowered her accusing hand.

"Well, it could have been," Anita said, glaring at Nikki.

"This is unbelievable. You're supposed to be my friends." Nikki pushed back her chair, stood up and turned to the door. Nobody stopped her.

## **CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

### **_-_**

###

Sally couldn't think straight. Since the fire, her mind had been a hazy blur. Connor's face swam in her eyes: at least, she thought it was his face. It was frayed at the edges, like a dream. She could hear words swimming in her ears: love requires sacrifice — and then there were tears in her eyes and she was crying again.

Seeing the wreckage that day had been almost too much. All she wanted to do was curl up and cry, though she had a feeling that her tears irritated Bella. While Jo went to great lengths to extract from her thoughts and feelings, Bella seemed... disinterested? Whenever she began to speak, to explain, to explore, Bella would shut down. She would grimace, she would say, "We're going to get through this, we're going to be ok," and that would be the end.

She must be taking it harder than we know, Sally thought. She had always thought that Bella's hard exterior masked a softer side. If only she would let her friends see it.

Bella was already in her room, arranging the sofa cushions for the evening. She had donated the bed to Sally, a gesture Sally had appreciated.

"I tidied up a bit, so there should be more room to move around," she said as she slid into bed.

"Are you going to sleep now?" Sally asked, pulling on the old t-shirt she was borrowing from Bella.

"I've got to try and sort some stuff out with Weattie in the morning," Bella muttered, rolling over.

"Ok. I'm just going to get some water, I won't be long. Sorry if I wake you."

"It's fine," Bella muttered.

Sally could hear Tristan and Nikki talking in her room, and Jo humming in the bathroom as she crept downstairs. The kitchen was dark, but Sally felt safe in it. She didn't have to worry about what she couldn't see.

Turning on a low side light, she poured herself a glass of water. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping the cool liquid, when she noticed an ivory envelope on the table, smeared with dark red drops. She walked over to the table and picked it up.

She dropped the glass, and it shattered in the silence of the sleeping house, muffled by walls and floors. Sally knew the gentle curve of that 'S', the soft, fat roundness of the 'a', the delicate loop of the double 'l', the flirtatious flick of the 'y'. This letter was addressed to her. And it was from Connor.

She suddenly felt lightheaded, breathless. Her throat constricted, her hand clutched the letter. She felt hot, like she was burning up. She felt flames and smoke, she was choking.

Ignoring the broken glass, she rushed to the verandah. She gasped at the cool summer night breeze. She breathed in the fresh mountain air. She felt it cool her, bring her burning to a clammy sweat on her brow. It calmed her.

She let the screen door close and sat on the porch swing seat. She didn't notice her cut, bleeding feet leaving a trail of dark burgundy stains on the wood or that dangling from the bench they were dropping fat tears of blood on the porch.

All she could think about was the letter. She stared at the crumpled envelope in her hands. This was it. Connor's last words. Did she really want to read this? How had it even gotten there? When was this written?

She already knew she had to read it. Slowly opening the back, she pulled out the folded cream paper, and read with growing anger the handwritten contents within.

Dear Sally,

I know you don't want to speak to me right now, but I need you to read this. I'm going to explain everything.

I know I've been acting strange lately, and it will sound weird but I thought I was doing what was best for you, but I've realized that was wrong. I know I've hurt you, in the way I've acted. I should never have left without explanation; I should never have left at all. I should have been honest with you. For all of that, I am truly sorry.

To explain everything to you, I have to go back a few weeks. What I'm going to tell you isn't pleasant, and it may even make you hate me more. But I'm going to tell you the truth, even if it kills me.

It was a Friday night, and you were working the next morning. You were having an early night, watching a movie with Jo I think. I said I was going to meet the boys, and that was what I meant to do. I was going to show Raoul the town, introduce him. But he bailed at the last minute, and Carter and Graham never showed. I was sitting by myself, nursing my whiskey, feeling sorry for myself, and I got chatting to Norah. We've never really chatted much before. But the bar was quiet, and as the night wore on I was the only one in. I'd buy a whiskey, and then there'd be another 'on the house.' She was knocking them back with me, we were playing music on the jukebox, dancing on the bar...

I didn't mean for what happened to happen, and you have to believe me, I felt terrible. I don't know who kissed who first, but one thing led to another. I woke up on the road between the bar and the ranch. And Bella picked me up.

She could smell the whiske1`y on me. She could smell the guilt on me. I don't know how. She's smarter than I gave her credit for. She said she knew what I'd done. I told her I didn't know what she was talking about. But she said it again, she looked at me, and she said she knew exactly what I had done, and that she would tell you as soon as we got back home.

You have to understand, Sally, that in that moment the thought of telling you this was the worst thought imaginable. I could already see the devastation and disappointment in your eyes. I could feel your heartache and your pain. I couldn't have you look at me like that, I couldn't be the person who made you feel those things.

And so then I made a deal with the devil. I told her I would do anything. Anything. Anything, as long as she didn't tell you what I had done. I thought she'd want money or sex. But she asked me to leave. She told me I had to leave — without making a scene — I had to walk away from the ranch, from you, and never come back.

You're probably wondering what has changed. But you see, when I left, my biggest fear in the world was your disappointment in me. The moment I left you, I knew that my biggest regret was not being true to you — not owning up to my mistakes, not begging for you to forgive me. My biggest fear had been losing you — and I lost you anyway, and myself along the way.

I can take your disappointment, and I can take your hate. I deserve it. I will always regret your pain, I will always hate the sadness I have caused you. But I had to tell you the truth so that I can start to put right the things I made wrong, and so that you can have the closure you need. You deserve to be happy, Sally, and I'm so sorry that I wasn't the person to do that. You filled my life with so much sunshine — I'm sorry I was the storm.

I will always love you, and I hope you find happiness with someone like I found with you.

Love

Connor

The wind blew gently, rocking the swing in the breeze. Sally sat in shocked silence.

Connor had cheated.

Connor had left.

Bella knew.

Bella had lied.

Connor had lied.

Connor came back.

Bella knew.

Connor loved her.

Find happiness.

Sally burst into tears. She wasn't aware how loud or how long she cried for. She just knew that the last few weeks had been the hardest of her life. There had been so much sadness it overwhelmed her, and it burst forth now like waves crashing to shore.

She was hardly aware that someone sat next to her, or that they wrapped an arm around her. She could barely hear the comforting hushes. It was only when her crying slowed, when her sobs came in shudders rather than a torrent, that she noticed Raoul sitting beside her.

"Are you ok?" He asked her gently. He saw the letter in her hand.

"Honestly?"

"Always honestly."

"No. I'm not ok. I don't know, in this moment, how to be ok. It doesn't feel ok, none of this feels ok," she said, gesturing around at the ranch. "My home is in ashes, Connor is dead. My friend is a liar, my boyfriend is a cheat. Was a cheat. I--"

"Connor cheated?"

"Yes," Sally said, bursting into fresh tears.

"Oh god, Sally, I'm so sorry, I would never have given you that letter if-" he stopped, and she looked up at him.

"Gave me the letter?"

"I'm sorry--"

"You had it? How did you get it?" she asked heatedly.

"I... Sally, I'm so sorry. When we went to the barn dance, and he was there. I told him to leave, and he asked me to give you this. I didn't know what to do. You said you didn't want to speak to him, I didn't want to ruin your night. So I thought, 'I'll give it to her when we get home,' you know, something like that. You were drunk, I was going to give it to you the next morning, but I threw it on my desk and I forgot about it, until--"

"Until he died," Sally said flatly.

"Yes. And I didn't know if I should give it to you — I didn't know if it would give you closure, if you would want to hear what he had to say. But I thought maybe it wasn't fair, to keep it from you. I'm so sorry, Sally."

"So this was it. This was why he came over. This is what he wanted to talk about." She looked at the letter, at this last piece she had of Connor. Then she turned to Raoul. She was ready to shout, ready to be angry, ready to do... something. But she saw the look on his face, the guilt and the fear, and the sadness. There had been too much sadness already. It was time for the sadness and guilt to end. So she sighed, and gently placed her hand on his knee. "It's ok. It wasn't a happy letter. But it was necessary, I think."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I think I need to sleep on it."

He nodded and squeezed her hand gently. "Ok, that's fair. You're sleeping in Bella's room, right?"

Sally grimaced. She couldn't go back to Bella's room. She couldn't see her lying, deceitful face. She was worried about what she would do. "I don't want to wake her. She's up early. Can I--" she paused, shook her head.

"You can sleep in my room."

"It's ok, I don't want to bother you, I'll take the sofa."

"Sally," Raoul said gently, "you shouldn't be alone just now."

Raoul wrapped a strong, protective arm around her shoulder. Sally let herself sink into the snug of his arm, felt the warmth of him. She felt safe for the first time in a while. "Ok," she nodded. "Thank you." She began to stand, but suddenly felt the piercing glass shards in her feet, and promptly fell back down in a shout of pain.

Raoul jumped up and saw the blood on her feet. "What happened?"

"I broke a glass. Drats. I didn't even notice before."

Raoul shook his head. "Let's get you cleaned up." He scooped her up in his arms like she weighed no more than a feather. Her feet were pounding with pain, but Sally liked his warmth, the feeling of his strong, muscled chest. She felt secure.

She felt secure when he sat her on the edge of the bath, and pulled the glass from her foot. She felt protected when he cleaned the wounds, patched them with strip tape, wrapped her feet in cotton bandages. She felt assured when he carried her to his room, was calmed by his close, silent presence. Something about Raoul was so beautifully sincere that she trusted him, at a time when she felt everyone she trusted had betrayed her. Exhausted with sadness, with crying, with lies, she fell asleep curled against his chest, listening to the beating heart of truth.

## **CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

### **_-_**

###

Anita was sipping tea on the porch, letting the warmth of the morning sun bathe her skin in a golden glow. She didn't turn around when the screen door creaked and slammed, and didn't look to the side as someone sat down next to her.

"I want to start with 'Sorry,'" Tristan said, and she finally looked around. She met his eyes, sparkling azure in the morning sun with an intensity she hadn't seen before.

"Ok," she said.

"Anita, I mean it," he said. He grabbed her hand, and she didn't pull away. "I've done some stuff that's hurt you. And that was never my intention."

She sighed. "I just don't understand what you want."

"I want you."

"You have a really funny way of showing it."

"There's nothing going on with Nikki and I. We're just friends. Promise."

"And Sally?"

"Just friends."

"And Callie?"

Tristan breathed in sharply. "How do you know about Callie?"

"I--" Anita blushed. "I saw the letters. I didn't mean to."

"She's an ex."

"She didn't sound like an ex."

"Those letters are old."

"Why do you still keep them?"

"We'd just broken up when I started traveling. I guess I wanted them with me so I could work out what happened — so I could look back on all the mistakes I made. She was my girlfriend. And we were engaged. She was friends with my brother, Julian, we met at a party and we started writing. It was a long distance from the offset, it was always a strange setup..."

His beautiful blue eyes darkened. Anita looked at him sadly. "Were you in love with her?"

He smiled nostalgically. "I thought I was. I think I did love her — but maybe I wasn't in love with her. There were a lot of things happening at that time. My father died, and she was close to my family. At the time, it felt like the right thing. Everyone kept saying we had to pull through together. But I was being pushed into a job, a role, a relationship that I didn't want. As it turned out, it was a relationship my brother wanted."

"Your ex-fiancé and your brother...?"

Tristan grimaced. "Yeah. They said nothing happened while we were together. It was just 'feelings'. But that's worse in a way, isn't it? Anyway, we broke things off. They're engaged now. I don't know that Julian and I will ever be friends, but... Callie is happy. He's happy. And, against all odds, I'm happy." He smiled at Anita and squeezed her hand.

"I — wow, I'm sorry."

"It's ok, I think it all worked out for the best."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So are you going to tell me about you and Raoul?"

Anita blushed. "I feel like an idiot."

"Not as much as I do, promise."

"I thought you were with Nikki. Or Sally. Or Callie. Or all of them. And — honestly, there's nothing happening with Raoul and I. It was a one-time thing. It should have been a no-time thing."

Tristan shrugged. "Thanks for being honest."

Anita smiled. "You too."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the summer morning birdsong. "I just don't really know what you want from me--" Anita began to say when suddenly a yell and a crash inside pulled their attention.

Rushing into the house, Anita and Tristan met Jo in the hallway. "What's going on?"

Jo yawned and stretched. "I don't know, I just woke up." The past few days had been exhausting, and what Jo wanted most of all was to sink back into sleep and forget about reality — not be woken by fighting in the kitchen.

"Are they fighting about Nikki again?"

To Anita's surprise, it wasn't Nikki who was cornered in the kitchen when they went in. Bella, scooped up bits of glass in her hand, was standing with her back against the kitchen counter, her usual stoic expression broken, replaced with guarded apprehension.

"How could you?" Sally was shouting. "How could you? After all I've done for this ranch, and you decide to drive away the single person I love the most, for, for what? For jealousy?"

Meanwhile, Nikki was on a rant of her own.

"I can't believe you would do that, Bella. I thought we were in this together!"

"You couldn't bear to see us happy together, you felt bitter? Is that it? So you drove him away? Or did you hope to save me from a cheating boyfriend?" Sally was in tears.

"We would have figured a way out of the financial problems, you know, you didn't have to burn down a house! Who does that?"

"'Poor, innocent, helpless Sally, can't take care of herself, I'd better manipulate her life for her without telling her anything.'" Sally was screaming in a mock-version of Bella's voice. "What, you think I can't take care of myself? You think I can't deal with relationship issues? No? What is it?"

"Are you really so heartless that you would do that to your friends' home? That you would jeopardize their safety? I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. And to then let the blame fall on me. Good for you, you had the perfect excuse, didn't you? Blame it on Nikki, because she wants to leave, she must be up to something. It can't possibly be because not everyone sees their future as playing out on a farm in the middle of nowhere, no, let's use her aim for a better life as proof for arson!"

"Spit it out. It was you, wasn't it? You set fire to the guest house. I was too miserable, I wasn't pulling my weight, so you thought if you got rid of my home I'd have no reason to stay. Never mind that I was in it, I don't think you'd be that stupid. You were probably hoping to get the insurance money, right?"

Jo looked back to the entrance hall. Anita was crying. Tristan looked deeply uncomfortable.

"What is this?" she asked Anita.

"It's Sally," Anita said. "It's Bella. It was Bella who made Connor leave. And he wanted to explain, the night that... The night that the guest house went up. And..." She gave a sob. Tristan gingerly placed a hand around her shoulders, and Jo noted that she didn't pull away. She turned around, to ask the others, but found Bella, furiously storming out of the kitchen.

"You know what? I'm done. I'm done. All I've wanted to do all this time is help out. Help the ranch. Help us. I need some time alone, you're all nuts."

"What, now you think you can just walk out on us?" Anita asked. "You can't just leave, you owe us..."

But Bella had already slammed the door shut.

"Seriously, guys," Jo said, shaking her head. Nikki looked at her, incredulously.

"'Seriously, guys?' What do you mean? I'm sorry you were too busy sleeping in, but in case you missed it, Bella set the guest house on fire. Your house. Your home. She set fire to it with Sally still inside it, and it was she who made her break up with Connor, just because she wanted him to leave for the money!"

"She was jealous," Sally interrupted, "she was jealous and she did a terrible thing, and now Connor's dead. He's dead, Jo, and it's Bella's fault. You can't just ignore that."

"Sally..."

"No! I'm done being walked all over, alright? My opinion is just as valid as anyone else's! That woman deserves to rot in hell. Nobody should get away with the kind of thing Bella did. And you know what? She won't. I'm calling the police." Sally stalked into the hall and towards the living room.

"Wait!" Jo said, holding her back. "Wait. You didn't even hear her out. Just wait here for two minutes. I'll go and get her." She let go of Sally's arm, tentatively. Sally scowled but made no further move towards the phone.

Bella was in the stable, saddling up Artemis. She looked up briefly when she heard Jo come in but then went back to adjusting the stirrups.

"You should take a helmet," Jo said.

"I'll be fine, I know my way around."

"Look, Bella, I think you should..."

"You think I should nothing. It's fine. I get it. I get what you all think of me."

"I don't think that," Jo exclaimed, "I've been awake for twenty minutes, you think I'm going around accusing people of murder this early in the morning?"

"It's quarter to twelve," Bella said.

"I'm not joking, Bella. You owe us all an explanation."

"I thought you didn't think badly of me."

"I'd like an explanation too, though. I'm not accusing you," she added quickly, "I'm just confused. So are the others."

"They didn't sound confused," Bella said, hoisting herself onto the gray mare's back. "They sounded pretty sure, actually."

"Because they're stressed! And tired, too, some things you can't just sleep off. Sally lost her home and her boyfriend, of course she's upset. Nikki was in your exact situation just yesterday! Don't you think you'd want an explanation if you found out that it had been me all along, and I blamed you for it? You told me," Jo said, pointing at Bella, "you said, that if you can't talk to your friends, who can you talk to? So talk to me. Talk to us."

Bella bit her lip but then shook her head.

"No. I'm not going back in there. If they want an explanation, they can come and apologize first. I tried to apologize to Sally, and she just started shouting at me. I deserve a chance to explain myself, but I'm not going to do it if all they're going to do is shout accusations at me. Don't look for me." And without another word, she kicked Artemis into a canter and was gone.

"Bella! Bella! Darn it."

Back at the main house, everyone was standing around, waiting in silence.

"Well?" Sally snapped, "where is she?"

## **CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

### **_-_**

###

"Bella's gone," Jo sighed, letting the screen door slam behind her. "She said not to follow her."

"Well, we have to go after her!" Sally cried. "She can't just run off. She lied to me, she lied to all of us. She set fire to the guest house."

"We don't know that," said Jo sharply.

"Well it does kind of look that way," said Nikki.

"Goodness knows what else she's been up to," said Sally.

"I'm sure there's an explanation for this," Jo said.

"Let's ask her — oh wait, she's not here," Sally said sarcastically. "How much longer are you going to defend her for?"

"Until we get the full story!" Jo yelled. "We can't turn on each other, we have to give everyone a chance to speak. You spoke — and now we have to listen to Bella. We need to find her and bring her back." Jo stared around the room. "Anyone know where she goes to when she disappears?"

The girls looked at each other uneasily. No one looked at Tristan, sitting at the kitchen table staring intently into his coffee.

"I mean, I've seen her at the lake a few times," said Anita.

"And once or twice in the orchard."

"The garden, she's always there."

"The bath," said Nikki.

"She's not in the bath."

"I know that, but she probably didn't ride out to the garden either," Nikki snapped back.

"Hey, come on!" Jo said, exasperated. "Let's saddle up and go looking before sundown."

The girl's started moving towards the door, and Tristan followed. "Where are you going?" Jo said.

"We're going to look for Bella, aren't we?"

"I think you'd be better staying here," Jo said.

"I think I might know-"

"I've seen you riding Tristan, you'll slow us down."

Tristan tried not to take it personally. Everyone was upset. "All the same, I'll maybe take a walk around the perimeter. I'd like to help if I can."

Jo sighed and shook her head, storming off. By the time Tristan reached the barn, it was empty apart from the neighing of horses.

The horse dipped his head forward and gently nuzzled his face.

"Ok, ok," he said, "I hear you. I can do this." He saddled the horse as Anita had shown him, and using an upturned bucket, clambered onto the giant beast's back on the first try. "Shall we?" he asked the horse. Chestnut neighed in response.

Riding out of the barn, Tristan thought about what Bella had said at the barn dance. "Willow's Peak," he said to Chestnut. "Can you take me there?" The horse neighed loudly and trotted in a circle. "Look at me," Tristan sighed, "asking a horse for directions."

Suddenly, though, the horse began cantering forward. Tristan was about to pull back the reins — and then he remembered he had no idea where he was going anyway. Might as well let Chestnut take him where he wanted.

They rode through the fields for a while, eventually reaching the perimeter of the ranch. Beyond were mossy green trees, granite mountains and silver pools.

"Onwards and upwards?" Tristan asked the horse. Chestnut snorted and trotted on down a dirt path, winding through the pines.

They had been riding for half an hour in the forest, gradually uphill, when they came upon a cabin. Its windows were smashed, the door dented, the roof falling in and vines wrapping themselves around the frail wooden frame. But what caught Tristan's eye was the address on the door. In barely legible letters, he could just make out the broken words: "Willow's Rise".

"We must be on the right track!" Tristan said excitedly. "Well done! Clever boy!" He patted the horse's strong neck. Chestnut whinnied and stomped his feet in agreement: he was a clever boy.

The two continued up the path. It narrowed, the trees became darker and denser and the track twisted this way and that, becoming steeper. "Why would she come all the way out here?" Tristan wondered aloud to the empty forest. Bird call grew fainter as they walked on. Soon the only sound was Chestnut's hooves scraping against rock and dirt, and the breeze in the trees.

The trees closed in and brushed Tristan as they walked through. He ducked low to Chestnut's back as the horse stepped forward into the unknown.

Suddenly, they stepped into the open. There was a clearing. Above them, Tristan could see the clear azure skies. Chestnut neighed, turning in circles.

Tristan looked around and saw why. The trees had closed behind them. Tristan could no longer see the path they had taken.

"Well let's hope we find Bella," he muttered to the horse, who whinnied in agreement.

Tristan jumped off the horse and looked around. He could see little through the glossy pines, except more trees. Spinning around, his hat suddenly flew off in a gust of wind. It danced across the dust and dirt and skirted around the trees. Tristan chased it, tripping over his feet and landing face first in the dirt.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his nose. He could see his hat through the trees, lying still against a rock about twenty feet from where he was. Dusting himself down, he walked slowly towards it, leaving Chestnut standing in the clearing.

As he got closer to the hat, he saw that the rock was not just a rock. The trees thinned as he approached, revealing a stone wall. The silver rocks were rippled with violet in a kind of shimmering quartz, the glittering streaks running in vertical trickles to the ground. They looked like the draping, whimsical strands of a weeping willow.

Tristan began to walk around the rock, pushing the branches of trees aside and stepping over low-lying bushes. He heard a soft neigh — it wasn't Chestnut.

Suddenly, Artemis came into view, her silver back gleaming in the sun of the open sky. The trees had disappeared — in their place on the horizon was a sheer drop. A pool of indigo water had gathered at the edge of the cliff and trickled over the edge. The rock beside him hollowed into a dark cave, filled with a deep purple lake. And sitting at the edge of the pool was Bella.

Her riding boots were at her side, and her toes and feet were submerged deep in the water. She kicked her legs back and forth gently, letting the water ripple and bubble as she broke the glassy surface.

Tristan ducked into the cave. "Hey," he said, quietly.

"Oh!" she said, looking up in surprise. She started to scramble to her feet, her eyes darting towards Artemis as if to say, "Why didn't you tell me we had company?"

"It's ok, it's ok," Tristan said, putting his hands up. "I'm not here to hunt you down."

Bella paused, eyeing him carefully. "I told Jo I didn't want anyone to follow me."

"Yeah, Jo passed on that message. But they wanted to find you."

She froze, her eyes widening. "You didn't bring them here, did you?"

Tristan shook his head. He was standing opposite her across the pool, the little sunlight filtering through the cave entrance cast a lavender glow on the waves. "No. I came alone. We all split up. But I remembered you talking about this place. So this is Willow's Peak?"

Bella shrugged, sitting back down. Tristan took this as an encouraging sign and began to walk slowly around the pool, admiring the interior of the cave. The ragged inside revealed more vivid amethyst.

"I'm surprised you found this place," Bella said.

"It was mostly Chestnut. But when we passed the cabin, I knew we were on the right track." Tristan sat down beside her. He started to shrug his shoes off. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

Bella sighed, staring at the water. Her gray eyes were lost in thought. But Tristan waited. He knew there was a time to talk, and a time to listen.

"My grandfather was born in that cabin," she said suddenly. Tristan said nothing. He placed his shoes by his side and dipped his toes in the refreshingly cool water. "His parents were born there, and his parent's parents were, too. My ancestors — my great-great somethings — were heading west during the Gold Rush, and they never quite made it. My grandfather used to tell me about how Great Uncle Jeffrey had been chasing the American dream to California: 'But then he found it right here, in the Midwest,' he'd finish. And look at this place. Isn't it a dream?" She sighed, kicking her legs in the water.

"My mother was the first person in our family to not be born in that cabin," she continued. "She was born on the ranch, instead."

Bella looked at Tristan, her dark gray eyes willing him to understand.

"You mean — wait, the ranch is yours?" Tristan asked, confused.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She began to talk slowly, revealing her tale. Tristan listened in silence. It didn't matter particularly that it was him who sat there. Bella had kept her secret for so long and isolated herself from the people around her that it was a relief to share this burden. Sitting side by side she revealed herself in a way she never had before. Tristan trained his eyes on the violet pool, careful to control the emotions on his face.

When she was finished, she looked at him, her lip trembling. The hardness in her eyes was gone, granite turned to downy feather. He took her hand. She froze, her fight or flight instinct not entirely at ease, but his warmth relaxed her.

"I think the others will understand, if you tell them," Tristan said softly.

"I don't know," she said, closing her eyes and willing back the tears. "It was maybe okay before. But Connor is dead. And Sally is right. I'm a horrible friend."

"You didn't mean to do those things."

"No, I did. I meant to do everything I did. I just didn't understand the consequences."

She hung her head, and Tristan put his strong arm around her shoulder. "Everyone makes mistakes. That's how we learn. That's how we get better. Don't let your mistakes define you, but how you deal with them."

Bella smiled under her breath. "I think my grandfather said something like that once." She looked up at him, meeting his piercing blue eyes. They stared at each other for a moment in the comfortable silence of the lilac cave. "Thank you," she said softly.

His arm was still around her shoulders. She could feel the warmth of him beating through the strong, toned muscles, smell the heady musk of his sun-browned body. He leaned in closer, and she kissed him.

His lips were soft like summer rain; her kisses were sweeter than honey. The only sound was the trickling of the damson stream. The filtered sunlight was warm on their bare arms. But both of them pulled away at the same time.

"Anita," they both muttered under their breath. They turned to each other and smiled.

"Most guys wouldn't have pulled away," Bella said as he moved his arm off her shoulder, platonically patting her leg.

"I'm not like most guys," he said. "Most girls wouldn't be happy that I said another girl's name."

"I'm not like most girls," she grinned.

"You should come back to the ranch."

"I don't know how to face them."

"You'll find a way," he said, standing. "They're your friends. They're all you have, right now. And you owe them the truth."

Bella kicked the water, sending spray flying across the pool, the splash echoing around the cave. "Fine." She stood up, shaking dry her feet and carrying her boots around the pool to the entrance of the cave. Tristan was watching the sun, moving from the center of the sky to the horizon. It flecked the streaming silver river with gold as it tumbled over the violet cliff's edge. Artemis eyed the two of them warily.

"It's ok, Artemis," Bella said, pulling her boots on. "He's a friend." Artemis snorted and stomped, but also nuzzled Tristan's cheek. "Where's Chestnut?"

"Back... um... over there," Tristan gestured vaguely. "We stopped in a clearing."

Bella smiled. "I'll show you."

She led the way on Artemis, the horses silver rump leading a glimmering light weaving through the forest for Tristan and Chestnut to follow. They rode in silence into the misty magenta dusk.

## **CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

### **_-_**

###

Jo heard the footsteps on the porch first. She leaped out of her chair and ran to the door.

"You came back," she said, surprising Bella with a hug. Bella's eyes widened, and she caught Tristan raising his dark brow over Jo's shoulder as if to say "Told you so."

"Yeah, of course," Bella muttered. "I just needed some space."

She walked into the kitchen. Anita, Nikki, and Sally sat around the kitchen table, a pot of coffee in the middle. They stared at her silently. They were not as pleased to see her.

Jo started pulling up chairs. "I think we should all sit down and talk about this." Everyone sat down. There was an awkward silence; everyone stared at Bella.

"Come on then," Sally said finally. "Explain. What the hell is going on?"

"I--" Bella began, looking helplessly at Tristan. "I don't know where to start."

"Just tell them what you told me," Tristan said gently.

"Right. Ok." Bella took a deep breath. "Firstly, this isn't about money. It's never been about money. Money is just... a means to an end. It's about the ranch."

Tristan nodded encouragingly while the others looked on in confusion.

"My grandfather built this ranch from the ground up. He built the farmhouse with his bare hands, from just timber and love. My mother spent her childhood in the stables, with the horses. She was the one who taught me to ride, gave me my passion for horses. My parents lived here. This is where my family is from."

"I don't understand," said Anita. "What happened?"

"Weattie happened!" Bella exclaimed. "Times were hard, and my grandfather turned to the wrong person. He turned to Weattie, borrowed money, but the interest rates were so high he could never repay it. He fell more and more into debt — until Weattie offered him a way out."

"To sell the ranch," said Nikki, with sudden understanding.

"Exactly." Bella glared at the coffee pot, her jaw set hard. "He bought it for pennies. It barely covered what my grandfather spent. I never lived on the ranch — I was born in the town. But my grandfather would walk me through the woods, he'd take me to the mountains and tell me all about it. You could tell it was his proudest achievement and his biggest disappointment."

"I'm sorry," Jo murmured.

"I swear he died of a broken heart, seeing this place go to ruin under Weattie. About six years ago, I heard a rumor that Weattie was going to raze the place. Tear it down. I couldn't let him do that. All my life I'd heard about this place, and I'd always dreamed I'd rescue it. I wanted to make my grandfather proud. I love this land: the forests, the garden my grandmother planted, the lake where my parents met. Everything about me is embedded in this place. I couldn't let Weattie erase who I am. So I came to him with a business plan. And that's how I got back on the ranch."

"So you've been here, trying to stop Weattie tearing it down?" Sally said in confusion.

"Kind of. I don't want to just live here, though. This is my home. I want to own it."

"But the ranch is going bankrupt, isn't it?" Nikki asked.

Bella wriggled uncomfortably. "Not exactly."

They all stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"It's true when I started, the ranch was not a financially viable business. But the plan I gave Weattie was solid, and we started turning a small profit in the first year. That was when we hired you two to help out," Bella said, gesturing to Anita and Nikki. "The second year, the profit was bigger still, and I realized then... oh God, I can't believe I'm telling you this. I realized that if I kept making the farm profitable for Weattie, all that would happen is he'd make money, and the value of the farm would go up. I'd never save up enough to buy it. So I started increasing our expenditure." She paused, but no one interrupted. They waited for her to continue. "At first I really did actually spend the money on things. We invested in proper equipment, I built the honey hives, we hired Sally and Jo, got in extra farm hands for the summer season, refurbished the houses, got all the mechanics tightened up. But investing generated more profit. The riding school was doing great. So... I started fudging the numbers. I started skimming money, putting it into a rainy day fund. A rainy day fund Weattie couldn't find. I'd bump up the spending figures on the horse feed, the cost of maintenance, even wages."

"What?" Jo asked, incredulously.

"I know, I know," Bella said, putting her head in her hands. "But I wasn't taking money from any of you! It was from Weattie. I didn't want him to think the ranch was worth keeping. I wanted to lower its value so he'd want to sell."

"And then buy back the ranch using his money?" Nikki asked.

"It's kind of genius, when you think about it," Tristan interjected.

Bella sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"Is that why you burnt down the guest house?" Sally said, her face hard.

"What?" Bella asked aghast. "No! I would never do that, I told you! I was as devastated as any of you. It was my parents' first home. Their honeymoon suite. I watched it crumble."

"So who burnt down the guest house?"

Bella raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think? It was Weattie."

"I know you hate the guy Bella, but come on." said Sally.

"No, really. He burnt the barn for insurance money. The last quarter profits I handed to him were low. Abysmal, really. I've been so close for so long, and I decided it was time. I cut a huge chunk of the profits, I cut a load of our spending for that last push--"

"And that's why you cut Connor?" Sally interjected. "You thought you could save a dime or two by getting rid of a wage?"

Bella looked close to tears. "I'm so sorry Sally. It wasn't like that. I... I'd been in town that morning, and I'd handed the quarterly report to Weattie. I'd started laying the groundwork for a sale, suggesting he might want to consider his options, maybe find a buyer. The numbers he was throwing out, I knew I was just short... I was driving back, I saw Connor by the side of the road. I wasn't thinking about me then, I was thinking about you. I knew what he'd done. I hated that he was going to hurt you, or lie to you. I was going to tell you — that was my first reaction. And then he said it: I'll do anything.' I knew that I shouldn't do it — I knew it then, I know it now, I wish I'd stuck to my guns and said, 'No, friends first.' But I saw this opportunity: I saw a way to get my ranch back. If he didn't collect his wages at the end of the month... I'd have the money I needed."

"And now he's dead."

"I didn't know that would happen, Sally. I thought he'd go away for a while, and by the time he came back to apologize and tell the truth, we'd have the ranch."

Sally stared at Bella, lips pursed. "You still lied to me. To all of us."

"I know," Bella said glumly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"What I don't understand," said Jo slowly, "is why you didn't just tell us."

"What do you mean?" asked Bella.

"Instead of scaring off ranch hands and cutting funds and lying to us... why didn't you just tell us?" Jo looked around the table. "I think we all would have understood."

"I might not have," Sally said, glaring at Bella.

"All of us hate Weattie," said Nikki. "We would have all been on your side."

Bella shook her head. "I'm sorry. I really should have put more trust in all of you."

Everyone sat in silence, reeling from the information brought before them.

"So what are we going to do now?" Jo asked.

"What can we do?" Bella shrugged. "The guest house is gone. If Weattie has any sense, he'll be halfway to Mexico by now. Connor is..." She trailed off, pink patches appearing on her cheeks.

"No," said Nikki. "We can still report him." She stood up. "Come on, Bella, we can still get the ranch."

"Where are we going?" Bella asked, following Nikki.

"The sheriff's office. Anyone else coming?"

Jo jumped up. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." She grabbed Bella's hand and squeezed it. "You have a lot of making up to do. But we got your back on this one."

The three left the house, and the sound of the truck rolling down the drive could be heard through the swinging screen door.

"Do you buy it?" Sally asked Anita.

"She's telling the truth," Tristan interjected. Sally glared at him but softened at his piercing cerulean eyes. "I've heard that story twice now. She really loves this ranch. And she's heartbroken about Connor. She really thought she was looking out for you when she told him to leave."

Sally bit her lip and shook her head, her golden hair falling over her face. "I... I don't know. This is a lot to take in."

"Take your time," Anita said, taking hold of her hand.

"Yeah. I need to think on this." She stood up, pushing her chair back. "I'll see you guys later."

Sally left the kitchen, disappearing through the screen door. Tristan and Anita gave each other an awkward look but quickly turned their gaze elsewhere. Anita moved her coffee mug; Tristan nervously pushed his tangle of golden flecked hair back.

"Is it always going to be this awkward when we're left alone?" Anita asked suddenly.

Tristan paused. "I don't want it to be."

"I guess we can kind of call it quits, right?"

"Start with a clean slate, maybe?"

"We can be friends?"

There was a short silence as the two of them stared at each other, piercing blue eyes to dark molten brown ones. "Yeah, sure. We can be friends."

Tristan pushed his chair back. "I suppose I should... I dunno, do ranch stuff." He walked out of the kitchen, and Anita felt her heart sink. It was probably for the best, that he walked away, that he moved on, that--

"No, no, no. Do you know what? I don't want to be your friend." Tristan walked back into the kitchen. Anita stood up as he walked over to her. "And I don't want a clean slate either. Because our story isn't perfect, but it's our story, and I wouldn't change a second of it because every imperfect moment I've been falling more and more in love with you and I--"

"You love me?" she interrupted.

"I--" for a moment, he looked utterly terrified. But he saw the look on her face, a look that was echoed in his own heart. He smiled at her. "Anita, I'm crazy about you."

She blushed and he gently stroked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I — Tristan, I love you."

He laughed. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I love you," she repeated.

"You WHAT me?" he asked, playfully grabbing her waist and pulling her body into him.

"I LO--" she started to shout, but she never finished. He kissed her, his soft lips pressed against hers with such passion it caught the words in her throat.

He pulled away slowly. His smile reached his glittering azure eyes. Leaning into Anita's blushing face, he softly whispered in her ear. Anita heard the words, felt filled with lightness as her every desire came true.

"I love you, too."
**EPILOGUE**

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_October 27_ _th_ __

_Dear Nikki,_

_We were all so excited to receive your letter! The photos look great, it's good to see you've settled in properly. Chicago sounds big and confusing, I'm not sure I could handle it. I'm sure you'll need a break from the city, and we were talking the other day about what we're going to do for Thanksgiving — I think you're the only one who knows how to cook a turkey, so it looks like you'll have to come back for a visit. (Bella says she could do a turkey, you have to save us before she poisons us all.) _

_Weattie's trial started last week: he pleaded guilty. He's trying to get his sentence cut, but it's not looking good for him. And guess what: the ranch is officially ours! Weattie signed everything off, I don't think I've ever seen Bella happier._

_Sally is moving to Portland next month, she's heading out right after Thanksgiving. I think it'll be good for her, she's found a riding school just outside the city looking for an instructor, and they said she can take Willow. It'll be a good new start — I already miss her, even though she's still here, but she'll be back for holidays, and Jo's already made plans to visit her. So that's another reason for you to swing by next month! Raoul left a few days after you, but it looks like it's getting serious between him and Sally, I wouldn't be surprised if he mysteriously turned up in Portland in the next few months._

_Jo hasn't picked up any new wayward souls, but she just helped Bella hire out a new ranch hand to replace Connor. Her name's Alison, she's still learning, but I think she'll fit in well. She and Jo seem to get along pretty great, which is nice. She also finally seems to have warmed up to Tristan. We're not hiring any more people until the guest house is rebuilt, which reminds me..._

_That photo of the guest house, that's from last week! It's taking time, and money, which is why we're holding off on a second ranch hand, but we're hoping it'll be done by February. Jo's going to stay in your room, and Alison is in Raoul's, but she'll move into mine once the guest house is done. It's lively, with everyone living together, but Tristan's been itching for space, and everyone will be glad to have two fewer people lining up for the shower._

_We got an invitation to Julian and Callie's wedding: they're getting married in the new year. Tristan wasn't sure at first, but I know he'll come around — Julian's his brother, after all. I would have been worried about it, three months ago, but now... I'm totally fine with it. I can't believe I ever questioned it, me and Tristan, I've never felt more like this is how things are supposed to be._

_We all miss you, here, Adagio most of all, but don't worry, we're taking good care of him. He's not letting anyone ride him, you know, but he likes Tristan, and he's doing well._

_It's crazy, how much life has changed in the past six months — and how much more it's going to change. I kind of thought it would last forever — you, and Bella, and Sally and Jo and I. And when things started happening I was so scared. I didn't want things to change, didn't want things to be different. _

_Now I can't imagine my life any other way. I guess things change, whether you want them to or not. But I think I've finally figured it out: it's not about resisting change. It's about having the right people to face it with._

_See you soon, and don't forget to write!_

_Love,_

_Anita_
End.

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