

DEPTHS

Of

LAKE

KEARY TAYLOR

Copyright © 2014 Keary Taylor

DEPTHS OF LAKE

Keary Taylor

Published by Keary Taylor at Smashwords

First Edition

Copyright 2014 Keary Taylor

ISBN 978-1497581838

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and download your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ALSO BY KEARY TAYLOR

THE McCAIN SAGA

Ever After Drake

Moments of Julian

Depths of Lake

Playing it Kale (January 20, 2014)

What I Didn't Say

FALL OF ANGELS

Branded

Forsaken

Vindicated

Afterlife: the novelette companion to Vindicated

THE EDEN TRILOGY

The Bane

The Human

The Eve

The Raid: an Eden short story

The Ashes: an Eden prequel

CONNECT WITH KEARY ONLINE AT

FACEBOOK

TWITTER

KEARYTAYLOR.COM

CONTENTS

Copyright

Also by Keary Taylor

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

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

About Keary Taylor

CHAPTER ONE

The red, white, and blue run through my veins; guess that's why I came out with hair red like fire at sunset.

Dad served in the Marines for twenty-five years. We moved around. I bounced from school to school until my junior year. Then we stopped when he retired. He died three years ago when an old piece of shrapnel dislodged into his brainstem.

Last year I met Cal. I fell in love. He asked me to marry him.

And then on his last tour, he was killed.

The red, white, and blue runs though my veins, but it has a tendency of ripping my heart out.

The morning is chilly and damp, just like it is every spring morning in Duvall, Washington. Dew collects on my boots, turning the soft leather dark. I reach the pole in front of the house and attach the well-worn fabric to the line. A soft breeze catches it as I start hoisting it up. The American flag waves over my head, just as it does every morning, when either Mom or I put it up in Dad's honor. And then one of us takes it down every night.

I watch it wave for a minute and there's a dull ache in my chest. It's always there.

I love this country. Always have, always will. But the cost of protecting it has caused me more than a fair share of pain.

A nicker from the barn draws my eyes away from the flag.

The gravel of our driveway crunches under my feet as I cross from our house to the barn. The smell of hay and grain and horses hangs heavy in the air. It's a scent that triggers a lot of memories and feelings.

The giant sliding door screeches as I push it open and excited whinnies bid me good morning.

We have ten stalls total. Two of them are for our own horses. The rest are for horses I train and work with. The young, the out of control, the ones in need of just a little polishing. I take them all.

I was born while Dad was stationed in Quantico, VA. We lived there for the first five years of my life. Then we left for eight years, spending time in California and Georgia. When we came back to Virginia, I was thirteen and I saw a flyer for horse riding lessons. What thirteen-year-old girl doesn't want to learn to ride a horse?

I climbed into the saddle and had never felt more at home.

Every waking moment I wasn't at school or doing homework, I was on that horse. Her name was Misty. And I loved her more than I'd ever loved anything in my life.

Then two days after I turned fifteen, my parents dropped the bomb on me that Dad was officially retiring and we were settling in Washington State, where he was born.

I was angry for all of fifteen seconds. We were moving, again, and I was going to have to leave my four-legged best friend behind.

But we weren't moving just to another tiny, rented house. They'd just bought a fifty-two acre ranch in need of resurrection.

And here we are. Twelve years later.

I'm a whole lot more experienced on the back of a horse. The ranch is on its feet.

But Dad's gone. It's just me and Mom now. We don't have a whole lot of money, but we pay the bills and we get by, working sixty-hour weeks.

"Morning, Trooper," I say to the black and white yearling in the first stall. I take a wide flake of hay and swing it into his feeder. I check his water. It's mostly full. He tries nibbling my arm as I stroke his neck.

A week ago, he wouldn't let me within ten feet of him.

"Trapper," I say to Trooper's cousin in the next stall. I give him a flake as well, one that is extra wide, as well as a scoop of oats. Trapper is thin and refusing to put on weight. He's a responsive horse, but I worry about his health. If I don't see progress in the next two weeks, I'm recommending a visit from the vet, Dr. Wyze. I hope he doesn't have worms or something. That could be disastrous.

I work my way down the line until I get to the two last stalls.

"Hey, Radio," I coo to my horse. He's a buckskin gelding, sixteen hands tall, with the creamiest body and black as night feet and mane. He was the first colt we ever had, after we bred a mare a friend had given us. We didn't really know what we were doing back then, but oh I was excited for my first very own foal. I was sixteen, about to start my junior year of high school. That mare grew big and round, and the vet told us the baby should come any day.

We waited. And waited.

And grew concerned.

The baby wasn't coming. The vet said we'd have to do something about it soon. I slept in the barn every night, waiting for that foal to come. One night, I was growing tired, barely able to keep my eyes open. So I turned the radio on to keep me awake.

And two minutes later, there he was.

I scratch between his ears and press a kiss to his soft, velvet nose when he sniffs at me.

Radio fed, I turn to the stall across from his.

Sir Devil.

That's not his real name. His real name is Sir Golden Touch, and his owners are as pretentious as his name. But he's a devil of a horse, mean as a school-yard bully, and big as Goliath. They spent a small fortune on his breeding and now can't even get a halter on him.

I had to go out to their property and get him in the trailer myself. I got kicked once and my feet stomped on three times before we got him loaded in the trailer. He kicked the hell out of it.

Thankfully money was not an issue, and the owners replaced my old beater with a brand new one as an apology.

There are a few perks to working with wealthy clients.

Sir Devil flares his nostrils and stomps a foot as I feed him and check his water. I don't take my eyes off of him while I'm in his stall. He'll charge the second I look away.

Just as I finish off the morning feedings, the twins come charging in.

Chico, the handsomely dressed Boston terrier, jumps up on me, his little paws leaving muddy footprints on my jeans. He starts licking my legs and his little rear end wiggles back and forth in furious happiness. He was given to us because his old owners couldn't handle his energy or jumpiness. He just needed some space to roam. He's a great dog now.

Bear lumbers in behind Chico, huge and hairy, and very muddy right now. He's a gentle giant of a Bernese mountain dog. I got him as a puppy for my twenty-first birthday. Some people want to go out for drinks and to party. I just wanted someone who'd love me unconditionally. Bear does exactly that.

While Bear is the giant, Chico is the boss, and Bear goes wherever Chico goes.

"Come on, guys," I call to the dogs and start for Mom's garden.

The garden lies directly behind the house, huge and sprawling. It's just the two of us, so Mom has learned to be an expert in canning to deal with the excess. We have at least a year's worth of food stored in the cold storage area of the garage just behind the garden.

I grab the scarecrow that blew over last night and hammer it back into the ground. It sinks down in with little effort. The rainy spring has made the ground soft and slippery.

Inside, I can hear Mom getting breakfast ready. She'll have none of that processed cereal stuff that "all tastes like cardboard." It's fresh fruit and oatmeal every day for us. Prepared exactly how Dad used to like it.

He's been gone now for three years, and other than the two months right after it occurred, you'd never know it happened where Mom is concerned. She's a rock of kindness and strength, and that didn't change when her husband of twenty-eight years died. She carried on with a smile and dirt under her fingernails to get done what needed to be done.

I try to be like her, I really do.

But I don't know if I'll ever have her strength.

Suddenly, the back door swings open and Mom's face pokes out the door.

"I can see it in your eyes that you're thinking about it, but you get in here and eat something before you go work a minute more."

Her own eyes, green and vivid as an emerald, tell me she's not kidding around. I am expected inside right now.

Stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my camo jacket, I cross the yard to the back door. Leaving my muddy boots and the muddy dogs on the porch, I step inside and sit at the table.

There's a smell in the kitchen that doesn't belong. Like flowers. As Mom finishes getting our food ready, my eyes sweep the kitchen.

There, in the garbage in the corner, is a dozen roses.

Shit.

But I don't say anything to Mom. They're in the trash for a reason, and because they're there, it means that Mom's trying to protect me.

She sets a bowl on the table, hands me a spoon, and starts talking about something she watched on the news. Minimal engagement is required.

I'm Riley James and I'm twenty-six years old now. I've lived outside of my parents' home for a grand total of fourteen months. And I keep coming back.

Some might call it a failure to launch.

But my duty is here, taking care of the mother that took care of me. Taking care of the land my father fought to protect. And there's no place I'd rather be.

____

Breakfast. Rotating horses between the pasture and the arena. Mucking stalls. Rotating horses again.

The sun rises up high in the sky, burning through the morning clouds. I grab a bottle of canned pears and a slice of Mom's homemade bread for lunch, eating on the fence while I watch Sir Devil run himself crazy in the pasture.

"I'm headed into town," Mom calls from behind me. I look over my shoulder and see her digging through her purse, looking for keys. She heads for the garage. "Gonna get some feed for the chickens and some more rat killer. Did you notice them in the barn this morning?"

I shake my head. "I did find a dead one in Sir Devil's stall three days ago. It was pretty flat by that point."

Mom wrinkles her nose. "Well, I don't want it becoming a problem, so I thought we'd get on it before it became one. I'm also stopping by the grocery store. Want me to pick anything up for you?"

"You going into Woodinville?" I ask.

She nods.

"Whatever's fine." I hop down from the fence and start for the house to wash out the jar.

"Okay," she says, her hand on the door to the garage. She's got to speak loud over the wide expanse. "Love you, Honey."

"Love you too, Mom," I say as I walk inside.

The air grows humid that afternoon as the sun beats down on the wet earth. It's the last day of April, and we've had a wet one. The forecast is sunny and warm the next few days, but it's supposed to pour on Wednesday.

If the rain had continued much longer this week we would have had flooding issues. That's the problem of being right at the base of a mountain in Washington. The back of our property butts up to the Cascade Mountains. We get snow pretty often in the winter, where most of the area around us doesn't.

I lunge Trooper in the arena for twenty minutes until he's good and warmed up. I walk him over to the tack room and tie him up. We work on getting a blanket and a saddle on him for about an hour and by the time we're through, he's let me do up both cinches.

This is huge progress.

He gets a good brushing when he's done and I take him to his stall. Trapper gets the same workout, but the condensed version. I don't want to overexert him, considering his condition.

Next up is Lady. She's tiny and adorable. Her coloring is similar to Radio's, but her cream is a bit darker than his. She's a POA, a Pony of America. She's a bit overweight. Her owners let her out to pasture every day, and fed her hay, and gave her oats twice a day. The owners have three young daughters who are dying to ride her, but she's strong-willed and needs a firm hand.

Once I'm done training her, I'll start giving the girls riding lessons.

It isn't something I do often. I'm not a people person, and I'm horrible about telling people what to do. Horses are simple. I know how to listen to them, and I know how to make them do what I want them to do. People are different. They're harder.

But it's really hard to say no to such adorable little girls who just want to learn to ride a horse.

So I'm trying extra hard with Lady.

I let Chico and Bear follow us everywhere as I work with her. They know to keep away from her feet, they've both been stepped on before, but they race around us, then they watch from the fence. They're my constant companions. And they're great for teaching a horse to not be freaked out by distraction.

Finally, when it's six o'clock, just before Mom returns home and we'll make some dinner with whatever she just bought, I take a few stolen minutes and lead Radio out of his stall. He nibbles the back of my shirt as we head for the tack room. I don't bother tying him up to the hitching post; he'll stand still for me.

The leather of my saddle is worn and soft. My fingers rub over the tooling in the back, carved there by my dad's unpracticed hands. There's an infinity symbol, with our names inside each loop. It isn't exactly pretty or perfect, by my eyes got teary all the same when he gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.

After cinching Radio up, I slip his bridle on, the bit sliding into his mouth. I loop the reins over the horn and hoist myself up into the saddle. My boots slide into the stirrups, and I direct Radio to the arena.

I'm grateful the ground is starting to dry up. Our covered practice area is good sized, but the moisture in the air combined with the horse smells and dust is enough to choke you. It also feels oddly like heaven.

I let Radio walk around the outskirts of the arena to warm up. The next loop he trots. The next loop he lopes, and the final one I let him all out sprint.

He moves beneath me, powerful and strong. Our rhythms sync and we know how to move together. A horse is a beast of muscle and speed, and you can't help but feel powerful too when you're on the back of one.

I run Radio through some exercises, take him over the jumps, we do poles, practice backing up.

I did riding groups when I was younger, competed in events. We did okay, won once, and got pretty good. I don't have anything that I'm practicing for anymore; Radio and I don't do anything more exotic and exciting than going on mountain trail rides. But it's in my blood to practice, to keep the both of us in top shape.

So we ride nearly every day.

I've sprinted Radio hard around the arena, the final burst of energy before I cool him down, so when we slow, we're both windswept and breathing hard. I pull his reins, signaling for him to take it down to a walk.

It's when we loop around to face the house again that I see him.

There is a man standing on the far edge of the arena. His forearms are against the panel, he stands relaxed and observant. He's a big guy. Even from this distance I can see the width of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders. He's tall, too. I'd make a guess at six foot three or four.

He wears worn out jeans and a faded gray jacket. He's wearing aviator sunglasses.

But it's obvious he's watching me. And I haven't a clue as to who he is.

Radio walks casually and without fear. He's used to new people stopping by James Ranch. Clients come and go.

"Can I help you?" I call when we get closer. I was right, he's a big, tall guy.

He stands up straight, and there's something in his expression that I can't peg as sadness or dread or regret. And I don't know why it's there.

"There was a sign out front that said James Ranch, so I'm assuming I'm at the right place," he says. His voice is deep and slow, like he's thought about each word before it comes out.

"This is the place," I say, my eyes never leaving him. Radio stops in front of him, and I slide off his back. I pat his hindquarters and he keeps walking around the outskirts of the arena.

"You Riley?" he asks. He slips his sunglasses off. His eyes are hazel—more green on the inside, more brown on the outside—his brows pulled together slightly. He seems uncomfortable, worried.

"I am," I answer. I pull my gloves off and tuck them in my back pocket. I rest my forearms on the panel. "What can I help you with?"

The stranger raises a hand, running it through his short brown hair. His eyes are locked on mine, and he delays answering for several very long moments.

Those eyes, they're deep, and guarded, complicated.

"My name is Lake McCain, and your fiancé, Cal Richards, was my best friend."

He says Cal's name, and my heart sinks into my stomach. I can feel all the warmth drain from my face. My weight shifts back onto the heel of my feet, like this revelation might knock me right over.

"We served three tours together, including this last one," Lake continues. His voice sounds thick, like there's something knotted in his throat.

There's certainly something in mine.

The date didn't disappear from my mind, just because Cal died. He was supposed to get home from his last tour yesterday. We were going to spend this summer planning the wedding and then get married September fifth.

Lake is looking at me like he's expecting me to say something. But what is there to say?

"I, uh," he says when I can't find any words. It's plain to see how hard this is for him, whatever it is he's trying to say or do. "I just got home yesterday. It was my last tour, so I came home."

He bites the inside of his lower lip, his eyes on the ground. He slips his hands into his back pockets. With the motion, it pulls his jacket back across his wide chest. And exposes his dog tags.

"I remember your name," I say. My throat is tight and it's hard to talk. "Cal, uh, he talked about you sometimes. Said you were the best soldier he'd ever served with. Said you were kind of an ass sometimes, but that you were a good guy."

The barest hints of a smile pulls on one side of his mouth, but his eyes are just sad and tired. They dart up to mine once, before dropping to the ground again.

"Yeah, uh, Cal talked about you a lot," he says, and leaves it at that.

He's quiet again for a while. He gives his head a little shake and clears his throat.

"What are you doing here, Lake?" I ask. I stand straight and cross my arms over my chest.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and then folds his arms over his wide chest, too. "You know Cal was killed by an IED six months ago," he says. I feel his eyes rise up to mine, but I can only stare at his dog tags.

Cal's parents were called first. They called me a few hours later.

I didn't resurface for about a month.

My fiancé, the man I was going to marry and spend the rest of my life with, was dead.

"There were four of us that got out of the Humvee," Lake continues. "We were supposed to scout out this area. We were looking for al-Qaeda leaders that might be hiding. It was supposed to be a low risk operation, they weren't really expecting them to be there."

He has to clear his throat again.

I've heard this story before.

"Cal saw the IED first. I was in front of him, so was our buddy. But neither of us saw it. I thought Cal was just messing around when he shoved us out of the way. Me and that other guy, we both hit the ground hard. But Cal, he was standing there in front of us. And then the damn thing went off."

Boom.

I've seen it in my nightmares often. I've never been to Iraq, and all I've seen are the images on the news. But the imagination can be a treacherous thing.

"I owe Cal my life," he says. His voice is really rough now. "I'd be dead if he hadn't done what he did. So would that other guy. So, I, uh, I guess I just came here to say thank you. And to say I'm sorry for what happened. It'll never be enough, but I have to say it. He was like a brother to me."

I have to swallow twice, just to try and breathe again. I knew this before. I knew about the IED, I knew about the scouting mission. I knew there were others in the company and that Cal saved them.

I never expected to have to face one of them, though.

It's hard to look at Lake.

Cause if Cal hadn't been the hero, he'd still be alive and Lake would be the one who got shipped back to the States in an urn because there were too many little pieces to put in a proper box.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "And I'm sorry for coming here and ripping open old wounds, but I just had to say it."

I give a little nod. "Thank you," I get out.

My eyes rise up to his and he holds them for a long moment. There's a lot of pain there. Pain you can only understand when you lose someone you love. It's there in his eyes; Lake did love Cal like a brother.

He gives a little nod of his head and starts to turn. I finally notice the beat-down truck behind him.

"I hope things get easier," he says without looking at me. "I wish you a good life."

He puts his hand on the handle and pulls the driver's side door open.

"Lake," I say, my voice cracking just a bit. He looks back at me, his eyebrows raised slightly. "Thank you for your service."

He just looks at me for a moment and finally, gives me one more nod.

Just as he slips into his seat, Mom pulls up in her truck. She loaded up. I can see the back is totally stocked with supplies.

As she pulls up to the side of Lake's truck, she rolls her window down and flashes him a warm smile.

"Hi there," she says. Lake hesitantly climbs back out of the truck and walks over to her. I give a big sigh and open the gate and walk out. "I didn't realize we had anyone stopping by today. Hope I didn't let any appointments slip my mind."

"No, Ma'am," he says. "I stopped by unannounced."

"He was a friend of Cal's," I explain around the snake that's trying to close off my throat.

"Oh," Mom says, her expression surprised and sad for just a moment. "Lord rest his soul. He was a good man, wasn't he?"

Lake nods. "One of the best."

"I bet you have some stories about that man that would blow our minds," she says with a regretful smile. "Have you met his parents yet?"

Lake nods. "I've spent the morning with them."

"That's nice," she says with a smile. "They're wonderful people. I bet they appreciated you stopping by."

The look on his face suggests maybe not. It's hard to tell.

"Well, a friend of Cal's is a friend of ours," she pushes past the awkward moment, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

I'm pretty sure my jaw drops open at the same time Lake's brows furrow together. Our eyes dart to each other at the exact same time.

"You should know that it will be rude to decline," she says. Mom raises an eyebrow at him.

"It really isn't," I say, shaking my head when Lake looks at me again. "You don't have to stay."

"It really is, Riley," Mom says. She gives me a look. "He's a guest and a friend of Cal's, and I'd like him to stay for dinner. If he's hungry."

Lake glances at me again. He's looking for permission and I'm not sure if I'm capable of giving it. I'm feeling...complicated, right now.

"It's settled then," Mom plows right on. "You can leave your truck right there, and then come help me bring all these groceries in while Riley puts Radio away and showers."

"Uh," he says, again looking at me. I'm too stunned to answer. "Okay. I guess. Thank you."

Mom gives him a wink and pulls forward toward the garage. Radio nudges me with his nose. Apparently I left the gate open. I grab his reigns and absentmindedly start for the tack room.

Lake follows Mom toward the garage. He looks over his shoulder and catches my eye. He looks just as bewildered as me.

What the hell just happened?

I put Radio away. I shower. I listen to Mom and Lake quietly talking downstairs as I get dressed. I'm tired and I don't have anyone to impress, so I chose some old gray sweatpants and a brilliant pink T-shirt I got a few years back while on vacation with my parents to Hawaii that says HI in lime-green letters. I tie my red hair up in a knot at the top of my head and go downstairs.

Lake sits at the table while Mom mills about the kitchen. He looks up at me when I walk into the room, his eyes holding mine for a long moment.

"She kept trying to teach him, but he just kept falling off," Mom says with a laugh, oblivious to my presence.

"Yeah," I say, making her jump. "Cal couldn't stay on a horse to save his life."

"He told me about that," Lake says. He finally does manage a small smile. It's lopsided, pulling up higher on the right side than the left. I manage a tiny smile myself.

"It was pretty fun—" Mom cuts short when she turns around and sees me. "What are you wearing, Riley? Did you forget we have a guest?"

"Mom, I'm tired," I say as I flop down on a chair.

"Really, Mrs. James," Lake says. "I don't mind."

Mom gives me a look, but goes back to what she's preparing.

The two of them continue making small talk, occasionally talking about Cal, some about the Ranch, some about the service. This is easy for Mom. Talking with people and making them feel at home is second nature to her.

I listen mostly. I observe Lake, trying to discern what it is about him that made Cal like him so much. He claimed they were best friends.

Just from looking at him, it's obvious he can handle himself in pretty much every situation. Cal loved being a soldier. He was good at it. I imagine Lake was—is—good at it too.

If Cal had lived, at some point, he would have introduced me to Lake. Being best friends and all. Heck, Lake probably would have been Cal's best man.

I can tell Lake isn't normally one for many words. When Mom asks him questions, he politely answers, but he doesn't elaborate more than needed. He speaks quiet and his voice is always low and slow. It's easy to imagine him as a southern boy. But from the questions he's answering, he's a born and raised Washington man.

"Yeah, I'm from Woodinville," he answers Mom. "Lived there for forever. So it was pretty surprising to find one of the guys I was serving with was from Redmond."

Cal. Cal was from Redmond, not far from Duvall or Woodinville.

"I bet that was nice," Mom says as she starts handing out plates. We each stand and start serving up the hobo hash she's made. One of Dad's favorites. "I'm sure that made the services a little easier, having someone with common history."

"Yes, Ma'am," he says as he sits back down with his plate.

"Ma'am," Mom laughs with a shake of her head. "You can call me Raelynn or if you have to, Mrs. James."

"Mrs. James," he says with a small tip of his head.

"Hush now and let me say grace." She does. While she's praying, I steal a peek at Lake. His eyes are closed, his fingers gripped tightly together. He's taken his jacket off, and wears a hunter green T-shirt. It stretches tight over his wide frame. Dark, thick lashes stretch long over his closed eyes. I study his hands for a moment. They're rough and scarred. They're hands of hard work and war.

Mom finishes, and we all say amen.

"You know," Mom says as we start eating. "When I saw your truck when I first pulled up, I thought you must be someone coming to apply for the job."

Lake takes a moment to finish chewing his bite and then shakes his head. "You all looking for some hired help?"

Mom's chewing, so I answer for her. "Someone to muck out stalls and do some heavy lifting mostly. The pay isn't good, so no one has inquired yet."

"You looking for a job?" Mom asks slyly. She looks from Lake, to me, and back to him again.

"Oh, uh," he says, instantly uncomfortable.

"Mom," I say, feeling horrified yet again. "I'm sure he's already got something lined up."

She looks at him, expectantly.

"Actually," he says quietly. He looks beyond uncomfortable. "I don't yet. Thought I'd figure it all out when I got home."

"Well?" Mom asks.

"I'm sure a decorated soldier like him isn't going to want some grunt job," I say. I'm feeling slightly panicked, and I can't exactly pin down why.

"Well," Mom says. "The pay isn't good, but we've got a little apartment above the barn. It's warm and dry. And I'm a darn good cook, and I promise to always keep you fed. And you can have all the free horse riding lessons you want."

"Mom!" I cry once more.

"What?" she says. "I'm just offering."

I stare her down, and she gives me back this little innocent look like she has no idea why I'm upset.

After a while, I finally steal a glance at Lake.

He looks exactly like he's been caught in the middle of something. His expression is uncomfortable and a bit uncertain.

But he looks like he's thinking it over.

"I appreciate the offer, Ma'am," he says. He looks back at Mom. "I don't know that I'll be all that good at whatever you need done, but I'll give it a try. I don't want you paying me though. I have a debt to Cal that I can never repay, but I'll do what I can."

"So, does that mean you'll accept the job?" Mom asks.

He takes half a beat to think about it again.

And then he nods his head. "Yes, Mrs. James. I'd be honored to help out."

"Well, all right then. You can finish your dinner and then go get your stuff. I'll have the apartment ready for you tomorrow afternoon."

Lake meets my eyes. There are emotions behind those hazel eyes that I cannot identify. One second he just looks calm and collected, and the next second I swear there's a storm of sadness and regret there.

There's also a darkness behind those eyes that only men of war can comprehend.

"Thank you," he says, and I can feel it's directed right at me.

CHAPTER TWO

"We don't know anything about him," I say as I dust the blinds. Mom's furiously washing the windows in the bedroom. "We haven't checked for criminal history, or drug problems, or anything. He could be a serial killer."

"I know this isn't easy for you, but stop being dramatic, Riley," she says. There's concern and understanding in her voice. There's also the barest hint of annoyance. I hear the spray bottle being squirted again. "The man is two days out of the service. If he's a Marine, that's good enough for me. It would have been good enough for your father, no questions asked."

"It's just so..." I struggle for words. My feelings have been all up in knots ever since I saw Lake watching me ride. "Sudden."

"Honey." Mom suddenly appears in the doorway to the bedroom and crosses her arms over her chest. "We've had that ad out there for a month. You knew we were going to be hiring someone eventually. This is not sudden."

I look at her, and rub my nose, pretending it's the dust that's bothering my eyes. I'm not crying, but something is wrong with my tear ducts.

Mom crosses the small living room and wraps her arms around me. I stand there stiff, just trying to keep everything in.

"I know this isn't going to be easy, having Lake here," she says quietly into my hair. "He reminds you of Cal, and that's why you're feeling the way you are. But we need the help. He needs to heal, and so do you. So let yourselves do that."

I chew on my lower lip and finally hug Mom back. It's so she won't back away and see the moisture that's pooled in my eyes.

Because she nailed it right on the head.

Lake is a lot like Cal. And Cal's gone.

"I love you," Mom says, patting my back.

"Love you, too," I reply, taking a quick sniff and blinking back the betraying tears in my eyes.

We don't say much else as we continue cleaning the apartment. It collects a lot of dust, being located above the barn. And no one has lived in it for over a year.

It's small, but it does the job. The stairs lead right up into a little living room with a sun-faded green couch and an overstuffed chair we got at a yard sale. There's a simple kitchen and a small dining table. Just off the living area is a bathroom and a bedroom with a queen-sized bed.

The perfect space for a single man.

I pause as I'm wiping down the kitchen counters. Well, I'm assuming he's single. I never asked and it never came up last night.

Just as Mom finishes vacuuming and I've finished putting fresh sheets and pillows on the bed, there's a knock on the door.

A second later, it opens and Lake takes half a step in. He's got two bags, one over his shoulder, the other in his hand. They're military green.

"Sorry, I checked at the house and the garage, but didn't find anyone." His eyes are hesitant. He looks so cautious and something that isn't quite scared. Like he's carefully walking around minefields.

"That's just fine," Mom says with a smile. She waves him in and starts wrapping the cord up. "We've just finished sprucing the place up for you."

He sets his bags down on the floor and his eyes take in the place. It's hard to tell what he thinks of it. His expression doesn't give much away.

He wears jeans again, boots, a long sleeved T-shirt that hugs his toned arms and chest. His jaw clenches and unclenches, the tendons there standing out sharp.

"Thank you," he says simply.

I can suddenly feel Mom's eyes on me, and I look at her. She's got this little smile on her face that makes me uneasy.

I realize it's because I've been staring and watching Lake's every move since he came in.

"We'll, uh, let you get settled in," I say awkwardly. "I'll be down in the barn when you're ready and then I'll show you around."

Lake just gives a little nod, and Mom and I clear out.

I wait for her to say something as we haul our cleaning supplies back to the house. For her to tease me or to make some kind of romantic suggestion. My stomach sinks from the dread of it. But my mom knows me. And she doesn't say anything.

Once I've finished helping her put things away, I head back out to the barn. Most of the horses were put in the pasture this morning. I walk to the last stall—to Sir Devil.

His dark coat is dull with dirt and his mane is tangled and frizzy. This is a champion horse that should be ridden in big fancy shows and has the potential to make his owners some good, solid money.

But he won't let anyone touch him.

I grabbed a saddle on my way in here and I take it, some leather soap, and a stool into his stall. He backs into the far corner when I come inside and stomps his hooves and snorts.

"Yeah," I say as I set the stool in the furthest corner from him. "I know you don't like me. Or anyone."

I sit on the stool and set the saddle across my lap. I start working it over, cleaning it deep and hard. It's Mom's saddle. She doesn't ride more than once or twice a month, but I still keep it in top shape for her.

"You know, someday, I'm going to ride you," I say without looking up at him. "I'm going to get a saddle on your back, and you're going to listen to me. You're going to realize that I am not your enemy, and we're going to be friends."

Sir Devil throws his head and whinnies loud.

"You can throw all the fits you like, but that's the way it's going to be," I say with the shake of my own head.

The horse snorts again, almost as if he's mocking or challenging me.

"Do they listen when you talk to them?"

I turn to see Lake through the panels. He stands just outside the stall, his hands in his pockets.

His feet are wickedly silent. His pose should seem relaxed, but there's tension in his shoulders, like he's always ready for something. It's easy to see how he would have been a good soldier.

"Always," I say, turning back to the saddle. "Might not happen right away, but I haven't met a horse I couldn't ride yet."

"You must be good at your job."

"That's why I do it," I respond as I finish up the cleaning job.

"Is it really?" he asks.

I look over at him, my brows furrowed together.

"Seems to me you don't talk to horses and work twelve hour days unless you do it because you love it. Not just cause you're good at it."

I stand, slinging the saddle across my shoulder and letting myself out the gate. "So you're an insightful, deep kind of guy." I walk past him toward the tack room.

"Not really," he says. I don't hear his feet following me, but his voice doesn't grow distant. "I'm a pretty simple kind of guy."

"Hmm," is all I respond as I open the door and step inside. The smell of leather is strong and comforting. I slide Mom's saddle back onto its rack. I check the rat trap Mom set last night and find it empty.

"Well, how about I show you where everything is and explain what we need you to do?" I face Lake, my hands braced in the doorframe.

"Sounds good." He gives a small little nod of his head.

"As I'm sure you already guessed, this is the tack room," I say, turning and waving my hand in its direction. "You shouldn't ever have to do too much in here. I'm kind of guessing you don't ride."

He shakes his head. "Never been on the back of a horse before."

I'd guessed. I close the door and walk over to the next one. Pull it open. "This'll be one of your main jobs. The stalls need to be mucked out five days a week. Manure goes in Mom's compost pile. You can have Sundays and Wednesdays off. Wheelbarrow here, shovel there, straw there, as you can see."

I point everything out as I list it off.

I close that door and start walking down the aisle of stalls again. "I rotate the horses out twice a day, so you'll muck the morning stalls of the morning horses while they're out the pasture, and then the afternoon ones."

Just then, Chico and Bear dart into the barn and Chico is instantly jumping up on Lake and Bear sniffs his boots.

Lake smiles his first real smile I've ever seen on his face.

It's still lopsided, pulling up higher on the right side than the other. But his eyes brighten, and his entire face looks younger. And something squeezes in my chest.

He squats down, rubbing Chico's ears and then scratching Bear's back. Chico's butt wags back and forth furiously, and Bear's huge bushy tail fans me, even from five feet away.

"Looks like they like you," I say, giving the smallest of my own smiles.

"Looks like it," Lake says, not looking up from the dogs. "What are their names?"

"Chico and Bear. I'm sure you can guess who's who."

"Hey, Chico," he says quietly as Chico jumps up into Lake's lap, nearly knocking him over since he's squatting. "Hey, Bear." Bear's tongue is hanging out, drool dripping onto Lake's pants.

He doesn't seem to mind one bit.

"Do you have very much experience with animals?" I ask. I shift my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. This would be one difference between Cal and Lake. Cal didn't like dogs. More specifically, he didn't like their hair. Or their drool.

Lake shakes his head. "Not really. But I was good friends with Hank, the German Shepard bomb detection dog in our platoon. Thought I might get a dog of my own when I got back."

"You can borrow these two rascals for now," I say. "They're always happy to have extra company." I turn and walk out the barn.

I show Lake the chickens; show him where their feed is. Show him where the hay is stored and where he can get water for the animals.

The sun shines brilliantly overhead. The air is chilly, spring still upon us. I checked the forecast this morning. The rain that's coming in a few days looks worse than originally predicted.

We cross to the garage, and I flip the light on.

Both Mom's and my trucks sit inside. Beside that is the 1967 Shelby GT500 Dad always planned to restore before he died. It was his pride and joy, the fact that he'd gotten his hands on such a rare gem. But it sits there, unfinished.

In the next bay over is the tractor.

"Have you had any experience with tractors?" I ask when Lake stands at my side.

"I think I can handle it," he says. There's a bit of a smile pulling in one corner of his mouth.

"You drove tanks or something over in Iraq, didn't you?" I say, trying hard not to roll my eyes.

"Something like that," he says simply. He walks into the garage, over to Dad's car. Lake runs his fingers over the hood, and peeks inside the window.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" I say. My hands rest on my hips, and I bite my lower lip.

"Yeah," he says with a hint of awe in his voice. "Restoration project?"

He suddenly squats and then lies on the ground, looking up under the car.

"It was."

This seems answer enough for him. I hear him knocking around with things for a minute. Finally, he stands up and dusts his pants off. He gazes at it longingly, and I can tell he's fantasizing about polishing it up and taking it for a spin. Every guy who lays eyes on it does.

"Dad died three years ago," I say. "He was a Marine, too."

Lake looks at me, weight behind his eyes. "Thank you for his service."

I just nod, and my eyes drop to the ground.

"You ever take those out?" Lake finally asks. He nods his head to the far back corner of the garage.

This time a smile does form on my face. "It's been a while, but yeah."

I walk over to the two ATVs and pull the keys off the hook on the wall by them. "Want to go for a ride? I can show you the rest of the property."

A small smile pulls at his lips as he nods his head yes.

I toss him a set of keys and climb onto my wheels. The engine purrs as I back it out. Lake gets on his and starts it.

We drive slowly at first. I take him around the perimeter of the pasture. It's huge. A solid thirty acres to it alone. I feel a certain pride as I show it off. This is our land. My dad fought to protect this country for most of his life. And this is our little corner of it. It's simple, but it's ours.

I explain how Lake needs to check the fence twice a week, make sure there are no breaches.

"What's that?" Lake asks, nodding his head to the base of the mountain trail.

"The ranch butts right up to the government property. The trail wasn't much more than a deer path when we got the property, but I ride the horses on it every so often. When it isn't too muddy. It's pretty dangerous when it's wet. The trail stretches for about forty miles."

"Ever take these babies on it?"

I smile, shaking my head at him. He knows so little about me. "This girl isn't afraid of a little mud."

He chuckles. It's a low and deep thing, the kind you can feel, not just hear. "I didn't figure you were."

And I find something that I like about Lake. I don't like being underestimated, and for some reason, I just know: he never will.

We start rolling back toward the garage and park them in their spot. I hang both keys up as I hear Mom yell that dinner is ready.

"Are you really not going to let us pay you?" I ask as we slowly walk back to the house. "Working for free seems kinda crazy."

Lake shakes his head and his eyes grow dark. "Like I said, I have a debt that I can never repay, but I've got to try. I'll be going down into town tomorrow to look for something part time. I don't need much, just enough to survive on."

I look over at him, my brows furrowed.

"Don't worry, I won't let whatever I find interfere with what you need done here," he hurriedly explains.

I shake my head as we pass the garden. "I don't understand you noble hero types. Sure would be a lot easier to just take the money we're offering and work a lot less."

"I don't mind work," he says as he holds the door open for me.

"But you don't love it," I say, echoing his words from earlier back to him.

He mutters something I don't quite catch when Mom starts talking over him, but I'm pretty sure it was something like not loving much of anything in a long while.

CHAPTER THREE

I've never been particularly religious, but Mom likes to go to church, so we go.

We sit in one of the pews toward the back. Mom sings the hymns. She holds onto the pastor's every word. And when the service is over, she visits with the townspeople, laughs, and socializes with others in the congregation.

But I hate coming. Because everyone here knows my past mistakes.

So when Mom gets to chatting, I sit in the truck and wait for her. I make a to do list on the back of receipt. It stretches long and I find myself relieved that we'll have some help to get it all accomplished. There's been a pit of dread in my stomach from the moment Lake stepped foot on our property, but we do need his help.

Someone raps on my window, making me jump hard. My knee cracks into the dashboard.

"Hey," I say as I roll the window down.

"Sorry," Jesse, also known as Dr. Wyze, says. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," I say, shaking my head. "I was just trying to plan out everything I need to get done this week."

"Looks like you've got your work cut out for you."

I lean over the bench seat and open the door he's leaning in. I nod my head, and he climbs in the passenger seat.

"Sounds like the rain storm is going to be pretty bad on Wednesday." I make small talk when I'm not sure what else to say. "Everyone's freaked out ever since that mudslide in Oso."

"It was pretty awful," he says as he leans back, his knee propped up on the dash.

It's weird seeing him dressed up for church. Black slacks, a white button up shirt, blue tie. It's stark contrast against his skin. His dad is black, and his mom has the blondest hair and bluest eyes you've ever seen. That leaves him with this creamy dark skin and these strangely bright green/gray eyes that are piercing.

He is a beautiful man. Thirty-two years old. He's also the town vet. So our paths cross frequently.

"Yeah, it was," I agree, looking out the window. The clouds roll in, dark and thick. Just on the verge of rain.

"So, your mom said you'd hired a new hand," he says, looking in my direction. I feel his eyes, searching and deep. Like he can see right through me. "How you feeling about it?"

"Why do you ask, Jesse?" My voice is verging on testy, even though I know it shouldn't.

"Cause I heard he's a Marine," he says honestly.

My eyes dart to him just once before flicking back out the window. People start coming out of the church faster now, headed to their cars quickly before the rain starts. "Doesn't really matter," I say with a shrug. "We need the help, and Mom thinks we can trust him."

Another rap on the window sounds through the cabin and I look to my left to see Kyle Mark staring daggers at Jesse.

I roll it down and barely contain the roll of my eyes.

"Raelynn said to tell you she's going to be a few more minutes," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "She and Mom are talking about some fundraiser they're putting together next week."

"Thanks," I say, giving him a little half lipped smile. I'm over the years when every time I saw his face was like getting a little twist in the heart with a knife. It doesn't mean things don't still feel awkward between us every once in a while.

"Yeah," he says, eying Jesse once again. "See you around."

He walks away just as the first drops fall from the sky.

"Living in a small town is hard enough," Jesse says as he watches Kyle walk away. "Living in a small town with your ex is agonizing."

I shrug and shake my head. "It's not so bad anymore. It was a long time ago. He's kind of like a pesky fly now who just hovers around every once in a while."

"He's got no right to hover like that every time another male comes within ten feet of you."

"Whatever," I say with a big breath and a deep sigh. "You still coming out on Friday to do all the shots?"

He takes a minute, still watching as Kyle climbs into his car. "Yeah," he finally replies. He looks over at me. His eyes are slightly conflicted. "Noon still good?"

"Perfect," I say as something turns in my stomach. "See you then."

Jesse climbs out of the car and calls a goodbye.

I watch him walk away. The interest he has in me has been fairly obvious the last few months. We've been friends for the last two years, but it was nothing more than that in the beginning when he was a brand new vet and all we could afford. And then Cal came along, and I didn't talk to Jesse in any form outside of work for a long while.

He's been a supportive friend. But then he had to go and want more.

He's never told me that. Sometimes a woman just knows.

But I can't. I just can't. I used up all my chances at love and happiness.

"Hey, sorry to keep you waiting," Mom says as she climbs into the passenger seat. There's scattered rain drops over her shoulders. "And sorry for sending Kyle as messenger. He was standing right there and well..."

"It's okay," I say as I shift the truck into drive. "It's really not a big deal anymore."

"I saw you talking to Jesse," she says as we pull onto the main road.

"Yep," I respond.

"That's the problem with being such a beautiful woman," she says innocently as she looks out the window, over our small town. "You can't help but catch the eye of all the men around you."

I chew on my lower lip and ignore her comment.

Being beautiful isn't always a blessing. I'm pretty, I know that because other people have been telling me that my whole life. Because more than once, I've been stopped by people claiming to be model scouts, asking me to come in for headshots. Because photographers are always asking to take my picture.

But having a pretty face apparently lets people make assumptions about you. About what goes through your brain. About how smart you are. About what you do behind closed doors, and what you don't. Because of the way I look, people seem to think they know me better than I know myself.

Having a pretty face also tends to draw some scary people. People like Travis.

It's been six months since he's bothered me, but I have no doubt those flowers that were in the garbage were from him.

That's part of the reason why I like my men four legged. They don't care what you look like. They care how kind you are, how firm you can handle them, how much you feed them. They know when you love them, and they love you back. Simple as that.

The rain is steady and heavy by the time we make the turn off toward our house. A small river is flowing down the ditch on the side of our driveway. I open the garage door and slide the truck in. Mom darts into the house while I make sure the back side door is locked. It has a tendency to get blown open during storms. Last time that happened, we had to chase out a family of raccoons who'd decided to make a home under Dad's Shelby.

I'm just about to run for the back door of the house when movement out by the barn catches my eye.

Lake is hammering a sheet of plywood in place over the lean-to chicken coop off the side of the barn. His long sleeved T-shirt is soaked completely through and his hair plastered to his head. Rain drips into his eyes and runs off his nose.

He doesn't look up at me. His concentration is on that nail he's hammering into the old roof that I am assuming started leaking.

They're just chickens. They could step out of the drips if they didn't want to get wet.

I didn't ask him to fix the leak. I didn't even know it was there.

But Lake went ahead and started repairing it. Without being asked to do so. During a downpour.

The muscles flex and stiffen under his soaked shirt. He really is a beast. Not someone I'd ever want to go up against. His hands work sure and confident. But there's a softness to his face. He looks at ease. The line that I've realized is always between his brows isn't there.

Suddenly Lake's eyes flicker to me for just a moment, and he does a little double take before holding my eyes.

We look at each other for five long seconds.

Who is Lake McCain, and how did he come to be in my life?

I'm the first to look away. I close the door behind me and walk for the house, the rain pelting down on me.

My heart rate has picked up by the time I reach the door and step inside. My eyes slide closed for a moment, but they keep replaying that scene of Lake standing in the rain behind my lids.

"I'll have dinner done by five," Mom says as she steps out of her room, changed into a pair of jeans and a casual shirt. "Make sure you let Lake know what time we're eating, after you get changed."

"'K," I say, grateful she doesn't notice how I'm slightly out of breath and functioning about as well as a drunk turkey.

I walk across the kitchen and head up the stairs.

I change into jeans and an oversized knit sweater. My hair, which has been laying straight down the middle of my back, gets twisted into a knot at the back of my head. The same hairstyle I wear most every day.

The sound of rain lessens, and I cross to my window and look out toward the barn.

Lake seems to have finished his job of temporarily fixing the roof of the coop. He crosses to the garage and stays in there for a few minutes. I assume he's putting tools away. A bit later, he walks back outside, crossing to the stairs of his apartment. He heads inside just as the rain stops.

I sink into the chair. My feet prop up on the same desk I've had since we moved into the house when I was fifteen. I chew on my lip and slowly swivel myself side to side.

I grab Cal's picture that sits on my desk in its simple white frame.

He's wearing a full battle uniform, smiling at the camera. He holds an assault rifle in one hand and standing next to him are three Iraqi children. The picture was taken on his second tour. The first tour he went on after we met.

It was two years ago when I went to the party with Julianna. My best friend and the only other person who loved horses as much as I did; she was into cowboys and loved to drink and party with them. Some of her friends from down in Redmond were having a bonfire party for someone's birthday and we were invited.

It was on the edge of town, in someone's backyard. The fire was huge, the music loud, and the alcohol plentiful. And there were a good fifty people in attendance.

I'm not a people person, and the scene was overwhelming. I hung on the outskirts, beer in hand, but for the most part, undrunk.

"I thought birthday parties stopped after you turned ten," a voice behind me said. I turned to see a guy standing behind me, watching the scene. He had a beer in his hand as well, but his too was mostly still full. He was fairly tall, around six feet. His hair was sandy, styled forward but windswept. But it was his eyes that grabbed me. Intense and blue through the dim evening light.

"Looks like someone really likes attention still," I said as he walked up to my side.

"Not really, but his buddies like any excuse to party," he said, his expression slightly embarrassed.

"This is your party?" I said, trying to not give him a smirk. "How old are you now?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I'm twenty-five today." He took a small drink. "But I just got home on leave, so they wanted to do a double celebration."

I stiffened slightly, instantly recognizing the military cut hair and seeing the chain of dog tags around his neck that disappeared into his shirt. The military life isn't an easy one, and no one knows it better than a "military brat."

"How long you home?" I asked.

"Six weeks," he said with the most charming smile I'd ever seen. "By the way, I'm Cal Richards."

Six weeks later, Cal Richards and I were in love, deep and hard. I said I'd wait for him while he was on his next tour.

And I did. He came home nine months later for another six weeks.

Right in the middle of that, Cal asked me to marry him. I said yes.

He went on what was supposed to be his last tour. Nine more months and then he'd stay home with me. We'd spend our summer planning the wedding, get married, and he'd stay for forever and be my husband.

But just three months into that tour, I got the call.

I trace my finger over his face in the photograph. Cal was tough and a Marine. But he was also sweet and kind and so funny.

I look back out at Lake's apartment and feel a twinge of jealousy. He'd gotten to spend time with Cal in those last days. He'd gotten to laugh and joke with him, while I was here, missing Cal like crazy.

My heart aches.

"Riley, have you invited Lake to dinner yet?" Mom's voice carries up the stairs.

I look at the clock and realize I've just been sitting here for the last fifty minutes.

I walk down the stairs and the air smells heavenly. Mom's had a roast in the crock pot since this morning, and I can tell there are rolls in the oven. "Dinner in fifteen minutes," she says without looking at me. She's busy with the food.

My rain boots are well-worn and threatening to leak, but I pull them on and open the back door. The rain has finished, but the ground is soggy and puddles are everywhere. The stairs creek as I walk up to the apartment.

I knock softly on the door and wait. When no one comes after a minute, I place my hand on the knob and push it open just a bit.

"Lake?" I call quietly. No reply.

I push the door open a bit more and step inside. I look back toward the bedroom. As far as I can see, it's empty. And the door to the bathroom is open and the light off.

"Lake?" I call once more.

A soft snore pulls my eyes to the couch, and there I find him.

He's changed into a pair of dry jeans, but that's all he's wearing. A thickly muscled arm is lying across his eyes, his other arm hanging down toward the floor. Bare feet hang over the arm of the couch.

His perfectly sculpted chest bears seven stars tattooed over his left breast.

His brows are furrowed, his expression concerned.

He's a soldier who's engaged in combat and he's seen some horrible things. He saw Cal blown to pieces. I can only imagine the hell he must be seeing behind those lids right now.

I'm torn. I want to wake him from whatever nightmare I know he's having. But I also know about PTSD and how dangerous it can to be to wake a soldier in this state.

His left shoulder twitches violently. His face winces.

"Lake," I say, soft and gentle.

He gives a little twitch, like me calling his name entered his dream, but he doesn't wake.

"Lake," I say, this time louder. I keep my distance, standing by the door.

He jerks up from the couch, half sitting up. His right hand reaches for his hip, as if he's searching for a sidearm. His eyes sweep the room and fix on me. They're bloodshot and wide.

"It's okay," I say, keeping my tone even and calm. "It's just me."

His breathing is hard and fast and it takes a minute for him to calm down and realize he isn't out on the battlefield, in the middle of a warzone.

"What do you want?" he asks. His voice is hard and flat.

Soldiers don't like admitting when they're dealing with post-field issues. I've caught him in a moment of trauma, and he doesn't like it.

"Mom's just about got dinner ready and asked me to come get you," I say. I'm not offended by his hard tone. I understand. "I'm sorry to wake you, but you looked like you were in a place you needed extraction from."

He looks at me for another really long minute. Lake has the most impassive eyes. I can't tell what's going on behind them. Is he angry? Is he embarrassed? Indifferent? It's impossible to tell.

"Yeah," he finally replies. He climbs off the couch and walks to the bedroom. He looks over his shoulder at me just before he disappears behind the door. My eyes drop away from him, embarrassed to realize he's just caught me staring and embarrassed for the fact that I was.

But who couldn't admire a body like that?

Thirty seconds later, he walks out with a long sleeved shirt on and socks on his feet. He slips his boots on and we walk silently walk back to the house.

"How was your day?" Mom asks him as soon as we walk through the door. She's just finished setting the table and laying all the food out.

"Fine, thank you for asking, Mrs. James," he says. "Need a hand with anything?"

"I've got everything ready, just sit yourself down," Mom says with a wink as she hangs her apron on its hook.

Lake and I sit on opposite ends of the table and Mom settles herself right in the middle. She offers grace, and we help ourselves to the food.

"So, Lake," Mom says as she dishes herself some canned corn that came from the garden last year. She struggled to get it to grow all year, so she's proud of the fifteen cans she did manage to get. "Tell me a bit about yourself. You grew up in Woodinville?"

Lake nods. "Yeah. Um, I graduated high school there. My dad just retired as the head football coach there last year. My brother teaches history at the high school."

"How many siblings do you have?" Mom asks as she cuts her roll open and butters it.

He takes a second to swallow his bite. "Three," he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Like I said, my brother teaches at the high school. Drake is the oldest. He's been married for about seven years now, I think. He and Kaylee have four kids."

"Ah," Mom coos. "I bet your nieces and nephews love you."

That lopsided smile forms on his face. His eyes actually light up. "Nieces, just one nephew. The two youngest girls are twins."

"Adorable," Mom says and places a hand over her heart.

Lake nods and pushes his potatoes around his plate. "Then there's my sister, Sage. She and Julian got married almost a year and a half ago. They own part of this financial security company in Bellevue. I don't really understand what it is they do for work, but they do really well with it."

"Do you get along with your in-laws?" Mom asks.

Lake shrugs. "Julian's alright. He's kind of a huge nerd, but he's got all these tattoos and looks like a bad boy, so I didn't like him much the first time I found him in my sister's bed. But he's a good guy. He makes Sage happy. Kaylee's great. She was actually one of my teachers my senior year."

"That's how they met?"

"Uh huh," he says. He takes a bite of the roast and chews for a moment. He swallows. "Then there's Kale. He just turned twenty-one five days ago."

"The day you got home?" I ask, the first I've spoken since we were up in his apartment.

"Yeah," he says with a little chuckle. His entire face lights up when he does that. He looks completely different. Younger, fun, carefree. "He's actually a model. And he's doing surprisingly well."

"A model?" Mom asks with a chuckle.

Lake nods again. "You heard of Shurrock and Fantasy?"

"Who hasn't?" I say. They're only in the most expensive of malls and in places like Beverly Hills and New York, and scattered all across Europe. I'll never be able to afford any of their clothes.

"He just signed a deal with them about six months ago. He's kind of the face of the company now."

"He's the half-naked one on all their posters?" I ask as I raise an eyebrow.

"That'd be Kale," he says with this somewhat embarrassed smile.

"He's everywhere," I say, setting my glass down.

"Like I said, he's doing surprisingly well."

He takes another bite, and I wait for him to continue. But he doesn't.

Lake is a man of few words, but he's just spent the last ten minutes talking about his family. Maybe even bragging a bit. He's proud of them.

"They all sound wonderful," Mom says, giving him a big smile.

I watch him as we all eat. I'm jealous. I always wondered what it'd be like to have siblings. I thought it would be nice to have an older brother. But being in the military is hard, and having kids when you're in the military is even harder. So my parents had me and that's all they ever wanted, they said.

But having three siblings and two in-laws? All with such diverse lives? It sounds amazing.

I go to bed that night, thinking way too much about Lake and his family.

CHAPTER FOUR

We go about our lives. I train. Mom talks to possible new clients. I take Radio on a quick trail ride before the storm rolls in. Lake works. He mucks stalls. Feeds the chickens. Repairs their roof. Changes the oil on the tractor. Mom tends her garden, takes care of the office stuff. Does whatever it is she does. She seems stressed out. Over what, I'm not sure, and she keeps brushing it off as nothing.

Tuesday night, just after I take the flag down, the rain starts. Just a drizzle at seven in the evening. It steadily gets heavier as the sky grows darker.

We have a truck full of sandbags delivered that afternoon. My own truck sits on the side of the garage to make room for it. The one load doesn't seem like it could ever be enough for anything, but it's the most we can afford right now.

Mom heads to bed around ten. I sit on the back porch long after it gets dark, my feet crossed at the ankles, watching the rain come down.

I can't see a thing, but I can hear the small streams that are already forming and running through our property.

My phone rings. I fish in my pockets for it and check the ID. It's a number I don't recognize it. I answer it anyway.

"Hello?" I say absentmindedly. I'm worrying about what state we'll find the ranch in come morning.

So it takes me a second to realize no one is on the other line.

"Hello?" I say again.

No one replies so I hang up.

The sound of rain pounding our metal roof makes my stomach sink. This isn't going to be good. I think of the horses. Our house. Our hay supply. Everything that could get ruined with heavy flooding.

Sometime around midnight, I head inside. I'm too on edge to go up to my room, so I settle into the couch. I flop an arm over my eyes and try to ignore the sound of the pouring rain.

The crack of thunder pulls me sharply from sleep. I bolt upright from the couch.

Gray light has barely started creeping into the horizon. I search for the clock on the wall and it reads five-sixteen.

Just as I lie back down, there's a horrendous screeching bay from the barn.

I bolt off the couch and ignore my shoes or a jacket. My bare feet slap through the rivers of rain and gravel as I dart for the barn.

I know horse sounds. I know when they're hungry. I know when they're fighting. I know when they're scared of something.

And I know when they're experiencing immense pain.

Lake rockets down his stairs, and we both burst into the barn at the same time.

"Trooper's stall," I say, nodding my head to his open gate. The door leading out to the pasture passage that runs between the barn and the indoor arena into the pasture, is busted open. We dart through it. And my stomach curls at the site of blood and muscle and tissue.

Trooper shudders in the corner. His breaths come in ragged hisses, a sound I've never heard a horse make. He's in pain.

Due to the gaping wound in his chest.

The fleshy, muscular part of his chest, the softest part of a horse, is ripped right open. Blood drips to the soggy ground. The exposed muscles twitch and shake.

"Looks like he reared up and came down on the post."

It takes me a moment to pull out of my shock and register what Lake is saying.

He crosses over to a t-post, part of the fencing that leads out into the pasture, separating it from the indoor practice area. It's leaning sideways, hard. There's hair and blood sticking to it.

Trooper reared up, came down on the post, skewering himself, and then pulled back, ripping it right through his flesh and muscle.

"The storm," I say, swallowing the bile creeping up my throat. "The storm must have freaked him out. I need...I need to call Dr. Wyze."

"I'll grab my phone upstairs," Lake says. He places a hand on my arm for just a moment as he walks past me.

I take hesitant steps forward. And just when I'm three feet from him, lightning splits across the sky, illuminating the early dawn. The sound of thunder cracks just a second later.

Trooper rears up again, one of his hooves clipping me in the shoulder and knocking me to the ground. Mud splatters across my face and body. But I don't notice any of it. I'm instantly back on my feet, reaching for the injured horse.

"Shh," I coo to him. My face scrunches up in pain as I see the blood drip faster from his chest. "Come here boy." I place a shaking hand on his neck and slowly run it over his soaked fur. "Come on."

He shakes with each step. His entire body shudders. But he takes two steps and then four and we get back inside the barn to where it is dry.

Lake jogs toward me, extending out his cell phone. "I'll get him back to his stall. You call whoever you need to call."

I nod and walk toward the entrance of the barn as I dial Jesse's number from heart.

"Dr. Wyze," he answers groggily after four rings.

"Jesse, it's Riley," I say in a rush. "One of our horses got spooked with the thunder, and he's hurt. Bad. His entire chest is hanging open."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," he says, his voice suddenly alert. I hear him hastily getting ready as I describe his injuries, and he gives me instructions until he arrives. I'm running for the house as we hang up.

I grab towels from the hall next to the bathroom and dart back outside. Another roll of thunder sounds through the air, and I pray that Trooper will stay calm.

I breathe a small sigh of relief when I step back into the barn. Lake is gently stroking Trooper's neck, the two of them in the stall. It doesn't look as if the storm frightened him again.

"Help me hold these to the wound," I say, my voice high and panicked. I toss Lake a towel. My stomach rolls again as I watch him, with no hesitation, push the two flapping pieces of flesh together, and then press the towel into the wound.

Trooper whinnies loudly, his nostrils flaring wide, his eyes panicked. I stroke his neck, trying to keep him calm, but even more so, trying to keep myself from melting down.

We've had injuries here at James Ranch before. They're inevitable when dealing with so many animals after so many years. We've had scraped up legs, had horses beat on each other for dominance, eye infections, twisted intestines.

But nothing like this.

"You okay?" Lake asks as he looks up at me. He looks concerned.

My words don't seem to want to work, so I simply nod my head. I'm sure I'm stark white.

His eyes stay on me for a moment. He doesn't offer comfort, he doesn't say it's going to be okay. After everything he's seen, how could he ever feel he could honestly say that?

I hear Chico barking at the back door of the house and then three sets of footsteps splashing across the driveway. Mom, Bear, and Chico burst inside.

"What's going on?" Mom asks and I hear her approaching.

"Don't come in—" I try to stop her. But it's too late.

Mom rounds the corner, her eyes instantly going to all the blood seeping through the towel and dripping onto the floor. All the blood covering Lake's hands and the blood and mud that's smeared across my entire body.

"What..." she stutters. All the color drains from her face. "What happ—"

Her knees give out, and I dart toward her and catch her just as she goes down. I ease her to the ground, and Chico starts licking her face. Bear paces around her, worry on his hairy face.

"What's wrong with her?" Lake asks. I look over my shoulder to see his concerned expression. He looks torn, unsure if he should stay by the horse, or help me.

"Mom does not handle the sight of blood. Especially so much," I say as I ease her head to the ground. "I should have told her to stay inside."

I stand and cross back over to Trooper. I grab a fresh towel. "Trade me. I'll hold him together. You take Mom inside. Lay her on the couch."

Lake nods, and I press a fresh towel over the soaked one as he removes his hands. Trooper whinnies again and stomps his hooves. I look over my shoulder and watch as Lake picks Mom up with no effort at all and heads out of the barn. The dogs follow him.

I look back at Trooper and the back of my eyes sting. This is bad. He uses all those muscles to walk. Horses have to be put down sometimes for injuries that prevent them from walking.

Just as I hear tires screech against pavement outside the barn, I try to tell myself that it could have been worse. The post could have gone through his ribs. It could have punctured a lung, or his heart. It could have killed him instantly.

Jesse dashes inside, a huge medical bag in hand. And as soon as I see him, my eyes well heavy and my insides quiver. He kneels next to me and does a double take when he sees the tears spill out onto my cheek.

"It's okay," he says, eyes darting back and forth between my face and his bag as he pulls supplies out. "I'm here, and I'll take care of him, okay?"

I bite my lower lip and nod.

"He's in a lot of pain right now, and he's going to be in more when I start cleaning him out," Jesse says as he pulls out a huge syringe. "I'm going to sedate him, otherwise he'll freak and hurt himself more."

"Okay," I say with a shaky breath.

I'm pissed at myself for breaking down like this. My insides are a quivering mess, more tears are threatening to fall. I'm tired, and this is a client's horse. And everything has just been all out of whack lately.

Jesse sinks the needle into Trooper's skin. Not ten seconds later, his head drops, and his eyes have trouble staying open. He shifts his weight from one wobbly leg to the other.

"I can't fully knock him out," Jesse explains as he continues going through supplies. "If he lays down, I won't be able to access the injury. But he won't be feeling anything. Can you hold his head up for me?"

I slip my shoulder under Trooper's neck, settling his huge jaw bone onto it. I lean my cheek against his and pat his neck. Just then, Lake walks back into the barn, Chico at his feet.

"She seems okay," Lake says, watching Jesse as he starts cleaning the wound out. Chico paces impatiently around us all. "Bear seemed to want to stay with her, so..."

"Good," I say with a nod. I look back at what Jesse is doing. He's flushed the wound out and is now applying this orange-brown goop everywhere.

"This will kill any bacteria," he says, swabbing more onto the live tissue. "He needs to have this on at all times. I'll come out each morning and check on it for a few weeks, but you're going to have to put a fresh coat on every evening."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my brows furrowing together. "Aren't you just going to stitch him up?"

He shakes his head as he continues working. "The stitches would tear right through," he says. "Every time he takes a step, those muscles contract and flex. The skin stretches with it. He would rip right through it every time he took a step."

"So we have to just leave him open like that 'til it heals?" The thought is horrifying.

"Afraid so," he says. "It'll take a few months, but it will close up eventually. Believe it or not, I've seen this before."

"And the horse made a full recovery?" Lake interjects from behind.

Jesse nods, his eyes never leaving the injury. "She had a nice scar, but yeah, she was just fine."

"Shit," I say when a thought comes to me. "What am I going to tell the owners? They're going to be pissed."

"You tell them," Jesse says, "that animals are animals and that accidents happen. You tell them that you did everything you could and that you'll continue working with him when he gets better."

"They're not going to like that," I say with a shake of my head.

"Not much more to be done about it," Lake says. I look back at him. Once again, his eyes are impassive.

"You know what?" I say, my blood getting hot with the stress of the situation. "Why don't you go wait inside? Those of us who know what to do with a horse will stay out here and take care of him."

He looks at me for a long moment, not an emotion to be derived from his expression. And then he turns and leaves, Chico in his wake.

"I take it the two of you aren't getting along so well?" Jesse says as he finishes swabbing Troopers chest.

"It's been a bad day," I say.

"Hmm."

Jesse spends another hour fussing over Trooper. His hands are careful and gentle. He's efficient. He's good at his job.

The rain continues to pour outside as the hour stretches to a more diurnal one. My stomach growls from hunger. But I don't leave. I stay in the barn.

Finally, Jesse sits back, pulls his gloves off and looks at me.

"That's all I can do for now," he says. "The shots I gave him should help him fight off any infection. Keep the wound clean and keep him in his stall. Try to restrict his movement as much as possible for the next week, at least. And I'll come by every morning to clean it and check on him."

I bite my lower lip as the back of my eyes sting once more. "Jesse, we can't afford to pay you for daily visits."

"Hey," he says, putting his hands on my upper arms and pulling me just a bit closer to him. "Don't worry about it. We'll just say I'm a friend visiting a friend and checking on one of her horses as a favor."

I gnaw on my lip again and my eyes drop away from his. I don't like accepting anyone's charity, but when you don't have the money, you don't have much of a choice.

"Come here," he says, pulling me closer and wrapping his arms around me. "Trooper is going to be just fine. You'll get through this. You're one of the toughest, most bad ass chicks I know."

I chuckle, my cheek pressed to his chest. Something in my stomach loosens up a bit. I sniff and wipe under my eyes just to be sure there's nothing that's escaped and betrayed me.

"I haven't felt like a bad ass in a long while now."

"Trust me, you haven't stopped being one," he says, squeezing me tight for a moment. "We all stumble every once in a while."

I let go of Jesse, and he takes his cue and does too. I give him a little smile and take a step back. "Thanks. For a lot of things."

He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see it all there in his eyes. It's just all so complicated. "Of course."

I help him gather up his things and look over my shoulder one more time at Trooper. We helped him to lay down about twenty minutes ago when he got too wobbly to stand. He's still sleeping, and it sounds like he will be for a few more hours. I follow Jesse out into the rain. He stashes his things in the backseat of his truck. It's a big rig, and behind it, he has his horse trailer.

Which means he wasn't sure how bad it was going to be, if he was going to have to haul Trooper off to his office, or maybe off to be disposed of.

"I'll be back again tonight," Jesse says loudly through the rain. He waves goodbye and disappears into the truck. I watch him turn around and disappear down the driveway.

Once again, I'm completely soaked through. I'm still covered in mud and blood. And I'm being drowned by the torrential rain.

I turn, taking stock of the condition of the ranch.

Small rivers run everywhere and huge puddles are forming all over the place. But I'm surprised to find a fortress of sandbags set up around the house and the barn. I hadn't even noticed when I came out of the barn.

I look toward the garage and see Lake just finishing the barrier around the garage.

He looks up at me, and we hold one another's gaze. His brows are furrowed, his eyes serious and dark. My insides are a mix of feelings.

I can't deal with an apology right now though. This morning's events were too taxing and I just can't.

So I turn and walk inside to take a shower.

CHAPTER FIVE

"I'm sorry I can't be more help with this," Mom says for the eighth time. She puts the cheese into the pot and stirs it, looking out the window at the rain.

"Mom, just stop," I say, rubbing my eyes. I'm exhausted since I only got a few hours of sleep last night, and the events of the day have sapped the energy out of me. And it's going to be another long night. I pulled out a cot and sleeping bag. I'll be sleeping in the barn with Trooper. "It was pretty gross. I nearly lost it myself."

"Well, I'm glad Jesse could get here so fast." She continues to stare out the window. The rain has slowed a bit, but it's been coming down solidly all day. "Would you go tell Lake that dinner will be done in a few minutes?"

I sigh, leaning back in my seat and stuff my hands in my pockets. "I'd rather not."

"Why's that?" Mom asks, looking over her shoulder at me with a quizzical expression.

I try not to roll my eyes as I look away. "I kind of yelled at him earlier."

"Riley James," Mom scolds, just as I knew she would. "Lake McCain may be an employee, but he is also a guest at all times. You need to treat that man with respect and remember what he did for our country."

"I know," I say, folding my arms over my chest. "I was a bit...emotional," I confess.

"Hmm," Mom grunts as she stirs the soup she's working on. "Alright, you keep an eye on this for a minute, and I'll go tell him."

I climb to my feet and take the giant wooden spoon from her. She slips on her rain boots and goes out the back door.

It takes a whole lot longer than it feels it should for Mom and Lake to come back in the house. A solid fifteen minutes later, they both finally walk in through the back door.

"Remember that roofer we paid two years ago to fix the leak in the apartment?" Mom asks. There's venom and annoyance in her voice. "Apparently he didn't get the job done half as well as he should have. Roof sprung a leak right over poor Lake's bed. Soaked everything."

"Oh," is all I say as I stir the soup. The timer went off five minutes ago, and I took the bread bowls out of the oven.

"So Lake is sleeping on the couch tonight," she says as she starts cutting the tops of the bread off and pulling the insides out.

"I'm sorry to be an inconvenience," he says, standing there awkwardly by the back door like he isn't sure what to do with himself.

"Don't even start," Mom says with a chuckle and shakes her head. "It's not like you made that leak. Just God and termites."

"I can go down to the hardware store tomorrow and get some new shingles," he says. "I'm pretty sure I can fix it myself. I've helped my dad with a lot of stuff over the years, and I was pretty handy in the Corps."

Mom looks back at him, something like uncertain admiration in her eyes. "If you want."

"I'd be happy to," he says.

I'm pretty sure Mom has no idea that he already fixed the roof of the coop. She didn't ask him to and neither did I. And I haven't said anything about it.

We eat dinner quietly with very minimal conversation. By the time we finish, it's eight o'clock. Mom makes up a bed for Lake on the couch and dismisses herself to take a shower and read in bed for a while.

I go upstairs, avoiding any alone time with Lake. I change into some sweatpants and thermals. I pull a hoodie over my head and grab my pillow.

Without even looking in his direction, I grab the sleeping bag and cot and head out to the barn.

It certainly isn't the first time I've slept out here. The first summer we lived here, I slept out here more than I slept in the house. Another time we were having problems with neighbors' dogs getting into the chickens. Another, I simply needed to not be around people who knew the mistakes I'd made.

The air is heavy with moisture and the scent of horses and hay is comforting. I drop my stuff beside Trooper's stall and open the gate.

He's still lying in the far corner of his stall. His chest is a big sticky, orange-brown mess. His eyes are still droopy and hazy from the sedation Jesse gave him. His head keeps bobbing up and down every once in a while, like he's trying to wake up, but keeps getting dragged back into the fog.

"Hey, buddy," I say as I squat in front of him. I place a hand between his eyes and slowly run my hand down his face. It's hard to believe that just a week and a half ago Trooper wouldn't let me touch him. Now he seems comforted by me being around. Guess I should count my small blessings.

I pet him for a while, talking low and quiet to him. His head eventually rests on the straw beneath him, but he looks at me, as focused as he's capable of in this state.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," I say, talking absentmindedly to him. "And I'm really sorry Jesse couldn't sew you up. I'm going to do my best to keep everything clean and to keep the flies out of here. We'll have you back to normal in no time."

I haven't called his owners yet. I'm dreading the conversation, and I want to watch how he does overnight and see what Jesse says in the morning. He didn't seem concerned when he came back just before dinner.

As Trooper's eyes slide closed, I stand and walk back out of his stall. Grabbing the cot that I'm pretty sure came from the Corps before Dad retired, I fold it out in front of his stall. The sleeping bag looks warm and cozy when I unroll it, but I'm too stressed out to sleep yet. I set my pillow against the wall and sit with my back propped up against it, watching the injured horse.

Chico and Bear trot into the barn and rush up to me. I barely get a hand out and say the command of "down" before Chico tries to launch himself and his muddy paws onto my bed. He stands at the edge, wagging his butt as fast as he can. Bear's tongue lolls out of his mouth and he pants loudly. He looks like he's smiling.

My eyes jump up when someone walks into the barn. Lake stops just inside the entrance. He's wearing a pair of jeans, his usual work boots, a green military jacket, and a Seahawks baseball cap.

"Looks like you're settling in for the night," he observes. He leans a shoulder against the wall and crosses his ankles.

"Looks like," I respond. I feel stiff and awkward. I'm not necessarily a proud person, but I'm having a hard time forming an apology for being so rude earlier.

"I hope it's not because of me being in the house. I can sleep on the couch upstairs. Raelynn just insisted I come into the house."

"No," I say, closing my eyes slowly and shaking my head. "It's not you. I just thought I'd better keep an eye on him. You know, in case we need Jesse or anything."

"Right," he says.

He stands there. There's something that always seems unsettled about Lake, like he can't relax, or he isn't comfortable in his own skin, and I can't help but pity him for a minute. Was he always like this, or was this the doing of war?

"Why don't you sit down for a minute?" I offer.

He stands straight and walks over, relaxed and stiff at the same time. Like he's calculating each and every move he makes, every breath. He sits on the cot, his back leaning against the wall, his right foot stretched out in front of him.

"I'm pretty sure I owe you an apology, about earlier," I say, my throat thick with pride. "I was being a bitch, and I'm sorry about that."

Lake shakes his head just a little. "No you don't. I know what stress does to people. They say things."

I look at him for a moment. His eyes are somewhere in Trooper's stall, but they're glazed over, like he's thinking about something far away.

"Still," I say. "I'm sorry. I've been pretty frosty to you ever since you got here."

"I understand why," he says. He reaches up and scratches at his jaw. He looks like he hasn't shaved since he got in. A week's worth of beard growth looks good on him.

I'm quiet for a while. I've got a tangled pit of snakes inside of me, tight and twisted. But I can't let them stay there forever. The venom will destroy me.

"I thought about joining the Corps, you know," I say. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but it's a peace offering, I suppose. "Just after I graduated. The red, white, and blue are in my blood, and to say I worshiped the ground my dad walked on would be an understatement."

"Why didn't you?" Lake asks. He looks over at me, those complicated eyes meeting mine.

I shrug. "Cause I felt like I was running away by doing that. Running away from the ranch. Running from other stuff that I needed to deal with."

He looks away, to the stall again. "A lot of people join cause they're running away from something."

"How about you?" I ask. "Is that why you joined?"

He doesn't answer right away. He reaches down and grabs a stray piece of straw and twirls it between two fingers. Like I said, everything with Lake is calm and calculated. "I joined to prove to myself that I wasn't a worthless bad guy."

Once again, the silence stretches between us for a while. "That sounds like there's a story behind that statement."

"There is," he says and leaves it at that.

I grab a piece of straw too and weave it between my fingers. "You don't have a whole lot to say about anything, do you?" It's a blunt question, but it's how I am. At least how I used to be.

Lake looks over at me, one of his eyebrows arching up slightly. He shrugs. "I'm not a complicated guy."

We look at each other, and it almost feels like there's a challenge between us, as if I should prove him wrong. "Everyone's complicated."

"Not me," he says before looking away.

Liar.

I realize then that everything about Lake, I can't help but compare to Cal. Cal was upbeat and likable. Lake is quiet and standoffish. Cal could talk and tell stories all night long. Lake doesn't say more than is needed.

Lake isn't Cal. So why do I keep comparing them?

Why does it matter, noticing the differences between them?

"What was it like?" I ask, trying to distract myself from my thoughts. "Being in the Corps? So much of my life has revolved around the Marines, but I don't think I can really picture what it's like."

Lake shifts his position, trying to get more uncomfortable. And it's clear to see that me asking him such a question makes him uncomfortable.

"It's not really something you can explain," he says quietly. And it's almost as if I can feel him being pulled into another place. A war zone. Boot camp. Some other terrible place. "There's the structure and the hard work. There's the training. But being out in the actual field? There's nothing that can prepare you for it."

He clears his throat. His twists the hem of his shirt, his eyes glued to it. "And the first time you kill someone is something that changes you. You know they're just a casualty in a much bigger picture, but they're still a person. It's pretty rough." The sound of Lake's voice changes. It's haunted. "And then it happens again and it doesn't really feel any better or easier. Eventually you just want to shut it off, but flipping that switch? That's the moment you lose yourself."

I reach a hand out, putting it on Lake's forearm. I know being a soldier isn't an easy thing, but hearing it in his own words, hearing the terror he must have felt in the past echoed in his voice now? I feel like a horrible person for bringing it up.

Lake looks over at my hand and puts one of his own over mine. "That's why it was so easy being Cal's friend."

He looks up and meets my eyes, and there's something deep and reflective there. I stare back at him and something squeezes in my chest.

"Cal had this way about him that made it seem like nothing ever stuck to him," Lake continues. "Not that he acted like he was heartless or that none of it mattered to him, but he could just internalize it all and push out something better. Something hopeful and cheerful. He could always make anyone smile."

A small smile pulls on my own lips as he talks about the man that once held my heart. "Were you two really best friends?"

Still holding my eyes, Lake forms a tiny smile of his own and nods his head. "I never had a better friend than Cal. He didn't care that I was closed off and didn't always want to talk and tell stories about home. He'd just tell me to sit down and go off about his stupid high school stories, or his parents, or this girl at home who he always made sure we all knew was the most beautiful woman on the planet." My face flushes at that. "Cal was just...easy to be around. And there aren't that many people like that for me."

I sniff, trying to pull back in the emotion that wants to escape me. I wrap my arms around Lake's and hug myself tight to him. I lay my head on his shoulder and just sit there for a few minutes.

Lake isn't Cal. But sitting there with him, it feels like Cal isn't quite as far away.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "I miss him. It's nice hearing about him every once in a while."

For just a moment, Lake leans his head down, resting his scruffy cheek on top of my head. "You're welcome. I miss him too."

And a comfortable silence settles on us for a good long while.

For the first time in a long time, I feel the hard knot in my chest loosen just a bit.

"I know this isn't great timing and that you don't really like or trust me that much, but I wanted to ask for a favor," Lake says after a long stretch of quiet.

"What's that?" I say, instead of countering the statement that I don't like or trust him. I'm still not sure on that front.

"I told you how my sister and brother-in-law are part of this big company in Bellevue," he says as I let him go and sit up. "I don't really understand what it's for, but the company is throwing them this big party and Sage invited all the family. Drake and Kaylee are getting a babysitter. Kale's coming home from New York for a week. Sage is insisting the both of us bring dates."

My insides stiffen up and it's immediately obvious my discomfort is showing on the outside.

"You really don't have to," Lake rushes on. "I just literally don't know anyone to bring, and I thought if you just showed up with me, that she'd get off my back about it. It wouldn't really be like a real date. You'd just be doing me a huge favor."

I bite my lower lip, staring at Trapper in the next stall over from Trooper.

The last time I went on a date was with Cal, and even then, when you're engaged to someone, it's hard to call it a date. No one has asked me out in years. And I've barely considered the possibility of men asking me out after Cal died.

"Sorry, forget I said anything," Lake says, shaking his head and looking away from me. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No," I say, surprising myself when I place a hand on his arm, a comforting gesture. "It's really okay. It's just... I haven't done anything...like that, not since Cal died."

He looks back at me. His eyes are distant, but I swear I can see something swimming just under the surface there. "I know."

He doesn't say how he can know, and maybe that should bug me, him saying something like that. But it doesn't. It's actually kind of comforting. Like he understands how much Cal meant to me, and how much it crushed my soul when he jumped in front of that IED.

"But if you mean it, that it's not really a date, I'll go," I say. My stomach is full of nerves and uncertainty, but the words come out clear and calm. "You've helped out a lot here, I owe you."

He shakes his head, as if to once again argue that he's still in my debt for what Cal did, but he doesn't say it and for that I'm glad.

"Thanks," he replies. "It's, uh, it's a pretty swanky event. My sister wouldn't have it any other way. So, wear a dress. A nice one. Sage said she already bought me a tux."

"A tux?" I ask, my eyebrows rising. "So this is like, a black tie event?"

"Yeah," he says with a chuckle. "Like I said, my sister's kind of like that."

I try not to let my lips curl in a sneer. Lake's sister sounds like the exact opposite of everything I am. I tell myself to not hate her before I've even met her.

"You've only got a deal if you make Kale take a picture with me," I tease him, trying to keep the lighter mood we've somehow miraculously managed to pull out of thin air. "My friend will never believe I've met him otherwise."

Lake chuckles and gives me a side long look. "Trust me, Kale is not camera shy. You'll be lucky if he doesn't take his shirt off and flex for you too."

"No, I imagine he isn't shy," I say with a chuckle. I grab my pillow and curl up into a little ball with it. My eyelids feel heavy and my brain slow. The craziness of the day is weighing me sleepy.

"You can close your eyes for a while," Lake says, looking down at me. "I can keep an eye on him for a bit."

I shake my head, even though my eyes are closed. "I'm sure you're tired too. You've been up as long as I have."

"Long nights don't bother me."

Of course they don't.

"Wake me when you get tired," I say. "I can go get something to keep me awake."

"'K," he responds.

It doesn't take more than a minute or two for me to slip into sleep.

CHAPTER SIX

When you've lost someone, nighttime is often the worst. Dreams come and your mind can make up whatever it wants most.

But then you wake up, and it's like losing them all over again.

Cal's blue eyes are so bright as he smiles at me. Sensual and playful, those lips curl to perfection. My fingers run through his sandy blond hair. His hand slips under my shirt and runs up my bare back. His knee wedges its way between mine, his thigh sliding up the inside of my own.

My back arches, aching to be closer to him.

"Riley," he whispers into my neck. His hand pulls me closer.

"Cal," I say and my voice threatens to crack. My throat feels thick.

"What's the matter, Angel?"

"Cal," I breathe.

"What?"

My eyes fly open and I'm staring straight up at Lake.

He's sitting with his back against the wall still, rubbing his eyes and looking around kind of confused. He looks down at me like he's not sure why I'm here.

I'm not sure why I'm here either.

Cause I'm freaking lying on his leg like it's a pillow.

"Good morning," a chipper voice calls through the barn and my heart leaps into my throat. Just before I can sit up, Jesse walks through the door of the barn, medical bag in hand. "Oh..." he trails off awkwardly when he catches the last few milliseconds of my slumber in Lake's lap. "Uh, sorry," he says, looking away and shaking his head. "I, uh...thought I'd get an early start on rounds. Figured you'd be up."

I scramble off the cot, glancing at Lake with horror in my eyes. He's almost got some kind of emotion in his eyes. Pretty sure it's just there under the surface.

"I...yeah," I say awkwardly as I push my hair back from my face. I try to discreetly wipe at my mouth because I'm pretty sure there are traces of drool there. "Sorry, we, uh...We stayed up late last night with Trooper and I guess I dozed off."

I look back at Lake, who's stood and is walking toward the hay room to start the morning rounds. "We dozed off," I add quietly as I watch him go.

Lake glances over his shoulder at me, and I try to read any emotion there.

But I can't.

"Okay," Jesse says awkwardly. "How about we check on Trooper?"

"Yeah," I say uncomfortably.

It's a little worse than we expect. Jesse has to cut away some dead tissue. He has to knock Trooper out for this and it kills me seeing him like this. Lying on the ground, his eyes not quite closed, not quite open. He looks like he could be dead.

When Jesse is done, he and I head inside to the office and call the owners. They're shocked at first and have a hard time understanding how something like this could have happened. I walk them through it a few times and then hand the phone over to Jesse. He explains the medical details and what they can expect to happen over the next few months. They're in shock, but they aren't saying they want to fire or sue me. They make an appointment to come out here tomorrow and take a look themselves.

"See, sometimes these rich people are reasonable," Jesse says when we hang up. "They're not all jerks."

"Not all of them," I say with a sigh of relief. "If it had been Sir Devil's owners, they'd be drawing up a lawsuit right now."

"I hate dealing with people like them," he says, shaking his head. "Have you ever dealt with the Ratons?"

"Not yet," I say. I stand and head for the back door.

"Don't. Ever," he says, following me and pushing the door open for me.

We stand on the back porch, looking out over the ranch. The sun is trying to break through the clouds, but they're thick from the storm yesterday. Lake's truck is gone. I assume he's gone to the hardware store, and since Mom is missing, he must have taken her with him.

I glance over at Jesse, and it's pretty obvious he's also thinking about the man he found me literally sleeping with.

My instinct is to explain myself. Nothing happened. But I don't have to. This is my life, and it is my business.

"Are you coming to the church barbeque Saturday?" he asks, wisely, instead.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and look out toward the pasture. There should be horses in it right now, but considering the muddy mess it is, it doesn't seem wise. "Maybe. I know Mom's planning on it."

"Well, if you do come, be sure to find me," he says with a small, thin lipped smile. He mutters a goodbye and heads for his truck.

I watch him drive away and duck back inside. I collect Dad's flag from the office and head out to the flagpole. Connecting it to the rope, I hoist it up into the late morning sky. I watch it unfurl, waving in the spring air.

"I miss you, Dad," I say quietly. "Every day. Wish you were still here. I could use someone to talk to. I feel like a bit of a mess lately."

My eyes still locked on the flag, I quietly wait. For the peaceful calm I always feel when I talk to him here.

Benjamin James was a respected man. He commanded attention when he walked into a room and he gave orders that his soldiers never questioned. He was an incredible leader.

But at home, he was kind. He was always firm, and I never got away with anything, but he was a wonderful dad. The kind that would take me fishing early Saturday mornings. We'd talk about stupid, light things, and then we'd talk about heavier stuff, like the afterlife and if there was life on other planets. He was the kind of man that could make you feel like you were the only person in the world.

There's always an ache when I stand here at the flagpole and listen to the wind, hoping to catch a whisper of his voice.

But there's also peace. And I always find it here.

Finally, I head inside and the stairs creek as I walk up them. Still clad in my sweats, it's time to get ready for the day. I open my door and step inside.

It takes me until I pull some underwear out of the drawer to notice the wrapped up present sitting on top of it.

I smile, thinking it was awful thoughtful of Mom to get me something when she knew I've been having a rough few days. I pull the lid off.

Lying in the middle of the padding is a tiny horseshoe. It's attached to a bronze-colored necklace. It's adorable and sweet. I slip it around my neck and make a mental note to thank Mom for it later.

I take the horses out, one by one and lunge them in the indoor practice arena. Trapper, Lady, Radio. And then I let Sir Devil out.

He does his usual bucking and kicking when he first gets let out of his stall. He snorts, crow hops, and works up a sweat. He runs around the area with all the speed he's got in him. Which is a lot. He was bred to be a runner. I watch him from the edge of the arena. He keeps looking at me, and he is aware of me with every stride he takes.

This is all for show. He's bullied his owners into thinking he's untouchable, and he's trying his hardest to do the same with me.

It isn't going to work though. It might take some time, but eventually, I will ride on his back. And he will obey and trust me.

I left Radio tied up at the hitch, and I cross over to him, my boots kicking through the sand and dirt beneath my feet. I loop the lead line over his neck and tie it to the other side of his halter for reins. Radio doesn't much need them, but considering Sir Devil is in close proximity, I'd rather play it a little safer. I scale the panel next to Radio and slip onto his back, no saddle.

I click my tongue at him and guide him out into the arena, where Sir Devil has slowed it to trotting in circles. The second he sees us, he sprints again, kicking his back feet up in a display of dominance. I just chuckle and shake my head at him.

Radio and I walk around the arena twice, even though Radio is already well warmed up from me lunging him. But I want to show Sir Devil that we aren't here to race and that even though he's throwing a fit, I don't care.

I move Radio into a trot, an uncomfortable gait when you're riding bareback, but we'll work our way up. Sir Devil stops on the other side of the arena when he sees us pick up speed, looking at us with curiosity and caution. But as we round the corner and start heading toward him, he throws his head, snorts, and takes off again.

We trot the perimeter twice, Radio never once being bothered by Sir Devil's behavior, and move into a lope. A lope is much smoother, and much easier on rider and horse when bareback. A smile curls on my lips as my hair fans out behind me. If we were doing this outside on a trail, this would be bliss.

Sir Devil spooks when we pick up speed and he sprints fast and hard. As he rounds back toward us, he comes to an abrupt stop and spins in a circle, as if he isn't sure what direction he should be going in.

Radio, reliable as ever, keeps running along the fence, as if there isn't another horse in here acting psychotic.

Sir Devil stands in the middle of the arena, watching us, rotating every once in a while. And eventually, he starts walking, making small circles as we run the perimeter.

On our seventh round at a run, Sir Devil starts trotting, keeping his distance, but pacing himself with us. On the eighth, he picks it up to lope. When he breaks out into a sprint, looking ready for a challenging race, I slow Radio to a trot. Sir Devil immediately slows, keeping pace. He snorts loudly, but he does slow.

Seeing that I've made a break with him, I slow Radio to a walk, and so does Sir Devil. I point Radio's nose in the direction of the barn and we walk in, Sir Devil right behind us. I hop off, quickly scoop some grain into Sir Devil's feeder, and close the gate behind him as he willfully walks into his stall.

A proud smile curls on my face as I take Radio to his own stall.

Small victories like this are what makes me love my job. Even on the crappy days.

It's well after lunch when I walk out of the barn, my stomach a snarling monster of hunger. Just as I exit the door, I hear a hammering.

I take a few steps back, shielding my eyes from the sun that has finally broken through the clouds. Lake is up on the roof, hammering in new shingles.

"Did Mom go with you into town?" I call up to him.

He looks up at me, his hammer pausing mid swing. "Yeah," he calls. "She's inside."

I nod. "How's the hunt for that second job going?"

He sets his hammer down. "I've got an interview with the hardware store in two days. Checked in with them today about my application, set up the appointment."

I nod my head, not quite sure how I feel about that. "Kent is a good guy. He's the owner."

Lake nods. "Seems like it."

"I'm going to go eat something," I say, unsure how to dismiss myself. "I'll talk to you later."

Lake simply nods and picks his hammer back up.

Mom is still finishing putting everything away when I walk in.

"How was town?" I ask as I grab some bread and the package of ham she's about to put away.

"Fine," she says without looking at me. "Though I think I bored poor Lake to death with all the shopping."

I chuckle as I lay some pickles over my sandwich.

"Aw, that's a pretty necklace," Mom suddenly says. "Where'd you get it?"

My blood runs chill and my hands cease in the creation of my lunch. My eyes shift over to her. It's a small mercy that she isn't looking at me. She continues to put everything away.

"Just..." I struggle to form words. My mind is racing and my heart is pounding. "Just found it."

Because I know damn well it wasn't Lake that left it in my room for me. Not when I was sleeping on him all night.

Travis is back.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Honey, wake up." Mom's voice calls to me through the dark blanket of sleep. I blink my eyes open, the world foggy and murky and not quite solid.

"Mom?" I groggily ask. I roll over and look at the clock. It's eight-thirty. I should have woken up over an hour ago.

"Sorry, I wanted to let you sleep in, since you never do, but I need you to take me to the airport."

"What?" I ask, sitting up and pushing my hair out of my face. "Why?"

"Aunt Lynda had a heart attack the middle of the night," Mom says. My eyes clear and I see the worry and dread on her face. "I'm flying out in a few hours to go help take care of her."

"What?" I ask, alert and awake now. "Aunt Lynda? How?"

"I know," Mom says as I stand and start looking for clothes to wear. "No one would have guessed. She eats so well and she seemed fit as a fiddle."

And my Mom's sister is only three years older than her.

"Who found her? I mean, she lives alone." I turn my back to my mom, pull my tank top off, slip a bra on and pull a sweater over my head. Next I slip on some jeans.

"She called a friend because she said her chest hurt. Thankfully, her friend knew the warning signs and told Lynda to call 911 right away," Mom follows me down the stairs. I pull on some boots and grab my keys from the drawer.

"So, is she okay?" I ask. Just as we walk outside, I see Lake coming out of the barn. "Hey, are you going to be around for a while? Jesse should be here any second."

"He came an hour ago," Lake responds, his hands on his hips. "Said everything looks good."

"'K," I say with a nod, still slowly walking toward the barn. "I'll be back in about an hour. Keep an eye on Trooper for me."

"Alright," he says with a little nod of his head.

I haul Mom's suitcase into the back of the truck, surprised at its weight. "How long are you going to be gone for?"

We slip into the cab and I back out of the garage.

"I honestly don't know, but it might be a while. A few weeks?" She gives me this sheepish look. "I got all the bills and everything taken care of the day before yesterday, so you shouldn't have to worry about any of that. Think you can manage everything else on your own for a while? You've got Lake."

I nod, thinking over everything. I already take care of most everything. Mom just does the office stuff these days. Still, everything I do has been keeping me busy enough. The additional work means less sleep.

But this is family.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Mom barely says goodbye when I drop her off at SeaTac airport, she's so distracted. She keeps jumping on the phone every few minutes, talking to her uncle who lives about an hour away from where Lynda lives in Virginia. Mom gives me a little wave as she darts off with her suitcase, cell phone pressed firmly to her ear.

I stop for some supplies Mom missed before heading back home. When I get back, I find Lake once again on the roof. It's lunchtime and I haven't eaten yet, so my stomach growls ravenously.

"You need some help with all that?" Lake calls to me from on the roof. I glance up to him. There's traces of sweat on his brow. He's indicating the bags in the back of my truck.

"I got it, thanks," I call. "You eaten lunch yet?"

He shakes his head.

"I'll be up in a few."

I didn't get a ton of supplies, so it only takes me two trips back and forth to get it all inside. Once it's put away, I make up two turkey and avocado sandwiches and grab the bag of grapes I just bought. The air feels humid and heavy when I walk outside, the rain being evaporated into the air. It intensifies the smell of the ranch tenfold.

I string the bag of food over one wrist and scale the ladder from Lake's deck up to the roof. Walking carefully, I cross to the side he's working on and sit on the hot shingles.

"You didn't have to make me lunch," he says as he takes his tool belt off and sets the hammer down. "But thank you."

"Not a problem," I respond as he sits by me, a safe distance away, but not far enough to act like he's avoiding me. Only now do I realize that it's just going to be Lake and me here at the ranch for a few weeks. Just the two of us.

"Everything okay?" he asks around a bite of his sandwich. He's got man manners when he's not around Mom, just like me.

"My aunt had a heart attack," I say around a mouthful of my own food. "Mom's flying out to take care of her since Lynda lives alone. No husband, no kids."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says. "How long's Raelynn gone for?"

I shrug and pop a grape into my mouth. "Couple weeks, probably."

A breeze picks up, swaying the trees next to the house. My eyes flick up to them, and a knot forms in my throat once again.

"You didn't hear anything the other night, when we were in the barn, did you?" I ask. I try to sound casual about it. But my voice catches slightly.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Lake says, looking over at me. "Though I admit I fell asleep for about an hour or so. Why?"

"No reason," I say, swallowing hard.

I threw the necklace in the garbage after I managed to break it in half. All the while I fought back angry, pissed off tears that burned the back of my eyes.

Lake takes another bite of his sandwich and chews it for a moment, looking over at me. "You okay with everything on your own? You're already working nearly twelve hour days, six days a week."

I appreciate him changing the topic. It means I don't have to do it awkwardly.

Once more, I shrug.

It'll probably be fine. But I do feel slightly panicked. Mom's the one who's kept me sane these past six months of hell. I guess it was time for me to start being a big girl again sometime.

I feel Lake's eyes leave me. I take another huge bite of my sandwich, pushing down the shame I feel welling up inside of me.

I'm twenty-six years old. I still live at home with my mother. There were plans to look for my own place a few years back. And then Dad died. And it felt like I was abandoning my mom. So I stayed.

But where does that leave me in finding my own life?

And what the hell do I do now that Travis is back?

"Can you cancel that interview with Kent?" I ask. The request surprises me, cause it slips out my mouth the same time it comes to my head.

"Yeah," he says. "I'll call him in a little bit."

I wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my sleeve. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"It's not a problem," he says, shaking his head, his eyes intense. Intense with what, I don't know, but intense none the less. "You need help, and I'm already here."

I nod, hating that I feel prideful and resentful that I have to ask for anything. "And I'm going to start paying you. I don't care what you say, you need something to survive, and since you won't have time to get that other job now, you can't say no."

I look over at him and he looks at me. He takes his time swallowing his bite and even when he does, it's still a while till he responds.

I try to tell myself that I didn't ask him to cancel the interview because I'm scared of Travis. Because I'm scared of being here at the ranch alone, knowing he's back out there. But there is something about Lake that makes me feel safe.

As I look into his eyes, I know it isn't just his huge size and military training that makes me feel safe and secure. It's his loyalty. His quiet strength. It's the fact that he's never let me down and works harder than anyone I know.

It's all there inside of him. Lake McCain is so much more than he tries to seem.

"Okay," he says.

And then he looks away and finishes eating.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lake and I work well together.

We don't say a whole lot. Conversation is always minimal when it comes to Lake. But we work great as a team. He keeps the animals fed, the stalls clean. He gets saddles and bridles when I need them between working with the animals. I water Mom's garden, and he weeds it. He checks the fences, and I order hay and other supplies that have to be delivered. The both of us stack it when it is delivered.

This is surprisingly easy.

I don't cook for him every night, but every once in a while, I get ambitious. He always says thank you when I do something for him. He's a bit gruff, but he is a gentleman.

And I start teaching him how to ride. There isn't a ton of time for it, with everything else we have to manage, but here and there we steal twenty, thirty minutes. He's awkward and clumsy at first. But he's slowly getting it. And I can't help but smile as I watch him on a horse.

Thursday night, I head into town to look for a dress. I can't afford much of anything, so I end up at the thrift shop. From the sound of it, Lake's sister will turn her nose up at anything I buy, but I could care less.

I find a black dress that has silver glitter in an ombre effect on the back, which has a deep V that stretches down nearly the length of my spine. It's long, long enough I'll have to wear heels for it to not drag on the floor. I find some black heels to wear with it.

Saturday we work fast and furious to get everything taken care of before the big night. By one o'clock, I'm out of breath and exhausted, but I head for the shower and wash up. I'm not an expert with hair, but I dry it and twist it up into the best version I can manage of an updo.

My dress leaves no room for a bra, so I slip on a pair of black panties and pull my dress over my form. The moment my feet slip into the heels, they scream in protest. It's been a long while since I've worn heels.

There is a full length mirror on the inside of my closet door, and I check myself in it.

And stare in shock at the woman who looks back at me.

I don't ever dress up. Ever. I wear cotton skirts and a plain V-neck T-shirts to church. I wear jeans and plaid and simple, beat up clothes ninety-eight percent of the time.

So the woman who stares back at me seems like a stranger.

The makeup I applied to my eyes makes me look fierce, enhanced by my fiery hair and the little bit of color on my cheeks. The dress hugs my curves perfectly. I look like a woman, in all the right ways.

"Riley?" Lake's voice calls up the stairs. "You ready to go?"

There's something that catches in my chest when he says my name. Something heavy and shiny. Something that I completely don't understand.

"Coming," I call, grabbing my clutch from the desk. Suddenly my stomach is full of gnats and moths.

I can see the tips of Lake's polished shoes as I stand at the top of the stairs. As I walk down them, my view of him grows.

He's wearing a tux that looks like it must have been tailored to fit him exactly. Black pants hug his hips in just the right way. His jacket embraces every muscle in his toned body. A black, silk tie enhances the size of his neck.

He's shaved, making his face look younger.

And for one of the first times, I see something in his eyes.

He's taking me in—all of me. There's something there that I'd call curiosity but that doesn't seem to quite encompass all of it. Lake said he's a simple man, but his eyes are far from that.

"You look—" his voice cuts out for a second and he clears his throat quickly. "You look really nice."

I can feel my face flush, and I'm not completely embarrassed by it. "Thank you. So do you."

He gives a little smile and opens the door for me. I step out. He's pulled his truck around front and it's waiting there with my door already open.

"'K, you really are going to have to help me walk tonight," I say as I miraculously get down the stairs without landing flat on my face. "I am not used to wearing shoes like this. And I'd rather not land flat on my face tonight. Countless times."

Lake chuckles and offers me his arm. My heels sink into the soft dirt as we cross to the truck. He steadies me as I climb in and I tuck my dress back as he closes the door.

As soon as he climbs inside and starts down the driveway, I feel incredibly nervous.

I'm honest in my opinions. I don't take crap from people. From everything Lake has told me about his sister, I'm pretty positive we aren't going to get along. But I don't want to offend Lake by duking it out with his only sister. Perhaps avoidance is the best tactic.

And for some reason I'm scared to meet the rest of Lake's family. They're big and it sounds like they're close. What are they going to think about me, showing up with him like I'm his date, and yet I know hardly anything about him?

"You're really going to like Kaylee," Lake says as we head down the highway, almost like he can read my thoughts. "My sister-in-law. It's pretty much impossible to not like her. She's about the nicest person you'll ever meet."

This means something, Lake offering up conversation to put me at ease, when he doesn't have to say anything. This is a gesture. One I appreciate.

"She's also tiny, so she looks way younger than she is." He says this with a little lopsided smile.

"What's so funny about that?" I ask. There's a smile pulling at one corner of my lips too. Simply because Lake is nearly smiling.

Lake's grows slightly and he shakes his head. "It's kind of embarrassing."

"Come on," I egg. "You can't lead me into something like that and then not share."

Lake chuckles, his eyes still on the road. "'K, fine. So the first day, my senior year of high school, my first class of the day, I walk in and there's this really pretty girl I've never seen before. I offered to show her around the school. I was pretty smooth back then."

"And?"

"And that pretty girl I'd never seen before was Kaylee," he says with a little laugh. "She was my teacher."

"Wow," I say. "I bet she loved that."

Lake shrugs. "We got over it. We're close."

"She sounds nice," I say as I look back out the window.

I fiddle with my clutch as we get closer and closer to Bellevue. It's only a thirty minute drive, which doesn't feel long enough.

I'm not classy. I'm not sophisticated. I'm a farm girl. And I'm terrified I'm going to make a fool of myself tonight.

What feels like seconds later, we are in the city and Lake maneuvers his dirty, beat up truck through the city streets. And then he pulls into a parking garage.

"Name?" a guy who looks around our age asks with a charming southern accent.

"Lake McCain," he rattles off to him.

"All right," the guy says, a smile curling on his face. "One of Sage's brothers. Tell me, did she ever mention me before she went and married that tatted nerd?"

Lake chuckles and shakes his head. "You think my sister talked to any of us about her love life?"

"Right," the guy says with a little nod. "This is Sage Dohring we're talking about. 'K, park in spot G17."

Lake gives him a little nod and pulls forward.

I take in the cars as we roll down the aisle. They're all brand new. And very, very expensive.

"What is it that this company does again?" I ask as I feel my heart rate pick up.

"I honestly don't really know," Lake replies as he pulls into our spot. He puts the truck in park and climbs out. He walks around and opens my door for me, holding out a hand and helping me out.

"Promise not to let me fall on my face tonight?" I say as I loop my arm through his for balance. "Don't let go?"

"Not until you tell me to," he says, his voice low and serious.

I'm tempted to look up at him, to try and see what's there in his eyes. But I don't.

It's too terrifying.

Lake leads us through the garage toward a set of elevators. There's a row of cars right in front of it, and my eyes grow wide at one in particular.

There's this burnt orange sports car that looks like something straight out of the space age and honestly doesn't even look street legal. This thing was meant to fly, not drive down normal roads among the likes of my dirty truck.

"That's Julian's," Lake says quietly as he pushes the up button for the elevator.

"Hmm," I say, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

I tell myself that I'm not scared of rich people because I'm scared of their judgment.

It isn't until the elevator opens again and we step out that I realize how hard I'm gripping Lake's arm.

The lobby of the building is huge and grandiosely decorated. Lights shimmer everywhere, flowers hang about in abundance. Banquet tables line the edges of the space. Centerpieces that must have cost thousands of dollars dot along them. And everyone is dressed elegantly. A small part in the back of my mind was terrified that Lake was going to be overdressed in his tux and I'm stand out in my borderline prom dress-evening gown. But not even close. Everyone is dressed to intimidate, not impress.

"Holy crap," I mutter under my breath.

I thought I said it quiet enough no one else would be able to hear, but Lake replies, "Yeah."

People mill about, chatting, laughing, drinking expensive wine served by people in white shirts and black vests. Lake and I stop in the middle of the room. A waiter immediately offers us some wine. I take water instead, and to my surprise, so does Lake.

I'm a loud, loose drunk, so I'd rather not lose my head tonight.

"There's that brother that came home from war and immediately ditched us all."

Lake and I both turn to see a couple walking up to us. The only way I can describe them is adorable. He's boyish-faced, with this spikey light brown hair. He gives the same lopsided smile Lake does. And at his arm is this tiny blonde woman that has a smile bright as the sun.

Kaylee—at least that's all I can assume she is—stretches up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around Lake's neck. Lake wraps one arm around her, picking her a good five inches up off the ground as he does. His other arm never lets go of mine though.

"Are you free for dinner tomorrow?" she asks. "The kids have been asking about you, everyone's missed you so much."

"Um," he says, looking over at me, as if seeking permission.

"Of course," I say, my stomach full of nervous butterflies. "Sunday is always your day."

Kaylee smiles brightly, her shoulders shrugging up to her ears just slightly when she does. "I'm Kaylee, by the way," she says. To my surprise, she wraps her arms around my shoulders too. I awkwardly hug her back as best I can without letting go of Lake and falling over.

"Sorry," Lake says, his voice awkward. "This is Riley James. My boss."

It makes me uncomfortable, him calling me his boss. I never thought of myself that way.

"Drake," Lake's brother says, extending a hand and shaking it. "Thanks for taking care of my brother and giving him something to do."

"Um, not a problem," I say, steeling a side look at Lake. "It's the least I can do to thank him for his service."

I wonder if his family has any clue as to why Lake sought me out. About the debt he feels because of Cal's sacrifice. I have no guesses either way.

"Damn," someone from behind Kaylee says. My eyes dart up to take in one of the most beautiful male faces I've ever seen. "I get in so last minute, I don't have time to invite anyone, and you devil dog bring in a woman like this?"

Kale McCain saunters up, a devilish smile plastered over his face. His suit looks expensive, and tailored to hug every chiseled surface of his body. His hair is puffed up and slicked back in that signature way of his.

"Don't talk with your dick tonight, as usual. Please?" Lake says, but there's teasing in his voice. "You'll scare her off."

"Excuse me," I say in mock offense. "I can handle myself. I've dealt with homo sapiens with penises before."

"Oh ho!" Kale says, his mouth forming into a big O. "I like her! She's got some spunk."

"Seriously, Kale," Lake says, his eyes shooting a warning at him. "Knock it off."

Kale holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, can't help it."

"Really, he can't," Kaylee says, barely able to keep from rolling her eyes.

"So every male in this family has hit on you then?" I ask her, trying to ease into conversation. It's not easy and I feel awkward doing it.

"He told you about that?" Kaylee asks, her expression pained. She turns accusatory eyes on him. "Lake!"

He chuckles and gives a little shrug.

"And we all know who's the champion, because who's married to her?" Drake says as he wraps an arm around his wife's waist and pulls her close to him. She does this little giggle and presses her lips to his briefly, a smile huge on her face.

Seriously, it's like these two just walked off the pages of a fairytale.

It's kind of sickeningly cute.

"Have you guys seen Sage yet?" Kale asks, standing on his toes and surveying the huge space. "I wanted to talk to her before she and Julian have to go in front of everyone."

"Not yet," Drake says. "Though I'd take a guess she and Julian are off in some office doing unspeakable things."

"TMI, Drake," Kale says, shaking his head. "TMI. I lived with Sage. And, basically, Julian for a few weeks there. I don't need all that imagery up in my head."

A chuckle breaks out of my chest, and I look up at Lake. He shakes his head, even as he smiles. "Seriously," he says, looking down at me. "They're bad."

"Wow," I say, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "I, uh, I think I'll excuse myself for a minute. I need to use the restroom. I think I can make it there by myself."

"'K," Lake says and cautiously lets my arm go. I can feel his eyes watching me as I walk away, carefully making sure I really will make it on my own. And that makes me blush just a little.

I only wobble slightly.

There's also a rock in the pit of my stomach, walking away from Lake's family like this, knowing they will be talking about me as soon as I'm out of ear shot.

It's a trick, using the facilities in the dress, but I manage. I was alone when I walked into the restroom, but when I come out, there's a woman fixing her lipstick and hair. She's gorgeous, and wearing a dress that makes her look like a million bucks. She gives me a little smile as I start washing my hands.

Suddenly a man stumbles into the bathroom. The both of us look over at him and he leers at us, after looking confused for only a moment.

"Well, I see this is where the real party is," he says with a big grin. He takes two steps forward, a nearly empty wine glass in his hand. "Ladies."

"Get the hell out of here," the other woman says, giving him an annoyed look.

"Come on," he says, a nasty smile curling on one side of his face. "Let's all have a little fun." And to my horror, he starts undoing his belt buckle.

I take four quick steps toward him and shove him, hard, in the chest. "She said get the hell out of here."

"Whoa!" he says with a laugh, holding his hands up in defense. "I thought we were all having a good time at this party. Apparently I was wrong."

"Go call a cab, you drunk idiot," I say, shoving him again, this time not quite as hard. "And watch the signs next time. The little figure with the dress is the women's restroom, in case you forgot."

He gives us both a put out expression, and turns and walks away.

"I hate drunk people," the woman says. She washes her hands and dries them off.

"Tell me about it," I say. I turn back to the sink and finish washing my own hands. "Looks like there will be plenty of them before the night is over."

"Which is why I'm only staying as long as I'm needed," she says, giving me a side long look and a smile. "Do you work here?" she's phrased it as a question, though she seems pretty sure of the answer.

I shake my head as I dry my hands. "I'm a plus one."

She nods her head and grabs her clutch from the shelf above the sink. "Well, have a nice time. Don't let the drunkards get you down."

"Thanks," I say as I follow her out. "I'll try."

I make my way back to Lake. Everyone has gathered to the center of the room and is facing the stage that is set up in front of the reception desk. I loop my arm back through Lake's, who gives me a little longer than necessary look of evaluation, and wait with everyone else.

A man who looks to be in in his late fifties gets onto the stage. Just before he starts talking, Lake leans over to Drake and whispers, "Where are Mom and Dad?"

"Dad wasn't feeling very good, so they had to stay home," Drake replies.

"Thank you all for coming," the man on the stage says. "This week has been a hallmark one for Digit Securities. And this is a hallmark week for Spirit Financial. As many of you know, myself and Digit's CEO, Sage Dohring, have been in talks with Spirit for the last few months. And I am pleased to announce that the purchase of Spirit by Digit closed yesterday. Let's have a round of applause for the woman who made all of this possible."

Everyone starts clapping and the attention of the room focuses to a couple standing next to the stage. A man leads someone up, her arm looped through his. He's wearing a tux, just like everyone else. There's a hint of some kind of tattoo poking up from his collar.

He turns when they get to the stage, revealing Sage Dohring.

The woman I just talked to in the bathroom.

A little breathy chuckle escapes my lips as everyone keeps clapping for several long minutes. I expected to hate Sage before we arrived. Instead I find myself immediately liking her from just the few moments we spent together.

Sage goes into some speech about overcoming hardships and how Digit rose from the ashes some time ago. She talks about the technology her husband, Julian, invented. And how the two of them had the idea to buy Spirit and how they executed the deal. Blah, blah, blah, money, money, CEO talk.

But I have to respect Sage. She's confident. There is no hesitation in her, speaking in front of all these people.

And Julian stands to her side, complete admiration on his face. It's easy to see he worships the ground Sage stands on.

Julian gives a few closing remarks, mostly complimenting his wife and cracking a few cocky, sarcastic jokes, and then everyone is released back to the party.

"Didn't know that's what this party was for," Lake says, absentmindedly placing a hand over mine, holding me firm and steady by his side. "As if they weren't rich enough before."

"Don't try to act like it bothers you or something," I say, giving him a sidelong smile. "I can hear it in your voice. You're proud of her."

I bump him with my shoulder, and he gives a little smile. "Maybe a little."

"There they are," Drake suddenly calls, his eyes fixing at a place beyond my shoulder. I turn to see Sage and Julian walking up to us. Drake, Kaylee, Sage, and Julian all exchange hugs, and I stand back, feeling incredibly awkward.

"Guess you aren't fully avoiding us all," Sage says as she wraps her arms around Lake. She's tall with those heels on. She presses a kiss to Lake's cheek. When she backs away again, her eyes finally turn to me. "Well, hello again."

"Hey," I say with a little chuckle.

"Have you two met already?" Lake asks, giving us a quizzical look.

"Not really," I say.

"But you could say we're kindred spirits," Sage says with a wink. "I'm Sage, by the way."

"I figured," I say with a smile. "I'm Riley James."

"My brother's plus one," Sage says with a little grin. "It took some coercion, but I knew he'd find someone amazing to bring."

"She's my boss," Lake says. There's something in his voice that sounds like he needs to clarify our status. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

"I'm Julian, by the way," he says, stretching his hand forward. "And anyone my wife calls a kindred spirit must be an impressive woman."

I chuckle, shaking his hand. "I don't know about that, but I don't have much patience for drunk assholes."

This makes everyone laugh, and there's a knowing look in Julian's eyes, like there's more weight behind that statement than I know.

"You run a horse ranch, right?" Sage says, accepting a glass of water from one of the waiters.

I nod, taking a sip from my own.

"No wonder you can handle yourself," she says with a wink. "So, Kale," she turns to him. "How long are you in town for?"

"I have to leave Monday morning," he says distractedly. His eyes are following some girl that is walking in the opposite direction. "I've got a shoot at home Tuesday, and then I head to Milan on Wednesday."

"Your life is so hard," Kaylee teases with a bright smile on her face.

Kale returns his attention to us, flashing his brilliant, crooked smile.

All these McCain boys have that lopsided, wicked smile.

A band starts playing in one corner of the room, and Julian and Sage, Drake and Kaylee head off to the dance floor. Kale breaks off to find someone single to talk to. Leaving Lake and I alone.

"Is it okay if we find somewhere to sit down?" I ask, rolling one of my ankles in an attempt to stretch it. "My feet are killing me."

Lake chuckles. "Yeah, come on."

He leads us to the edge of the room, to a bench that is in front of one of the long, huge windows. Carefully, he helps me sit and then sits at my side.

We watch people for a few quiet moments. They talk loudly, drink, laugh. Everyone seems to be having such a good time.

"I have to admit," I say, watching Julian and Sage dancing. They're synchronized, good, like they've done this before. "I kind of came here tonight expecting to hate you sister, from what you'd told me."

Lake looks over at me with a small smile on his face. "That doesn't surprise me," he says. "Sage isn't everyone's cup of tea."

I nod. "But she's honest. She gives it like she is. I wish more people were like that."

I used to be more like that. Now, I'm not entirely sure who I am.

"That's one of my only regrets about enlisting," Lake says, watching her and Julian. "I missed their wedding while I was on this last tour."

"There's always a sacrifice, being in the service," I say.

He doesn't say much about that. We continue to watch people quietly.

"Does any of this appeal to you?" I ask eventually. "The corporate world? All the money and glitz and glam?"

Lake shakes his head. "Not really. My sister is who she is and she loves her job, but most of this seems so fake to me."

I nod. "What do you want to do? Now that you're done in the Marines?"

Lake doesn't look at me. His eyes stay fixed on the crowd, and I feel the air around him shift. It grows heavy. Something akin to sad. "I don't really know. I just don't want to waste away my life doing something meaningless. I kind of envy you, actually." He looks back at me, his eyes so near, but so unreadable. "You're doing something you love already. You're where you're supposed to be."

I'd never thought of it that way. But it's true. I'm doing what I want to do for the rest of my life.

And I'm really blessed to have that.

The song ends and another begins.

Kaylee practically skips over to us. "The party won't be half as fun if you both sit there all night," she says. She grabs Lake's hands and starts pulling him to his feet. "Come on you guys! I'll let you borrow my husband for a few minutes, Riley!"

Lake gives me a wide-eyed look as Kaylee drags his huge self off to the dance floor.

"My wife is a little enthusiastic, as you can see," Drake says, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he watches them go. "She's really happy Lake is home."

"He said they're close," I say as I stand. I leave my shoes under the bench. My dress is long enough, no one will be able to tell. And Drake isn't very tall.

"They are," Drake says as he holds a hand out and leads me to the floor. The song is slower, so he puts a hand at my back, holding out my other. This should feel awkward, dancing with the brother of the man who works for our family, like we're friends or something. But it doesn't, surprisingly. There's something easy and calm about Drake.

"Can I ask you a question?" I say, watching Lake over Drake's shoulder. He smiles slightly while he talks with Kaylee. "About Lake?"

"Of course," Drake replies.

I bite my lower lip for a moment, trying to figure out how to word my thoughts. It's complicated and not easy to ask. "You know we've been working together for just over two weeks now. Your brother is a great worker, and I'm so grateful for his help. But I've noticed... He's really guarded. Has he always been like that?"

I meet Drake's eyes. They're hazel and open. Inviting and friendly.

"No," he says, giving his head a little shake. "I don't know if he's told you this, but he played football in high school. He was good, and he was very popular. Exactly the cocky jock you'd expect."

"What happened?" I ask as we turn in a circle.

Drake shrugs. "No one knows. The last month of school his senior year, he was different. Quiet, reserved. That's when he told us he was joining the Marines. He left the day after Kaylee and my wedding."

"I'm sure his service took its toll."

"I guess," Drake says as we keep turning. "He seemed alright last time he came home. He was reserved, but he was still cracking jokes and giving Julian hell."

"Do they get along?" I ask with a little chuckle. "The way he talks, I can't really tell."

Drake laughs, looking in Julian's direction. He has his arms wrapped around Sage. They dance close and intimately. "Julian's kind of terrified of my brother. It's actually pretty funny, considering he's married to Sage. But Lake just hasn't really gotten to know Julian yet. He was only around him for a few weeks, and as you know, he immediately took off to work with you when he got back."

"I feel kind of bad about that," I say. "Like I'm keeping him prisoner from all of you."

"It's fine," Drake says with a chuckle. "My brother is an adult. He'll do what he needs to do. But," he says, looking back down at me, "you're right. He is more reserved this time. In a big way."

A stone sinks in my stomach. So Lake hasn't just always been this way. And I'm pretty sure I know exactly why he is.

Cal. Me. It's hard when your best friend gives his life for you. I can imagine how it would change your entire way of thinking.

"He's a good man," Drake says, pulling me from my thoughts.

"I can tell." I really can.

The song comes to an end and as if connected by magnets, the whole family comes back together. I thank Drake for the dance before we all join together again.

"I have an announcement for everyone," Drake says as his fingers interlock with Kaylee's. "Since Sage and Julian get an entire party to brag about their work accomplishments, I don't feel too bad about tooting my own horn for a minute. I just got word that this fall, I will be the new vice principle at Woodinville High School."

"Alright!" Kale calls enthusiastically.

"Congratulations," Sage and Julian say at the same time.

"Thank you," Drake says, doing a dorky, dramatic bow.

"Well, as great as it is to see you all," Sage says when the congrats are over. "Julian and I have some other things to attend to tonight."

"Don't try to sound all professional," Kale teases. "We all know exactly what you mean."

"Fine," Julian says as he wraps an arm around Sage's waist and starts pulling her toward the exit. "We're leaving to go have sex. Wild, rambunctious sex."

Sage's face blushes, hard and red as she waves goodbye, and the two of them disappear.

Kale shivers obviously, and he gives a dramatic gag.

"You walked yourself into that one," Drake says, laughing at his reaction.

"Disgusting," Kale says.

Something chirps inside Kaylee's bag and she pulls out her cell phone.

"It's the babysitter," she says. "The twins are up, and she can't get them to calm down." Kaylee looks up at us with a disappointed look. But it's only skin deep. I know next to nothing about her and I can already tell she's a good mom.

"Reality calls," Drake says. "Riley, it was nice to meet you. We'll see you tomorrow?" he asks of Lake.

Lake nods. "I'll be there."

"You're invited too, Riley," Kaylee pipes in as she takes Drake's hand. "The more the merrier."

"Oh," I say, taken aback by the invitation into their very personal life. "Thanks. I'll...uh, I'll think about it."

"Goodnight," the two of them call as they head off.

We wave goodbye and they're gone.

"You ready to go?" Lake says to me quietly.

"Yeah," I breathe. "Kale, can I bother you for a picture? My friend Anita will never believe I met you. She's a bit...obsessed?"

Kale's smile grows big and bright. "My ladies do love me. And I'd be honored." And he actually does a bow. Way more dramatically than Drake did just a moment ago.

McCain boys.

Lake rolls his eyes and shakes his head as I hand him my phone. Kale wraps one arm around me and flashes his most brilliant smile. I do my best. Lake snaps the picture.

"Thanks," I say, taking my phone back. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," he says with a wink. "Hey, you ever thought about getting in front of the camera?"

"Kale," Lake says, annoyance in his voice. "Leave her alone."

"It's okay," I say, feeling my face redden slightly. "I've been asked before, but that's not my interest."

Kale shrugs. "Cool. Well, you two have a good night. I'm off to find where the after party is."

And with that, Kale darts off through the crowd.

I take Lake's arm, and quietly we work our way through to the elevator. We ride it down and he helps me into the truck.

"Thanks again, for coming with me tonight," Lake says as we drive through the dark night. His eyes fix on the road, his big, strong hands firmly around the wheel. It's warm in the cab, even though the heat isn't on. It's all coming off him.

"No problem," I say as I stare out the window.

I may have actually enjoyed myself.

CHAPTER NINE

Life soldiers on.

I ride. I work. I make and take calls to clients. We accept a new horse for training. Mom updates me on Aunt Lynda. It's slow progress, but she's moving in the right direction.

Lake and I work. I pay him. We continue riding lessons.

And for a week and a half, life seems to be moving along pretty smoothly.

Except for the three phone calls from unknown numbers, where there is no one on the other line. And the box of chocolates I find on the seat of my truck when I leave the feed store.

One more thing. Travis tries one more thing, and then I'll tell someone what's going on.

On the last Thursday in May, I grab the mail from town. This is normally Mom's job, but since it looks like she'll be in Virginia for at least another week, someone has to do it. I start sorting through it as I walk back to the truck.

"Hey, Riley."

I whip around to see Kyle headed inside. He's stopped, his hand on the door.

"Hey," I say, looking back down at the bills.

"I don't know if you want to come, but a bunch of people from high school are going to be in town next week. So a group of us are going to Smitty's a week from Saturday. Thought I'd invite you, if you want to come."

"Hanging out and drinking with a bunch of people we went to high school with?" I say, raising an eyebrow at him. "What did you think my answer was going to be?"

A smile crooks on Kyle's mouth. "There really aren't that many people coming."

"Come on, Kyle," I say, reaching for the door to my truck.

"Look, I know we were the most infamous couple in school, but we've moved past that, right?" Kyle looks at me, his eyes somewhere between frustrated and hopeful. "I mean, come on Riley. It's been nine years."

I look back at him, really looking at him.

It's both easy and hard to remember how much I loved him once. How I worshiped his charm, his confidence, and his good looks. How he looked at me like the sun rose and set in my eyes. How he'd run his hand up my back, slip under my bra, trace along my panty line. How he'd whisper things in my ear.

And how he'd look at other girls with only a small degree less than what he looked at me. How he'd rather go hang out with his buddies than be with me. How we'd fight, over everything. We'd scream until our voices gave out and the tears ran dry.

"I'll think about it, but don't expect me," I finally say.

He looks at me for a long moment that really does say how he's sorry for the past and how he really does want to repair what was broken so long ago when we crossed the line between friendship and passion.

I mutter a goodbye, climb into the truck, and head back home.

I don't see Lake when I get back to the ranch, but his truck is parked by the garage. He's probably somewhere out around the pasture. I set the mail inside and head out to the barn.

Lady no longer fights her halter when I slip it on her. She only tries to bite me once as I lead her out to the arena. Her short legs run furiously as I lunge her round and around, standing in the middle of her little dust tornado as she runs her circles around me.

When she's good and warmed up, I put a blanket and a saddle on her back and climb on her. Reining her out, we walk back around the arena.

We get around at a walk twice before I move her to a trot.

And the second I nudge my heels into her sides to get her to move faster, she bucks.

Somehow she's caught me off guard, and I sail through the air for two seconds before landing in the dirt. Lady takes off, sprinting to the other end of the arena, thoroughly spooked.

"Nice," I say, annoyance in my voice as I pick myself up and wipe the dust off my face with the back of my sleeve. Walking with confidence, I close Lady in at one end of the arena. She only fights me a little as I pull myself back on. She really did just get spooked when I asked her to go faster. She wasn't throwing a fit.

It's hot, and I'm covered in dirt and sweat when I'm finished for the day. Just as I walk out of the barn, Lake comes down his stairs. His hair is wet and I can smell the scent of soap on him.

"I was just going to ask you if you were hungry," he says. We walk together toward the house. "I got stuff for hamburgers and wondered if you wanted to share."

"You cook?" I ask in surprise.

He chuckles. "Not really. But I do know my way around a grill. Saw you had one on the back porch."

"Sure," I say. "Thanks. I'm just going to go shower. Feel free to use the kitchen and whatever."

"M'kay," he says with a nod as we cross the backyard and then step inside. I barely even noticed the grocery bag in his hand.

I dismiss myself upstairs and take a refreshing shower before twisting my hair into its usual knot and pulling on a pair of cotton shorts and a black tank top.

"You need any help?" I call through the screen door when I see Lake outside at the grill.

"I think I got it under control," he says.

I sink down to sit at the table and start sorting through the mail.

Ads, junk, and what looks to be three bills. I slip my finger under the fold and tear the first one open.

It's a bill from the guy who came to look at our well late last month. My eyes widen in surprise at the huge amount he's charged. Is this usual? 'Cause holy shit.

The next is our hay bill. It's well over a thousand dollars, and what I knew to expect.

And lastly is our mortgage statement.

I've never known how much our monthly payment was. It really wasn't my business, and Mom just always took care of it. When I see the amount, it's not shocking.

But the delinquency notice is.

We're five months behind on our payments and there's a statement saying if we don't pay the missing amounts, they'll start the foreclosure process three weeks from now.

Shit.

"Hope you're hungry."

Lake's voice rips through my red and confused haze like a razor. My eyes dart up to him and my mouth hangs open.

"What's wrong?" he asks. His body instantly stiffens. His brows pull together. As if on instinct, he surveys the kitchen.

I shake my head, biting my lower lip.

How did this happen? How have we suddenly run out of money? We've been a little slower over the winter, but that's normal. We are always like that. And we're so close to paying the ranch off, I do know that. How does it all fall apart this close to the finish line?

"Riley," Lake says, drawing my attention back to him. "What's wrong?"

I throw the bill to the table and rub my eyes. "Just real life."

"Here," he says. I open my eyes to see the burger he's put in front of me. "Eat this and then I want to take you to do something."

"What?" I ask as I pick the burger up. I meet his eyes. His own are serious and for once, slightly open. He's concerned.

"Just eat. Then we'll go."

I only get down half of it before my stomach is in too tight of knots to finish. It's good, but I'm on edge.

Lake seems to understand. He doesn't prod me or bother me. He doesn't dig about what's suddenly jumped under my skin. He just finishes his food and says he'll be back in just a minute. And he is, carrying a long bag under one arm. He next goes to the gun cabinet in the living room and pulls it open.

"You know how to shoot these?" he asks as he takes out a hunting rifle and a handgun. He handles them carefully and with respect.

I give him a look.

A small smile curls on one side of his face. "Come on then."

I slip my boots on, cotton shorts and all, and follow Lake out to the garage. We climb on the four wheelers and we take off for the far end of the pasture.

Lake sets up a huge log round about a hundred yards away, another at fifty, and a last at twenty. When he starts walking back toward me, that lopsided smile forms on his face.

"Let's see what you've got." He hands me the handgun and unzips his bag. Inside are his own shotgun and a handgun.

I check the ammunition, load one into the chamber. Extending it out in front of me, I turn the safety off. Aiming for the further target, I breathe out and squeeze the trigger.

It's hard to see, since the target is far away, but a few wood chips explode from the center of the log round.

"She knows how to handle a weapon," Lake says. I look over at him, giving him a sidelong smile. Turning my attention back to the target, I fire off five more shots, making a small circle around my first shot.

"Daddy taught me right," I say, pretending to blow off smoke from the barrel. After I slip the safety back on.

Lake chuckles and steps to my position with his own handgun. It's bigger than mine. Newer.

He takes aim, clicks the safety off, and fires six continuous shots. All right on target of mine.

"Sorry, but I'm not that impressed knowing your history," I taunt. "You're supposed to be a good shot."

"Give me a challenge then," he says. "I might not be as good as Cal, but I can hold my own."

"No one was better than Cal," I say around the tug in my chest. I look around for something small to make for a more difficult target. There's nothing besides grass and horse manure. And a few rocks.

"Wait here," I say. I cross to the farthest target, the tall grass brushing my legs. When I reach the round, I slip my hands under my tank and unclasp my bra. It's light blue and worn out. I slip it off and let it hang over the side of the round, using a rock on one of the straps to keep it there.

The right side of Lake's mouth is all pulled up, his face flushed slightly red, when I walk back.

"Nice target," he says as he reloads his handgun.

I shrug. "It'll do."

"Top or bottom cup?" he asks.

"Bottom," I say, reloading my own gun. Little does he know that I have two handguns in my bedroom. One in my nightstand, one in my desk. "I'll take the top. And then we'll see who can shoot the straps out and make it drop."

"If you say so," he says with a smile in his voice. He levels the gun in front of him. Lets a slow breath out, and fires.

I can barely see it, but a tiny hole appears in the bottom cup, dead center.

"Eh," I say, stepping up to center. "It's a decent shot."

Lake just chuckles and folds his arms over his chest.

I level the gun in front of me and squeeze the trigger. A hole appears in the top cup, but it's off to the right. I fire off two more shots. The last one hits center.

I look back at him.

"Eh," he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

And for just a second, I can see that kid Drake talked about. The one who played football and had confidence. The one who chased after girls and had friends. The one who could let loose and have fun every once in a while.

Turning back to the target, I fire one last shot, hitting one side of the strap. My bra jerks hard to the right, dangling from one side.

I smile at Lake as I step back, letting him take position. He levels the gun once again and fires.

My bra drops to the ground and disappears behind the grass.

Lake gives a small—more humble—smile this time. He walks back to the four wheeler, carefully placing his handgun back inside the bag.

"Feel better?" he asks as I set my gun on top of his bag.

"For the moment," I say. I lean against the machine, looking out over the ranch, toward the brilliant red sunset.

"That's all that matters sometimes," Lake says as he leans against his own set of wheels and crosses his ankles, doing the same with his arms. "Sometimes moments are all you get, so you've got to appreciate them."

While he takes in the sunset, I take the opportunity to study him.

Casual, wrinkled jeans cover his strong legs. His thighs are thick and well-muscled, just like the rest of him. There are two veins in each of his arms that stand out, straining against his skin. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he thinks about something. He blinks, slow and thoughtful.

There are depths to Lake that I don't know if I'll ever understand. He's layered and dark, and he tries to seem shallow and simple. But he isn't. There are things under his surface that matter.

"Been a while since I did that," I respond. "Appreciate the small, good moments." I shift my weight, looking down at my boots for a moment. "Thank you. For this."

"You're welcome."

The sun sinks, the sky growing darker and darker. The stars burn through the light of day, winking into view.

The silence between us grows long, but it isn't uncomfortable. When you go through loss in your life, it's hard for others to understand. You grow complicated, complicated enough you don't even really understand yourself. But somehow, I think that Lake understands what it's like.

"Do you ever feel like you're in a constant state of drowning?" I ask. My voice cuts through the silence. It's a flat silence out here, all the sound waves eaten up by the span of the land and the air that keeps us humans alive. "Like you're always floating just under the surface?"

I don't look at him, and I'm pretty sure Lake doesn't look at me. "Every day," he confesses.

I nod. I thought so. We've both been touched with loss, and loss stains you for forever. "Do you ever get tired of feeling like that?"

"Every second."

I nod again. "Me too."

CHAPTER TEN

I end up playing phone tag with Mom all of Friday. I call her in the morning, get her voicemail. She calls me back while I'm in the barn and my phone is inside. Repeat four times.

On Saturday, Lake and I work on cleaning out the garage. Organizing things, pressure washing the floors. He changes the oil on my truck, and I go on the hunt through Mom's office for evidence of our financial downfall.

I'm digging through a drawer marked Bills when my cell rings.

"Mom," I say, pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder. "Finally caught you."

"Sorry," she replies, sounding slightly nervous. "I was with Lynda at doctor appointments all day yesterday and had to turn my phone off for most of the day."

"How's she doing?" I pull out some utility bills and start scanning them. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.

"Alright. She's really tired and that's driving her crazy. She doesn't like taking things easy."

"Doctors say if there was a physical reason she had the heart attack?" I ask as I put the utility bills back.

"They said sometimes it just runs in families," she says, her voice shaking slightly. "Sometimes you're just predisposed."

"I've heard that." I pull open another drawer. It's stuffed with papers. It's overwhelming to look at. I lean back in the desk chair and take my phone in my hand. "So, I need to talk to you about something."

It takes Mom a second to respond. I hear her sniff. "I know."

"I opened the mortgage statement," I say. "There was a bunch of mail and it looked like some of them were bills, so I thought I'd better go through them. Mom, it said we were months behind on our payments."

Again, it takes her a few moments to answer me. "I know. Things have been...have been a little tight lately."

I close my eyes and press a finger and thumb into them. "Is there something going on that you haven't told me about?"

She sniffs. I hear her rustling on the other end. Like she's running a hand through her hair, or fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

"Mom, what is it?"

"Oh, Honey, I never wanted to have to tell you this," she says. Emotion weighs heavy in her voice. "I just..."

"Just say it," I demand impatiently.

"Okay," she says with a sigh. "A week after Cal was killed, I answered the phone. No one answered, but I could hear breathing. It didn't take me more than five seconds to figure out who it was."

"Shit," I breathe, rubbing at my temple.

"Language," Mom says absentmindedly. "Anyway, I told him to stop bothering you, that I'd call the cops. Riley, he threatened you. Said if I did call the police that he'd hurt you. It scared me to death." She takes a moment and I can imagine her wiping tears away. "So I asked him what it would take to make him leave you alone. You had just lost Cal, and I knew you couldn't handle him bothering you again. He wanted money."

"You paid him off," I say. I'm a war of emotions on the inside. Anger, pity, appreciation. They're all fighting for control.

"I paid him off," Mom confirms with a sigh. "It wasn't too much at first, but he kept asking for more and more, and saying if I didn't pay, he'd do something to you."

"I could have handled myself, Mom," I say with a slight crack of emotion in my voice. "And no matter the threats, you should have called the police."

"Do you think there is any chance that I was going to risk it?" she says, her voice shrill. "Your father is gone, and you may be an adult, but you're still my baby girl."

My body sags and I let my eyes slide closed. "I know. So how long ago did you stop paying him?"

There's a beat before she answers, and when she does, her voice is hard. "Just a few days before Lake showed up. Honey, there's a reason I was so eager to hire him, even if we couldn't really afford his help, but knowing nothing about him other than that he's a Marine."

"You wanted someone who could handle himself close by," I clarify.

"I feel safer knowing he's there."

I swear, my thoughts going back to the financial disaster at hand. "Why didn't you tell me about this? We're about to lose the ranch, Mom. You've got to remember that I am an adult."

"I know," Mom says, sniffing, her voice cracking.

"So we have three weeks before they start getting ready to kick us out of here?" I say. There's something wrong with my stomach. Like it's either not there, or filled with the weight of the earth.

I hear Mom sigh quietly on the other line. She shifts, like she's either standing up or sitting down. "I didn't want to have to tell you this either, but it sounds like we don't have much choice right now. About two months ago, I was approached by a housing developer. He's interested in the ranch. Well, more than interested. He made me a very generous offer."

"A developer?" I say. My eyes go out to the window that overlooks the pasture. "Like they want to turn the ranch into houses?"

"Afraid so," Mom says. "He's willing to keep the barn intact and one of the arenas. But he wants to put in about twenty homes and turn it into a little country community."

"No," I say, shaking my head, my voice hard. "No. I can't let anyone do that. This is our ranch. This is my home and my land. I'm not letting anyone come in here and fill it up with people who don't give a damn about it."

"Honey," Mom says. Emotion is showing in her voice again and it's rising an octave. "I know this is difficult. No one wants this and it is killing me, knowing what this would do to your dad if he ever knew, but I don't know what else to do."

"You could have told me about this earlier," I say, my voice angry. "I could have helped you. We could have come up with a plan. And now you're telling me it's too late." I hang my phone up and let it drop to the desk.

My face falls into my hands and angry tears well in my eyes. My breaths come in harsh, quick bursts through my nose. Something wicked and hot rises up inside of me, and I whack the jar of pencils and pens off the desk. The glass shatters against the far wall.

My phone dings with a text message, and my eyes drop to it. It's from Kyle.

Just a friendly reminder about tonight. Half of us are already here if you want to join.

My nostrils flare and my chest rises and falls quickly as my eyes stay locked on my phone long after the screen goes dark. Finally, my fingers close around it and I head up to my room.

I shower. I blow dry my hair for once, and curl it. I pull on a denim skirt and a red tank top that shows plenty. Lastly, I pull on my boots that are purely for looks.

When I get outside, I see Lake sitting on his little deck, a bottle of water in one hand.

"Where you off to?" he calls down, his brows drawn together behind his sunglasses.

"To get really, really wasted," I say, my voice sharp with more emotion than I'd like. "And to forget all the shit that is reality."

I open the garage and start digging through my purse for keys. I hear Lake's booted feet clomp down the stairs quickly. They crunch the gravel as he crosses to the garage just as I get into the cab of the truck. The engine roars when I start it, and Lake slips into the passenger seat.

"I don't need a babysitter," I say, even as I start backing out.

"Okay," he says simply. He looks out the window, the scenery reflecting off his aviators.

It isn't a long drive, seven or so minutes. Smitty's is near the middle of town. I park along the curb and climb out. The sky is dimming, the hour stretching toward seven-thirty. The air is cool and fresh, causing goose bumps to flash over my skin. As I approach the door, I can hear the music pounding.

Lake holds the door open for me, and not meeting his eyes, I walk inside.

There are only about fifteen people inside. And I recognize them all. There are five of them at the bar who are older locals. There's Kent, who owns the hardware store. And then nine people I knew well, all from Cedarcrest High School, right here in Duvall.

"Riley!" Miranda calls, holding her beer up and smiling brightly. "We didn't think you were going to come!"

"I had a change of heart," I say. I order a beer for myself and walk over to the long table that's been set up along one side of the building. There's Anita, and Miranda, and Julianna. There's Tom, and Dale, and Kelton. There's one other guy I'm having trouble remembering the name of. And Kyle, down at the end. He tips his beer at me and takes a sip.

I try to discreetly take a look over my shoulder to see what Lake's doing. He's sat at a table by himself. Stacia, the waitress that's worked here for forever, sets a beer on his table before crossing to ours. She gives me my beer and brings a few others for us all.

The conversations keep up around me. Julianna turns to me, leaning in close so I can hear.

"Is that your new guy?" she asks, a smile curling on her face. "He's certainly something to look at."

I take another look back at Lake, catching his eyes. His expression is blank and intense. As it is most of the time.

"He's not mine," I say, looking away. "Just the hired help."

But her last statement hangs on my mind. Is Lake something to look at? I guess he does have that rugged look so many girls appreciate. Five o'clock shadow that's ever present. A scar on his left cheek. Serious eyes. Messy—yet not—hair. Lips that always look just the tiniest bit pursed.

"Too bad," she says, looking back at Lake once again. "He looks like he can handle himself, if you know what I mean."

"Did you forget you're married?" I ask her, annoyance in my voice. I take a hard pull at my drink.

"I may be married, but I am not dead," she says. She reaches out, patting Dale on the back. He flashes her a brief smile before turning back to his conversation with the guys.

Anita looks at me with a bit more sympathy. She's always been understanding. When I meet her eyes, I can see it there. She hasn't forgotten Cal so quickly.

Everyone laughs. They talk. They share old stories from the "glory days." I burn through four beers pretty quickly. Shoot in a story every so often about bonfires we'd have out at the ranch.

One hour here becomes two and rolls toward three.

My insides feel warm. My body loosens up. I don't feel so wound hard and tight. I've been feeling that way for too damn long. The room feels fun and full of energy.

Why didn't I want to come in the beginning?

The clock hits ten o'clock and a bell suddenly rings. A disco ball lights up from the ceiling as everyone cheers and a spotlight turns on to Bessie.

Bessie, the ancient mechanical bull.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the hour has arrived. Everyone who wishes to challenge Bessie is invited to climb aboard," Stacia's voice echoes throughout the building. "Just remember, we're not liable for any injuries. So show us what you've got and have a good time!"

The crowd cheers again and the music cranks up. It's generally a rock or country song, rambunctious and energetic. And usually overly sexual.

"Who's first?" Kyle says loudly. "I've got ten bucks that says nobody can stay on longer than my ten seconds."

"You can't make a statement like that!" Tom goads him. "You haven't even ridden tonight."

"Is that a challenge?" Kyle says, looking up at him, dark and dangerous and drunk.

"Just get on the damn bull," Tom says with a laugh.

We all cheer as Kyle gets up and crosses over to Bessie. He straddles her and signals to Bennett, the owner of Smitty's and the guy who always works the machine.

Bessie jerks back and forth, up and down. Kyle holds onto the strap with one hand, his other waving and jerking through the air. He whoops and hollers as he fights to stay on. The clock on the control machine reaches ten seconds, and the next second, he gets thrown off onto the mat.

"Yeah, baby!" he cheers as he climbs to his feet. He pumps his fists, spit flying through the air, illuminated by the spotlight. "Eleven seconds!"

Tom can't back down now. He climbs onto the bull, just as Stacia brings me my fifth beer.

I should stop soon. But for once, I feel relaxed.

Tom lasts nine seconds. And has to cough up the ten dollars.

Dale refuses to ride, saying something about saving his balls to make children. None of the other guys want to ride.

"Julianna? Riley?" Kyle calls. He stands, walking in our direction, beer in hand. "I know both of you are bad ass enough to take on Bessie."

"I, kind of, can't," Julianna says, biting her lip.

"Why not?" I call, loud and obnoxious. The alcohol has well taken its hold. "You chicken?"

Julianna shakes her head, a smile curling on her face. "Guess this is where we make the announcement. Dale and I are expecting!"

"What?" someone calls out. "Congrats!" another shouts. I hug her, tight, laughing and congratulating her, right in her face, despite my bad beer breath.

"I was wondering why you've been drinking just water all night," Anita says with a wink.

"Thanks everyone," Julianna says with a laugh. "But, I do think we all want to see Riley ride."

"Yeah!" the men cheer, raising their beers at me.

Cold air gusts into the bar as the door opens. I turn and see a group of four guys walk in. They're the midlife crises kind, dressed in black leather motorcycle gear, long ponytails, scruffy beards. They take a look around the bar before sitting at the counter.

One in particular—the one who looks youngest and least scruffy, locks eyes with me. A smile curls behind that beard.

Ignoring his leer, I take one last sip of my beer before setting it on the table. As soon as I stand from my seat, my group cheers. As I walk to Bessie, I catch Lake's eyes. And maybe it's just the alcohol making me see things that aren't real, but I swear there's a hint of concern there.

The song switches and starts singing about having one shot and feeling better, two shots and being on a roll, and doing unspeakable things by the third.

I swing my leg across the bull and my denim skirt bunches up around my panties. Hadn't thought about that.

But what the hell?

The crowd cheers as I wrap the strap around my hand, holding my other up in the air. I smile and laugh as my friends clap and point with smiles. And the countdown begins.

Bessie jerks hard forward, and then backwards. I don't feel as balanced as I should, considering what I do for a living. But then again, I have had five beers tonight. With a hard jerk to the side, I nearly loose it.

And then Bessie makes a weird sound. A grinding and a hissing. And then she's moving in slow motion.

I can only imagine how it must look. Bessie slowly going through the bucking motions, me sitting atop her. My thighs pretty much all exposed. My breasts bouncing up and down under my revealing top. Hair whipping around.

It's easy to see it's a turn on from the reaction of pretty much every guy in the building.

They whoop and holler and whistle.

"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen," Bennett says from the controls. Bessie stops. "Guess that's all the bull can take tonight."

The men inside boo, loud and rambunctious. I laugh as I climb off, pulling my skirt to its rightful place. Tom blows me a kiss and Kyle winks at me. My eyes meet Lake's for just a moment, and there is no mistaking the emotion there right now.

He's angry.

"Can I buy you another drink?"

Suddenly the biker guy who looked at me long and hard before is standing in front of me, looking every surface of my body up and down.

"I'd like to get to know any woman who can break a bull," he says. His tight pants are bulging and he's standing way closer than I want him to be.

"I don't think so," I say with a shake of my head, taking a step back toward my table.

"Come on, Honey." He grabs my arm.

I react on instinct. My fist balls, and I swing.

If I weren't drunk, my aim would have been true. I wouldn't have only clipped him on the cheek. All the same, he stumbles back, his hand rising to his face. Feet scuffle and everyone's attention goes to us.

"You bitch," he says with a chuckle. "That how you like to play it? I can go for rough and dirty. Should have known that's how you like it. Just look at you."

My expression hardens and my fingers roll into fists again.

"She said she wasn't interested."

I look to the left and see Lake on his feet, taking a step toward us.

Damn, he's huge. This asshole in front of me has to be at least six feet, and Lake still makes him look like a kid.

"You her boyfriend?" biker guy challenges, facing Lake.

"This isn't your business, Lake," I say, taking a step toward him, placing myself between the two.

"Drop it, or take this outside!" Bennett yells at us from across the bar.

I look around to see every single eye on us. Kyle is on his feet too, halfway between our table and the scene that we're making. His eyes are livid.

"How about we all get some fresh air?" Lake suggests.

"I wasn't done with my drink," biker guy says, taking another step closer. He's so close behind me, I can smell the musky scent of him. "And I was just getting to know this pretty young thing."

He takes another step forward, and rubs his pelvis against my backside.

Lake is around me in a fraction of a second. I nearly knock myself over as I hazily try to get out of the way and whip around to see Lake, his hand full of biker guy's T-shirt, pinning him against the wall.

"There are some lowlifes in this country who need to learn what a little respect means," Lake says, even and low, his face just inches from biker guys. "She might be drunk, but that doesn't mean you can try to take advantage of her. When she says no, that means no."

"Let go of me," biker guy hisses.

"Alright!" Bennett shouts, his voice loud and booming. "I'm going to give y'all one last warning. Get your tabs paid and your rear ends out of my bar, or I'm calling Sheriff Akins."

That's all it takes for everyone to start dropping money and moving out the door.

Lake stares at biker guy, long and hard, and finally, lets him go. He pulls some cash out of his pocket and drops it on the bar. Without waiting for me to form a coherent thought, Lake grabs my wrist and starts for the door.

My group calls a goodbye and then I'm outside, the fresh air hitting me cold and damp. Instantly, I feel slightly more alert.

"I'm sorry," I say without thinking. Lake lets go of my wrist and opens the passenger door to my truck for me. I climb inside without a word. When he closes my door, I hear him softly swear as he walks around to the driver's side.

I hand him the keys as he closes the door behind him.

The glass feels good as I lean my forehead against it. My stomach is a bit sick. I hold a lot of beer and it's hard to get me truly and deeply drunk, but I'm not far from it tonight.

Lake doesn't say a word as he starts back for the ranch. But I can feel his anger building in the cab. It's thick and heavy and tangible. I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep, but somehow, I'm pretty sure I'm not fooling him.

Lake pulls into the garage and slams his door hard when he gets out. He walks out behind the truck and I hear him pacing. Knowing I haven't succeeded in making him think I was passed out, I sit up and look out the back window.

He walks back and forth, his motions jerky and quick. His hands are on his hips, his lips moving ever so slightly.

Lake isn't one much for words, but he's got plenty to say right now.

My movements slow, I open the door and climb out. I close the door behind me, avoiding Lake's eyes. My boots crunch over the gravel as I walk out toward Lake.

I don't look up as I stand in front of him. Lake stills, facing me. I can feel his eyes on me.

"Just say whatever you've got to say," I tell him quietly.

I hear him take two long breaths through his nose. He kicks his toe into the gravel twice. "I don't really know how to."

Finally, I look up at him. My blood boils hot and fast. "You just open your mouth and words come out," I say, harsh and insolently. "It's pretty simple."

"Fine," he says, his nostrils flaring, his eyes dark. "I know you're mad about shit lately and things seem pretty bad, whatever they are. But what were you thinking, going to that bar tonight?"

I take a step closer to him, getting up in his face. "I was thinking that for once, I'd like to have a good time."

"That's your idea of having a good time?" he asks as his eyes narrow. And it's like I'm seeing all the layers being peeled back in Lake. His eyes come alive. His whole body does.

So this is Lake McCain.

"Getting wasted and having guys with no honor leering at you while you put on a show for them?" He's got one hand on his hip, the other extending out in the direction of town.

"I was not putting on a show," I spit back at him. There's something like shame rearing its ugly head, and I don't want it there inside of me.

"Yes you were, and you know it," he says, giving me disgusted look. "You knew exactly how you looked when you were on that bull."

"And just how exactly did I look, Lake?" I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Like you wanted any guy in your pants and the whole bar watching," he nearly yells. Realizing how loud he's getting, he puts his hands on his hips and takes another long breath through his nose.

"How dare you," I breathe.

"Damn it, Riley," he says, his eyes dropping from mine as he shakes his head. "I know you love Cal, and you miss him, but you're a human being. And I get that every once in a while we just have to act on those feelings. But not like that. I know you're better than that. And I wish you knew that, too."

Emotion swims in my eyes, betraying how unaffected I want to feel right now. My insides start to shake and quiver.

"Why do you care?" I whisper.

Lake's eyes are bright and serious and suddenly seem unsure. His hands tighten at his hips, and he shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

"Because you're the most amazing damn woman I've ever met, Riley," he finally says. His voice is soft and quiet. But it's calm and sure. "Because the thought of any other man touching you makes my stomach sick. But the sight of you treating yourself like less than you are, the way you did tonight, that was about as damn bad as watching my best friend get blown to pieces."

My throat feels tight and tears threaten to fall down my face.

"Why?" I say. The word comes out broken and strangled. "Why would you tell me this? You know..." my voice cuts out as one single tear falls down my cheek. "You know, and Cal... And then you go and say something like that."

Lake takes a step closer to me. He holds my eyes the whole time, firm and steady. There's been a wall up in Lake, keeping me and everyone in the world out, and it just got blown to high noon.

"I do feel like a traitor," he says quietly. "I know it's wrong, and it will never be okay, falling for the woman my best friend was going to marry. But I'm also tired of feeling like I'm drowning. Every damn day. And because I'm tired of watching you drown, too. I wanna breathe again, Riley. And I don't want you to suffocate either."

There is no thought or evaluation behind it. There is only my rush forward and my lips on his.

There is only my hand on his chest, my other on his back, crushing myself into him.

His lips are surprised at first. And then they relax.

They're intense and hungry and consuming and fire.

For just one second.

Before he gently pushes me away. "Not like this," he says, shaking his head.

"What?" I say in a near pant. My heart is racing and my nerves are exploding like fireworks on the fourth of July.

"Not like this," he says again, shaking his head. Just then, the first drops of rain fall from the sky. "Not because you're half drunk. Not because you just realized that there is someone who cares about you and believes in you, Riley. Not like this."

My eyes well harder and my head spins slightly. I'm not sure if it's because of the alcohol in my system or the bomb that's just been dropped on me.

Another tear leaks onto my face as the rain picks up. Without a word, I turn and walk back to the house.

I'm completely soaked by the time I reach the porch. As I open the door, I look back at Lake.

He's still standing there in the driveway. He's completely soaked through, his T-shirt sticking to his huge frame. He holds my eyes, firm, but scared.

And it's obvious that something has changed between us, and it can never be put back the way it was.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I don't wake Sunday morning until it's nearly noon. The second my eyes open, it feels as though my head is going to split in two. Very carefully, I sit up and try not to immediately vomit. With my eyes squeezed closed, I brace my hands on the bed, just trying to steady myself.

Something crinkles under my left hand, and I squint one eye open.

And all my insides disappear.

My fingers close around the now wrinkled picture.

It's Lake and me. From last night. My arms are wrapped around him, his around me. Our lips are together, and I swear there's fire ignited in my belly just looking at the two of us.

But even more present, is the terror.

Because there's a big, red X drawn over Lake.

My hands shake and I flip it over. Sloppy handwriting in the same red marker fills the back of it.

Careful who you find yourself in the company of. Wouldn't want anyone to come between us.

\--Call the cops, and bad things will happen to him.--

A shaky breath works its way out of my chest. My hands tremble so much the picture falls to the ground.

Just two weeks after Cal left on his last tour, I helped out at a 4H show. I'd been working with this girl McKayla's horse, and she wanted me to come to her show. So I went. It was a long, hot day.

There was this guy there, Travis Malone. I barely remembered him the next day, but we'd talked during one of the barrel racing events for all of three minutes. He'd seemed friendly enough, but I hadn't thought too much more about it. I was engaged, and there wasn't anything to it other than talking to someone about horses.

But the next day he called me. How he found my number, I never knew. I kept trying to figure out what it was he was calling about, but it seemed he just wanted to chat.

And somehow I kept bumping into him whenever I went out to run errands.

Over the next few weeks, it became obvious he wasn't just trying to be friendly and make friends. Not when he kept trying to touch me whenever we talked. Not when he kept sending me gifts. Not when he tried to kiss me and slip his hand into my pants while at the back of the feed store in town.

I'd slapped him in the store, I threatened him. And immediately left. I told him to stay away from me. I talked to Sheriff Akins. And for four weeks he left me alone.

And then apparently Mom intercepted that phone call after Cal died. She'd tried to protect me. Until the money ran out.

And now he's back.

He's stalking me again.

The phone calls. The necklace. The chocolates. The flowers.

Travis is back.

My stomach gives a lurch. I dart into the bathroom and lose everything in my stomach into the toilet.

"Hello?" someone calls from downstairs.

It's not Lake.

I sprint back into my bedroom and grab my handgun from my nightstand. Quietly, I creep back to my door and peer downstairs.

"Riley, you home?" they call.

I can't see anything, so one step at a time, I make my way downstairs.

"I can hear you sneaking around," he calls. "If you're naked or something, don't worry, I've already seen your nips and ass many, many times before."

And all the adrenaline in my veins suddenly seeps out of me.

Cause I know that voice.

I hide the gun at the top of the stairs, just as Kyle rounds the corner.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his brows furrowed together.

I know how wide my eyes must look, how my skin must be pasty white and I can feel sweat on my brow. "Nothing," I say, my voice annoyed and shaky as I move past him and into the kitchen.

Eating is the last thing my stomach wants to do, but it's also the thing that will help me to start feeling better. I set to making myself some oatmeal. For a few quiet moments, Kyle simply watches me.

"You don't look so good," Kyle eventually says bluntly as he watches me.

I sit at the table and glare at him. "Right back at you," I say through a mouthful of mush. He's got bags under his eyes and his complexion is opaque.

A little smile crooks on his face. "Yeah. Last night was a bad idea. I was so hung over this morning, I didn't even go in to church."

"Sinner," I say before taking a long pull of some orange juice. My stomach roils against it, but I mentally tell my stupid, freaked out body to keep it down.

Kyle chuckles. "Something like that. But I wanted to come check on you. Make sure you got home okay last night. That guy kind of hauled you out of there in a hurry."

"I'm fine," I say with a shrug. It's a total and complete lie. I've hardly met his eye this whole time.

Kyle crosses the kitchen and starts rummaging through the cabinets for food. He settles on a slice of homemade bread. It's not great. Mine is nothing like my mom's. But it's okay. He butters it, and then slathers raspberry jam from the winter stores.

Food in hand, he sits at the table across from me.

"I noticed what's-his-name isn't around," Kyle says through a mouthful of bread. "This isn't Raelynn's, is it?"

I glare at him, even though I'm smiling. "It's mine. And what's-his-name's name is Lake."

"That's right. Did your drunken self scare him off last night?"

My eyes go toward the barn and his apartment, but of course I can't see through walls. "Didn't know he was gone. Maybe."

Shit.

I have to wonder for a moment, if Lake had been here, would Travis still have gotten into my house? Into my bedroom?

I can feel Kyle's eyes on me, hard and serious. Yep. That's exactly what they are when I meet them again.

"What happened?" he asks. He sets his slice down. His entire body tenses up.

"It's not like that," I say with a shake of my head. There's no way I'm telling Kyle about Travis. He'll do something stupid and land himself in jail. So instead, I'll ignore that and focus on what I can admit.

I scoop my last bite into my mouth, taking my time. Finally, I set my spoon down and look back up at Kyle. "After he took me home last night, he chewed me out pretty hard for the way I acted."

"That wasn't really you last night," Kyle says, his eyes softening. We haven't been together in nearly a decade now, but he's still protective. "It was kind of surprising."

"Yeah, I know," I say. "Anyway, after the reprimand, he told me that he has feelings for me. That he feels guilty about them, because of Cal. They were best friends. Did you know that?"

Kyle shakes his head. "I knew they had a connection, but not the best friend part."

"Uh huh," I continue. I close my eyes, pressing my palms into them. My head is on the verge of exploding. Stupid hangover. Stupid life. "He felt guilty, but he said he was tired of us both being miserable."

"And then what happened?" I hear Kyle take another bite.

"I went and kissed him," I say, dropping my hands and staring at the table.

Kyle apparently inhales his food, because he starts coughing—hard. "Excuse me?" he wheezes.

"I know," I say, shaking my head. "It was stupid, and I was drunk. But then he pushed me away and said 'not like this.'"

"Oh," Kyle says, his whole body calming down. "Guess that means he's a good guy or something, right? Not letting drunk girls kiss him?"

I chuckle and shake my head at him. "What am I supposed to do about this, Kyle? This changes everything. And if he hasn't left, I can't make him leave. I need his help too much and he's really good at his job."

Kyle polishes off his breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever it is at this point. He brushes the crumbs off his hands onto his plate and finally looks back up at me. "I think you need to figure out how you feel about him first. Do you want a relationship with him?"

I swallow hard. "I don't know. I don't think I can. I'm not over Cal, and I don't know that I ever will be. And to be honest, it kind of feels like we only have any sort of connection because of Cal. We're both hurting."

And who knows what Travis will do to Lake if I cross that line? It's something I can't risk.

"He thinks you should be hurting together?"

It takes me a moment to analyze that. "I don't know if it's exactly like that. I think he thinks there's something genuinely there. But pain has a way of blinding you."

"So, none of it's real?" Kyle asks, leaning forward and folding his forearms on the table. "You think it's just residual feelings?"

"I think so," I say with another shrug. "When you're feeling the same kind of hurt, it's easy to mistake it as a false connection."

Kyle looks at me for a long moment. He studies my eyes. Moves to my hair. My lips. But it's an evaluating look. He's been looking at me for a long time. Despite all the hurt in our past, he knows me well.

"I don't know if that's true or not, but you've always had good instincts in the past," he finally says. "You'll know what the right thing to do is." He reaches across the table and places a hand over mine.

It's comforting. And that's nice knowing despite our past, Kyle supports me.

Even if I'm spewing utter bullshit.

I call Mom. She's coming home tomorrow. I'll pick her up from the airport at three o'clock. We'll talk more then. We'll figure how to handle the foreclosure. What to do with the horses. How to ease our lives into the wreckage.

I do not, however, tell her about Travis. Mom's been protecting me all her life, now it's my turn to protect her. I've got to do something about Travis. I just haven't figured out how to handle it yet.

I make myself some dinner around seven, after I've fed the horses. I eat. And then I go out to the barn. Bear and Chico follow me, panting and racing each other back and forth. I sweep the floor. I clean the saddles. I turn the lights on when it gets dark. I brush Radio.

But what I'm really doing is waiting to see if Lake comes back.

That has to be what happened last night. We've both gone through something bad. We've lost a man who meant a lot to us. We're dealing with our issues. And Lake has misinterpreted it as romantic feelings.

It isn't real.

That has to be what I'm feeling.

Because I can't fully deny that there is something inside of me. I feel complicated things when Lake is around. Comfort, excitement, dread, and a whole slew of emotions. But that's all it is. Recognizing kin in pain.

It will pass. We'll both recognize that there isn't anything between us.

So what I will do for now is pretend like it never happened.

And besides, better to deny that there's anything between us, than risk anything and have Lake turn up dead.

That is if Lake hasn't run away from me.

Somehow I'm not really surprised when I hear his truck's tires crunch over the gravel and park at the side of the barn. His door squeaks and then slams shut. Boots on the dirt.

And then he stands there in the entryway of the barn.

His hands are tucked into his back pockets. His shoulders are relaxed. He wears a red plaid shirt and, as always, jeans.

But once again, his eyes are impassive. Those walls that he obliterated last night are back up. Reinforced with steel.

I'm not sure if I'm grateful for that or not. Something does squeeze hard and tight in my chest.

"Dinner with your family?" I ask. My voice is small and unsteady.

He nods.

"Good."

I shouldn't have said that. Like it's good that was the only reason he was gone all day.

"Mom's coming home tomorrow," I say. "I'm picking her up in the afternoon."

"'K," he says.

My eyes drop to his lips. I noticed last night, how they always look slightly pursed. Like he's ever ready for another set of lips to be pressed to his.

"I'm going to head to bed," I awkwardly say, leaning the broom against the wall. "This morning was pretty brutal, so I..." I leave it at that as I awkwardly make my way around him, stepping out the door. "I'm...I'm tired."

His eyes follow me, impassive and empty.

I give a little, weird wave as I start back for the house.

When I get to the door, I look back.

Lake still stands there, watching me from the entrance of the barn. I can't see him well. It's getting dark, and the bright light from the barn casts him in silhouette. But he's gone. Again. The real Lake McCain that I caught a glimpse of last night.

As I close the door behind me, blocking his view, I have to consider how this looks to him. It's one of two ways:

He thinks I was so drunk last night that I don't remember what was said. Alcohol in large quantities has a way of wiping your short-term memory.

Or two—he knows I haven't forgotten what was said or what happened, and I look like a total bitch for completely ignoring the fact that for once, he opened up. He laid his feelings out. And I'm acting like it didn't happen.

I'm not sure which is worse.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mom's head hangs low and she doesn't meet my eyes right away when she comes down the escalator at the airport. She does a little swallow, and her eyes don't rise any higher than my feet.

It breaks my heart, seeing my mom, the sweetest person I know, feeling such shame for something that wasn't her fault. She was just trying to protect me.

And I handled it like a brat.

I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her, hugging her to me tight.

"I'm sorry," she says in a quiet voice.

"It's okay," I tell her, squeezing her tighter. "I'm sorry, too."

The ride home is quiet. We pass through Renton, on to Bellevue, through Redmond, and then into old downtown Duvall.

Just as we pass the library, Mom finally speaks. "That developer, his name is Lance Kipper, he's coming by the ranch this afternoon to talk some more. I just thought I should give you some warning."

My throat instantly tightens. I try to clear it, but nothing happens. I just give a little nod.

When we pull into the driveway, Lake is just dumping the morning's stall pickings into Mom's compost pile. He looks up at us from behind his sunglasses. We park in the garage, and I help Mom haul her suitcase out of the back of the truck.

"Raelynn," Lake says as he takes his gloves off and walks over to her. I'm not sure if I'm surprised or not when she wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. He hugs her back, hesitantly at first. And then completely engulfs her with his huge size. "How's your sister?"

"She's doing much better, thank you for asking," Mom says as she steps back. Just as she does, Jesse's truck rolls up.

"How's Trooper?" she asks as he starts to climb out.

"He's doing really good, actually," I say. I hand Mom's bag to Lake, meeting his eyes awkwardly for just a moment, before turning to go join Jesse. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Sorry I'm so late today," Jesse says as he carries his stuff inside. "The Harrisons had an emergency with their mule this morning."

"Everything okay?" I ask, my brows furrowing together. They only live a half a mile down the road.

Jesse shakes his head, his lips pursing together. "Afraid not. We had to put him down."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say, true dismay in my voice. We've only had to put a horse down once, and it was an awful experience.

"Yeah," he says. He sets his things down just outside Trooper's stall and lets himself in.

It still isn't pretty, but it is slowly closing up. Where it was once a gaping, fleshy hole, it's now only an inch wide and four inches long.

"Very nice," Jesse says, pulling gloves on. He sets about his work.

I should be getting to work, too. But I find myself hesitating, words stuck in my throat.

"Hey, um," I say, trying to dislodge what's there. "You should probably know. You won't be working with us much longer."

Jesse turns and looks at me, his gray-green eyes piercingly bright under his furrowed brow. "Are you firing me?"

"No!" I correct, shaking my head. "Heavens no. You're the best."

He gives a tiny chuckle and the smallest of smiles before his eyes go back to Trooper. "Then what's up?"

I take a deep breath, my eyes wandering about the barn. I'm going to miss this place, and I'm pretty sure nowhere will ever feel like home again. "We're about to go into foreclosure. Mom's meeting with a developer this afternoon who is interested in buying the ranch out."

"What?" Jesse says, disbelief in his voice as he looks back at me again. "I thought things were going good this year."

"I thought so too," I say with a shrug. "But there were some pretty bad things going on behind the scenes that I didn't know about. Mom couldn't break the news to me. So I found the mortgage statement spelling it all out."

"And there's no savings?" Jesse asks. "Nothing left from your dad that you can pull from?"

"Apparently not."

Jesse looks at me for a moment, his eyes darting between me and Trooper. "I could loan you some money," he finally offers with hesitance in his eyes. Because he knows me.

My stomach turns sour.

I've always worked on the ranch. I only ever worked somewhere else for a few months senior year. So I've never really made much of my own money.

But I won't accept anyone's charity.

The James's take care of themselves.

"No," I say, shaking my head once and quick. "Not happening."

"Riley," he says, turning to me fully now, one leg kneeling on the ground, the other bent at a ninety-degree angle. "Is maintaining your pride really more important than keeping your home?"

"This isn't just about me," I say, getting ready to go. "Mom wouldn't ever accept it either."

I walk out, because my blood is rising in temperature.

When Mr. Kipper arrives at three o'clock, all I want to do is run. I want to take Radio, head out on the mountain trail, and just disappear for six solid hours. But this is real life, and I need to be an adult. I've got to deal with this.

We stand with him in the middle of the driveway, where we can best see the majority of the property. Mr. Kipper talks loud and enthusiastically about his plans.

They'll make a grand, country feel entrance at the head of the driveway, which of course they'll have to turn into an actual road, widening it and paving the whole thing. There will be a clubhouse where our house currently is, with a café, and a pool, and "the whole nine yards."

The barn will remain as it is, as will the indoor practice arena and the outside one. The owners of the homes can pay a fee to use the facilities.

Our garage will be torn down. Mom's garden is where the pool will go. They'll spread roads everywhere through the property, splitting everything into two acre home sites. And "this is a compliment to the beauty of our land"—he will be building his own home at the edge of our lake.

My stomach turns in knots the entire time he talks. My fingers ball into fists inside my pockets as he lays out his grand plans on how to destroy my home.

He tells us his offer price. It's even more than the amount he told Mom before. We won't be making out like bandits, but it will give us enough to get a start in a small, suburban home. Or wherever we end up after this.

Where will I go?

I can't even imagine.

"I hope you're as excited about this as I am, Mrs. James," Mr. Kipper says with a huge smile as he shakes Mom's hand. "You have the written offer. When you have had time to look it over and are ready to accept it, just sign the documents and call. I'll come over to collect them and get the ball rolling for you."

"Thank you," Mom says with a pained smile and a nod of her head. When she lets go of his hand, she wraps her arms tight around her waist.

Mr. Kipper extends his hand to me, and I do my best not to try and crush it when I shake it. I try to remind myself that he is not a villain. He is technically saving us from complete financial ruin.

"Please get those back to me by Friday," he says as he starts walking away. "I'd like to get this all moving while we've still got plenty of summer."

How nice. It's June first.

I turn to head for the barn, but Mom's hand catches my arm. "Riley, I'm sorry."

"I know," I say, glancing back at her. My blood is boiling. Something needs to be done about Travis. "It's okay. I just need...I just need to feed Radio, and then I'm going for a drive."

Lies.

Mom does, however, let go of me and I stalk my way to the barn.

I didn't think about what time it is. Four-fifty. Dinner time for the horses. Which means Lake is feeding them right now.

And instantly, the second I see him, as soon as I remember that red X drawn over him—the fire seeps out of me.

Lake doesn't notice me right away, so I stand there and watch him.

He's wearing a black tank, his dog tags clinking slightly as they slide back and forth. His arms flex as he carries the hay bale to the middle of the aisle way. He pulls a knife from his pocket and cuts the twine. Each of the horses gets a thick flake. Trapper gets oats. So does Radio. Just cause he's mine.

"Hey," I finally say, breaking the easy quiet with one breath.

Lake looks back at me as he puts Sir Devil's hay in his feeder. "Hey."

"I guess I need to talk to you," I say, crossing my boots and leaning my shoulder in the door frame. "That developer was by, telling us his grand plans and leaving a written offer. So, it just got real."

He finishes feeding everyone. Lake grabs the twine on the floor and balls it in one hand. "Oh," is all he says.

"We have until Friday to accept his offer," I say, my eyes falling to the ground. "But it looks like there isn't much of a choice. Mom's set on accepting it. I guess it's the right move. Better than foreclosure."

"You don't sound too convinced of that."

I look back up, holding his eyes. They may be impenetrable and unreadable, but they are observant.

I just shrug. "Anyway, this means we're going to start dissolving everything. We'll start calling owners to come pick up their horses soon. So, you can go whenever you want. I guess we don't really have a job for you anymore."

There's a flicker of something there in his expression that says he's thought about this before. And he doesn't like the idea. "You want me to go?"

His question takes me off guard, and for a second, I feel like someone's pulled the rug out from under my feel.

Because suddenly, I realize that no, I don't want him to go.

"There's nothing to stay for," I say quietly.

Long and hard, he stares at me. He chews the inside of his cheek, presses his lips together into a thin line.

I'm seeing a crack in that wall he recently re-erected.

"Doesn't seem that way to me."

I shake my head, feeling emotion trying to surface. "There's no point, Lake," I say. "It's all about to come to an end, so let's just leave it where it is. Okay?" And you'll be safe if you leave, I think to myself.

Lake has seen plenty of war, and there's one going on now inside of him. It's easy as day to see. He doesn't want to leave, and the main reason why is the person standing in my very own skin. But he's also worked this land. He's been happy doing it.

In every unexplainable way, Lake belongs here, too.

But there's no other choice now.

So I save him from having to say anything. I turn and leave.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mom has already started packing up boxes. Thankfully, she's hasn't made it outside her own bedroom walls. But I peek in there and see about five boxes stacked up in one corner of the room. All her knickknacks are in them. There are no more pictures hanging on the walls. Half her clothes seem to already be packed up, too.

I guess this is where Mom finally cracks. The last three years, she's carried on here at the ranch like nothing's been wrong, almost like Dad never died.

But here it is: she's checked out. She's moving on.

People have all kinds of methods to heal. They take as much time as they need. Sometimes they fool you into thinking they're just fine. And then the truth comes out in surprising ways.

I sit on the back porch swing Tuesday night, my arms wrapped around my knees. The days are getting long. It's nine o'clock and it still hasn't quite gotten dark. A cool breeze blows my loose hair around my shoulders. It smells like a ranch, but it also smells like the mountains. Like Douglas fir and pine. Of fresh water and wildlife.

Mom calls a goodnight to me from inside, and I answer back.

A light turns on up in Lake's apartment. I honestly expected him to go today. I figured he'd pack up his things in his truck this morning and leave. Yesterday was supposed to be payday, and I could only scrounge up the cash to pay him half of what I owed him. He refused it.

But he didn't go. He carried about his chores and duties like nothing had changed. And in the evening, he went upstairs by himself for the night. Just like he does every normal day.

Lake still doesn't leave on Wednesday. We both carry on like nothing's different. I work with the horses. He tends to the stalls and the feeding of the animals. Bear and Chico are always underfoot.

Mom keeps packing. She's moved on to the living room. But she's only packing her most personal things. Gifts from friends. Pictures of her and Dad. My baby pictures. Knickknacks she either made or bought as we moved around the country with Dad. She carefully wraps them and packs them away. Our entire lives put in a box, to be unearthed who knows when and who knows where.

Thursday arrives, and by afternoon, Mom will start calling owners of the horses. She'll tell them they can either pick their animals up, or we can bring them home to them.

That will be the final defeat. Cause as soon as she makes that first call, there's no going back that we're selling the ranch.

All morning, I'm fighting tears. My eyes keep getting itchy, and two seconds later they swim in moisture. I feel angry and disappointed and betrayed in a way I can't really explain. I head out to the barn and let myself into Radio's stall.

I wrap my arms around his thick neck. His smell is comforting, and there is no one more understanding than a horse. He nuzzles my back, his whiskers scratching across my T-shirt.

My one hand grabbing a handful of his mane, my other braced on his wide hindquarters, I hoist myself up onto his back. I lay on my stomach across him, my cheek pressed into his mane. I let my arms hang down and my fingers trace little patterns on his muscular shoulder.

I can let all these other horses go. It really won't even be that sad having to sell Mom's horse, Dakota. She doesn't do much with him anymore. But Radio? He's my child. He's an extension of me. How could I ever say goodbye to him?

"I have an idea."

I look up, moving my head only slightly, to see Lake standing at the entrance to the stall. His hands are on his hips, his eyes bright for the first time in a while.

"Yeah?" I reply flatly.

He nods, taking a few steps forward until he's in the stall.

"I've been doing some research and some asking around. I was looking at your dad's car a few days ago," he says this, looking slightly uncomfortable, like he's pretty sure I'm not going to like whatever he's about to say. "A Shelby like that is one of the most sought after classic cars out there. I know it doesn't look like much, but people put a lot of time and money into finding cars like that one."

I slowly sit up, straddling Radio. "Are you suggesting we put it up for sale? We only have twenty-four hours. That's never going to be enough time."

Lake shakes his head, his eyes brightening cautiously. "I'm saying I've already got a buyer. And he's willing to pay $40,000 for it. Is that enough to save the ranch?"

My heart picks up, thundering in my ears.

I will feel guilty doing this. That was Dad's pride, having such a rare gem. That was his goal, to get it restored. But then he died. He'd never see it restored to full glory. I had always planned to get it fixed up to honor him. But that never happened.

This could be our chance. Dad would have sold it if it meant saving our home.

I nod my head as moisture pools in my eyes. "Yeah," I whisper. "It is. And then some."

"I've got an idea for that extra," he says, the smallest of a smile pulling on that right side of his mouth.

"I'm listening," I breathe back.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

By that evening, Lake has taken Dad's car to the buyer and brings home the check. Friday morning, Mom and I both take it into the bank. We get settled with our mortgage. I turn my face away while she's on the phone so she won't see the tears that are slowly running down my face.

They're happy tears.

We aren't out of the woods. We'll need to come up with a way to make more money to stay afloat. But we've bought ourselves some more time.

And I make Mom promise me that she'll never give Travis another dime.

On Monday, Lake sits down with me and Mom. I'm surprised that he's come with a notebook. The pages are filled with scribbles I can barely read, but it's obvious he's put a lot of thought into this.

"I've been doing some research," he says as we sit at the dining table. "And I've never run a ranch before, so maybe I'm just way off the marker. So feel free to tell me to just shut up."

He meets my eyes, and a smile starts pulling on my face.

"But I've come up with three ideas about how you might start making some more money," he says as his eyes drop down to his notebook. "I know you don't love doing it," Lake says, directing the statement at me. "But I've looked and called around, and there's hardly anyone who teaches riding lessons around here. Seems like there's a demand for it. What if you started teaching riding lessons twice a week or something? Private lessons aren't cheap."

I chew on my lower lip, my eyes fixed on the notebook. There's two words I can decipher. Riley in?

I don't particularly love being around people. I get frustrated with people who are idiots around horses. I'm not a great teacher.

But...

"Yeah," I finally say, nodding my head. "I can do that. If it means keeping us afloat."

Mom looks over at me with a smile. She places a hand on my knee and gives it a little wiggle-shake.

"Yeah?" Lake says with a little breathy chuckle. "I mean, I know you're pressed for time with the training, but I figure if I start helping with the part where you make the horses run in a circle, that will help. And I'll pick up anything else I can."

"The lunging?" I ask, a smile in my voice.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "That's it. And I can get the tack and put it away and everything."

I press my lips into a thin line, containing the smile that's threatening to spread. I just nod.

"'K," he continues. "My next idea will take some money to get it rolling. What about building another barn and boarding horses? People would just keep them here, and you could rent out time in the arena or the pasture. No time effort on your part. Just let them use the facilities."

"How much would that cost?" Mom asks, caution in her voice. "We don't exactly have much extra. That's kind of why we're in this mess in the first place."

Lake nods and turns his eyes back to the pages. He flips one and I can see numbers and materials written out. "I had Kent help me price it all out, if we just built it basic, but functional. If we can get people to donate the labor, it would only take a weekend and about $15,000."

Once we paid off the last few months' mortgage and paid next to give us a little bit of breathing room, we only have $18,000 left over. It's an uncomfortably big part of our leftovers.

"Do you think we could get people to help out?" Lake asks. "I mean, I'm certainly going to work on it every minute you don't need me elsewhere, and I know I could get Drake and my dad to come help. And I think Kale's going to be home this weekend. Julian might even be willing to swing a hammer." He says this last part with a little smile.

It's hard to picture, Julian with a hammer.

But I appreciate it nonetheless.

"You know Jesse will be over here in a heartbeat," Mom pipes up. "Sheriff Akins would probably come over. I could probably wrangle up some people from church. I'm sure even Kyle would come help."

Lake nods as Mom starts listing off people who might be willing to lend a hand. Both their eyes shift over to me.

"Yeah," I say with a nod. Something lifts inside of me as we discuss all this. Something that was heavy and dreadful. These are good ideas. There's no guarantee, but they're good. "Yeah, I think we could make this work."

"I can start hauling the supplies later this week," Lake says. His voice picks up an octave. He's excited.

Which surprises me. He's just an employee. One I thought I let go. He shouldn't have to be doing research and figuring out how to save us. But he's going above and way beyond.

"My last idea," Lake says as he flips the page. "Is hosting events. There's town hall, but other than that, there really isn't anywhere in Duvall to host big, outdoor events."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "What kind of events?"

"Family reunions," he starts, referring to his pages. "Corporate picnics. Stuff like that."

"What about weddings?" Mom suggests. "Didn't you say Dania at the hardware store is getting married next month? What if we suggest it to her?"

I shake my head and shrug. "I guess," I say. This is a concept that I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around. Would people really want to use our place for fancy parties? "It couldn't hurt."

"You wouldn't have to do stuff like that very often," Lake says. "But I looked up some comparable places and they rent out for over a thousand a night. Some way, way more if they're nice enough."

I don't know that we're nice enough. We're a simple ranch. We're rustic and functional. But I guess we have a certain measure of charm.

"Let's do it," I say with a smile as I nod. "All of it."

____

The next few days are somewhat organized chaos. Mom makes flyers to advertise the riding lessons. I post them online. In the first twelve hours of all that being up, I get three calls and schedule three lessons.

I teach Lake how to lunge the horses. It isn't hard. It just takes strong arms and hands, which he is not lacking. He already knows how to brush the horses and pick their hooves. He's surprisingly natural at it all. Every prep thing he can do for me is minutes I don't have to spend on it. It's valuable time I can be working on training or lessons.

Lake starts picking up supplies from the hardware store. I use the tractor and level out the spot where we will build the new barn, right at the edge of the pasture. Someone comes to do the concrete. Mom goes to work on the flower beds, weeding, edging, planting. Anything she can do to make the place nicer.

We start scouring online ads for old picnic tables, regular outdoor tables, and chairs. Anything cheap or free that we can fix up ourselves to use for outdoor events. We also find a beautiful pergola that would work perfectly for weddings.

Mom turns into a painting, staining, sanding, weeding maniac.

Things must just be going right, because on Thursday morning, I get two referrals from Jesse. People looking for a trainer for their horses. They drop them off Thursday night.

For a few minutes, I panic. I've already been working long days before we added all this. That's why we had to bring Lake on. How will I balance all this?

And then I look out in the yard and see Mom working, her hands quick and skilled. I see Lake stacking lumber.

I don't have to do it all alone. I have them.

We can do this.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

There is no training or riding Friday. The entire day, Lake and I spend framing the new barn. Jesse comes over for a few hours in the evening, and surprisingly, so does Anita. Together, we get the entire building framed.

It's straightforward, nothing special to it. But it'll do the job.

I set my alarm for six-thirty Saturday morning. I change into work clothes and walk downstairs to find Mom cooking up a storm in the kitchen already.

"If they're going to help out for free, the least I can do is feed them all," she says as she hands me over a plate. I smile at her and start piling food on it.

A few minutes later, Lake walks in, dressed to work. "Morning," he says.

"Morning," Mom says back cheerily. "Eat up. The first shift of troops should be here soon."

Lake and I sit across the table from one another. I fork some homemade pancakes into my mouth.

"How'd we do on all the lumber and materials?" I ask.

He takes a second to finish chewing his bite. "Everything came in at just under thirteen thousand. I'm sure I'm going to have to run back for a few things today, but we should come in a thousand, at least, under budget. And that includes the concrete Rocky poured."

"That's great," I respond.

And just then, there's a knock at the front door.

"Got it," I say, stuffing another bite into my mouth and getting up from the chair. I open the door and find Drake, Kyle, Jesse, and someone who must be Lake's father standing there.

"I hear someone needs extra hands," he says. He smiles, lopsided as all his sons.

"Good morning," I say to everyone as I open the door wide and let everyone in. "Mom's got breakfast for a small army made, so go eat up."

"At least if she's summoning her minions she's feeding us," Kyle says as he heads for the kitchen. Jesse follows him, giving me a small smile as he passes by. I turn to see Lake standing behind me, watching us all. I hear Mom greet Kyle warmly. She's moved past our damaged past, too. She also has a hug for Jesse.

"I'm Robert McCain, by the way," the man who had to be the sire of such wonderful boys says. He smiles as he extends his hand. I take it, giving him a firm shake.

"It's really nice to meet you," I say. "It's very generous of you and your family to help us out so much."

"I'm just happy to be of some use," Robert says, putting an arm across my shoulders and pulling me to his side like it's the most natural thing in the world. "All these kids of mine seem to think I'm old and frail. Won't let me do anything these days."

"You are old and frail," Lake teases, that lopsided smile of his on his lips.

"I could still do one handed push-ups up until about two years ago," he says, a gleam in his eyes. "I might have to use both hands now, but I am nowhere near frail."

"Come on, Grandpa," Drake says, placing a hand on his father's shoulder and leading him toward the kitchen. "Let's get you some food before you get cranky."

"You see how these kids treat me?" Robert says, winking at me before they all pile into the kitchen.

Lake meets my eyes when everyone's walked in to be fed and gives a little smile. I can't help but give one back.

Lake and I head outside while everyone else eats. The new barn is a skeleton right now, just frames and bones. But it's beautiful. The sun breaks over the mountain, illuminating the morning with brilliance.

"Thank you," I say, sliding my hands into my back pockets. "You really saved this place. I'll never be able to repay you for that."

"Maybe we're just about even then," he says, looking over at me.

In a move that is braver than I thought I was, I close the small distance between us, and wrap my arms around his waist. He stiffens for just a moment, caught off guard. And then he relaxes, wrapping his arms around me, one hand on my back, the other on the back of my head.

It's hard, trying to be tough and strong all the time. It's hard holding yourself together when everything just keeps trying to tear you down.

So it's incredibly nice to have someone hold me, for just a moment. Even nicer that it's Lake, who I trust and know I can rely on. Always.

Lake runs his hand slowly up and down my back, sending goosebumps flashing across my skin. His chest muscles tighten and flex just slightly when he does that. His hand on the back of my head is warm and comforting.

I'm listening to the sound of Lake's heartbeat, smelling the clean and crisp scent of him that mixes with the smell of the mountain and trees and the ranch.

Home is the word that comes to mind, right here in this moment.

And I feel peace.

"Let's get this thing erected!"

I step away from Lake and turn to see Kyle walking across the lawn toward us. He's got a smug smile on his face that says he knows the awkward joke he made while I was wrapped up with another man. I shake my head at him when he gives us a wink.

I look back at Lake and feel my cheeks blush. He looks back at me, and there's a small, peaceful smile on his face too.

Slowly, everyone comes out, and Lake and Robert take charge.

We finish framing. Walls tall enough for horses. The building will be long enough to house a dozen of them. It's wide enough that there's a twelve-foot overhang for an event area. We install posts. Start on the siding.

The sun rises, heading toward noon.

Mom keeps running back and forth, bringing water and lemonade and snacks.

Around eleven-thirty, two more figures start walking out toward us. I shield my eyes from the sun and squint in their direction.

"I was starting to think you softies weren't going to show," Lake calls from inside. It's going up surprisingly fast. We'll be ninety percent finished, at least, by the end of the day with the additional hands.

"I would have been here sooner, but Kale refused to rise from the dead until about thirty minutes ago," Julian says with a smile as they walk up. I take my gloves off and walk over with Lake.

"Give me a break," Kale says. "I just flew in from Japan last night. I didn't get to their house until about midnight."

"That's still nearly eleven hours of sleep," Julian says, shaking his head with a smile.

"Ever heard of jetlag? And they don't call it beauty sleep for no reason," Kale responds as he winks at me. "Morning, beautiful."

"Morning," I reply awkwardly with a little smile. It's hard not to laugh at the two of them. They're both wearing jeans that look like they cost more than my truck is worth. Kale is wearing this plaid shirt and a white undershirt. But his entire outfit looks brand new.

Julian wears a T-shirt advertising some band named Suit. His arms are exposed, revealing the endless tattoos that sleeve them both.

It's kind of hard imagining Sage, who is so put together and sophisticated, falling for this guy that's covered in tattoos and definitely looks like a bad boy.

I guess some people just find love in unexpected places.

"Well, don't just stand around, let's get this done," Lake says, nodding his head back toward the work.

I go back to helping put up the siding and Lake heads to the roof to help his dad, Jesse, and Drake put down the plywood. Julian and Kale awkwardly try to help me. They don't have any clue as to what they're doing, but they're making a good effort.

It only takes about ten minutes of work before Kale takes his shirt off. It doesn't seem to faze him, like this is his natural state. His brothers, dad, and brother-in-law don't even seem to notice.

A half hour later, the group from church shows up, along with Sheriff Akins, his wife, and Anita. Mom brings out lunch, we take a quick break to eat, and then we're back to work.

With so many hands, it's all coming together really quick. By two o'clock, we get the siding all up. One of the church guys, an electrician, gets all the wiring run for the lights and power done.

Sweat drips from my brow as the hour stretches toward five o'clock. I took my T-shirt off long ago, wearing a tank top only. Most of the guys now have taken off their shirts. It's certainly not a bad sight. I keep catching Anita checking Kale and Lake out. I know inwardly, she's been having a total freak-out at having the Kale McCain here in the flesh. Exposing lots of it.

I look out toward the house when I hear the door close and see Mom walking toward us with others around her. As they get closer, I recognize Kaylee. She's accompanied by a woman who looks just like an older version of Sage, and a girl and a boy. Mom carries another little girl on her hip, and Lake's mom carries another.

"Well, look at this!" Lake's mom calls when they get close. "My boys working as a team, giving service like the little angels they are."

Everyone chuckles, and I smile at them as I take my gloves off and walk over.

"You must be Riley," she says with a smile. I'm about to extend my hand for a shake, when she just ignores it and pulls me into a hug. "Lake's told us about you."

"Not a whole lot," Kaylee says as she hugs me too. "Cause as you know, my brother isn't one much for words. But it's all been good."

"I don't know that it's really all good, but it's nice of you to say that," I say with a chuckle. "And, yes, I'm Riley. You must be Mom to the clan."

"That's one way to put it," she says with a chuckle. "My name is Robin."

"Well, thank you for lending me your boys today. We really appreciate it."

"Yes, we do," Mom says, cooing to the little girl she's holding. She has white-blonde curls, a halo around her head. She looks like she's just over a year old.

"And who's this?" I ask as I reach out and shake her little pudgy hand.

"That's Quinn," Kaylee starts introducing. "And Mom has Afton. They're eighteen months old. And that little monster trying to help the guys out is Lucian. He's almost four."

I look after him. He's got a hammer and is chasing Kale around with it. Kale screams dramatically and runs away. Lucian then turns on Julian. He's got the lot of them laughing.

"And this is Paisley," Kaylee introduces the young lady standing at her side.

"I'm six," she says quietly, like she's shy, but wants to be a part of our adult conversation.

"Would you like to see my horse, Paisley?" I ask, because her eyes keep darting toward the barn.

Her face breaks out in a huge grin, and she nods vigorously.

We cross over to the barn. I look over my shoulder once as we go and see Lake watching us from the entrance to the new barn. He gives me one wink before going back inside.

Something gives my heart a quick, little kick.

"This is where you work, all the time?" Paisley asks as we walk between stalls. I introduce her to each horse as we go.

"Yep."

"Lucky."

We all have a laugh at that.

"And this is Lady," I introduce her to the stout little mare. "She's getting a lot better. I bet in another two weeks, you could ride her."

"Really?" the little girl asks, her eyes brightening up. "I've always wanted a horse. I asked Santa last year, but all he brought was a stuffed one."

"Aw," I say sympathetically as I look up at Kaylee. She barely resists rolling her eyes and gives a little shake of her head. "Well, I'll be sure your Uncle Lake gives you a call the second Lady is ready for you to ride her."

"Can I sit on any of the other ones?" she asks.

"Of course," I say, leading them all back to the end. "This is Radio. I've had him since he was born. Come on in."

Paisley is nervous at first, unsure of where to hang on or what to do with her feet. But soon she's comfortable and patting his neck as she talks to him.

"I'll never get her to come home now," Kaylee says with a laugh. Outside, we hear Lucian give a terrible, barbaric yell. It startles some of the horses, but never Radio.

"Little girls and horses just go hand-in-hand," Mom says as she lets Quinn pet Trapper's nose.

"That they do," I say.

Everyone heads home around seven. What has been a ruckus chorus of saws and hammers all day, is now a quiet ranch again. Mom feeds Lake and I dinner before heading to her room to call Lynda.

The two of us walk back out to the stalls. It's simple. It stretches wide and there are little windows opening in to each stall from the overhang. We used wood arches as braces to make it look nice and higher end. On one end is the main entrance. Lake opens the door for me, and we walk down the aisles slowly.

Warm wood lines every wall. It's all so fresh and new and smells of cedar and straw. Just this morning, we got a call from someone looking for a place to board their two quarter horses.

Silently, Lake and I work together to get the straw lain out in the stalls. The sun shines through the door, casting us in a golden glow.

"This place turned out really amazing," I say when we're finished as I lean against the wall, one booted foot flat against it.

"It all came together pretty nice," Lake says, observing the space around us. It's all finished, except for the shingles on the roof. We'll finish that on Monday. "It was nice so many people showed up to lend a hand."

"Yeah," I say. The back of my throat feels tight. It's easy to forget that people in this world still have kindness in them. Being on the receiving end of it is humbling.

Lake takes the American flag he brought out with us and hangs it above the stalls. As I look at it, a tear leaks out one corner of my eye and rolls down my face.

Dad would be so proud.

When Lake looks back at me, he freezes, his eyes locked on me.

We stand there for a moment, him looking at me. He's seeing into a deep part of me, a place I keep hidden and don't show anyone. And I find myself wishing I could get another rare glimpse into him as well.

"Thank you for this," I say, my voice small and quiet. "This was all you. You didn't have to, and no one asked. But you did it. And for that, I'm grateful."

Lake slides his hands into his pockets and takes a few slow steps toward me. His eyes drop to the ground at our feet. "You know, for a long time, I've felt like I didn't really matter. If that makes any sense. Being in the Marines helped some. But you know that feeling of emptiness?" he looks up at me, his eyes opening up in a way that I can see. And I do know. "It was always there. But being here lately? It's changed that. I love what we do here. I love working the ranch and the long days and the feeling that I'm doing something good. That I'm doing something important."

He takes two more steps toward me. He's close enough that I can smell him now. The sweat of the day. The scent of his shampoo from this morning. And something that is so Lake that it sends my head spinning.

"But it's not just the ranch and the work, Riley," he says quietly. His voice is low and warm, just like the day outside. "It's you, too. When I'm around you, I feel like I matter."

Something builds inside of me, something that resembles a thousand hooves beating across the fields at sunrise.

One slow, carefully thought out step at a time, he closes the space between us. He places a hand on the wall on either side of my head, boxing me in. His eyes study my face. My cheeks, my nose, my lips. His face is so close.

Something in my blood jumps to life, and I'm staring at his mouth.

"What's holding you back, Riley?" he finally says. His voice is low and rough. And there's a mountain of unspoken words behind it. "Why won't you let yourself go?"

My eyes climb back up to his. We study each other, and everything in me feels fuzzy and ignited.

I want to let go. I want to fly and to break free and to surface and soar.

But.

But.

But that picture of us with the red X over Lake flashes through my mind again.

"Because I've let myself go too many times and it's exploded every one of them," I say, going against everything in me. "You only take so many chances before you call it quits."

The moments between us stretch on long and intense as our eyes remain locked. His eyes are guarded, but there is a pinprick of an opening in them, letting me see deep and long.

We're both standing behind shields. He wants to lay his down, but I just can't.

Slowly, with control and training behind it, he leans forward. His lips brush over my cheek, lingering long. Every nerve ending in my body goes crazy. Something in me is going to explode. Something in me is going to fly. My eyes slide closed and my breath catches in my chest.

I want to let go. I want to breathe and let my emotions take control.

But.

But.

Without saying anything, Lake backs away. He brushes the back of his fingers across my other cheek, holding onto my gaze for just a moment longer.

And then he turns and walks out.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

We work up a new schedule.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are for training. I work all the horses. Saddle training, work with problem areas, exposure to touch. Whatever they need.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are for riding lessons. I'm up to five clients in just a few days. At an hour each, they eat up half my day. After that, it's teaching Lake more horse skills. Riding, how to saddle, bridles, anything and everything. He's an amazing student. And there's also helping Mom in the yard.

By the end of the first week, we've already filled half the boarding stalls. It's a beautiful thing that I don't have to do a thing with them, other than making sure that Lake gets them fed every morning and night. Not that I have to make sure he does his job.

Within two weeks, we've already brought in more money than we did all of last month.

By the time July first rolls around, I'm confident that we've got this.

We had to change our game plan. We had to step it up, and I had to put in a whole lot more hours, but we've got this.

I head inside after another fifteen hour day, my body tired and sore. I take some leftovers from the fridge, warm them up and am about to head up to my room when I hear Mom call for me.

"Can I talk to you for a while?" she asks when I walk inside the office.

"What's up?" I say around a mouthful of casserole.

She looks nervous, but there's also another emotion behind her eyes that I can't quite decipher. "I wanted to talk to you about something I've been thinking about the last few weeks."

"Okay," I say. I fork another bite of piping hot mush into my mouth.

"You've worked your heart and soul into this ranch ever since we bought it," she says with a smile. Crow's feet spread out from the corners of her eyes when she does that, reminding me that she's getting older and slowing down. "And the work that you and Lake have been doing here the past month has been incredible. I never thought we could get this scale of an operation going on here. I'm really proud of you, Riley."

This is weird. Mom doesn't usually make speeches like this. This is leading somewhere important. And suddenly, I'm unsure I want to hear the rest.

But Mom continues on regardless.

"I've decided to hand the ranch over to you, Sweetie," she says, that nervousness creeping back up in her eyes again. "Your aunt Lynda could use some more help. She's lonely, and I do miss her. I've decided to move in with her. Permanently."

"What?" I ask, setting my food aside finally. "Like, you wouldn't be coming back?"

"Of course I'll come visit sometimes," she says. She rolls her chair forward and takes one of my hands in hers. "But yes, I'd live back in Virginia again full-time. And James Ranch will be yours."

"But, I—"

"Sweetie, this is long overdue," Mom says, squeezing my hand and giving it a little shake. She's not going to let me try and talk her out of this. "You're twenty-six years old. You can't keep having me over your shoulder your whole life. And this is your life. We bought this place because of you. It's where your heart is. This is what you're meant to be doing with your life. And now, I need to let you live your life."

"Mom," I say, at a complete loss for words.

"You can do this," she says with a smile. "This is your time to shine."

I swallow hard. I feel excitement in my blood, strong and warm. But I also feel terror.

I've always had her to fall back on. She's always been there to catch me when I fall. And I've fallen so many times.

But I've always known that I needed to do this on my own.

And now is my time to fly.

"Okay."

She teaches me how to do the bookwork. We call all of our clients together, letting them know I am taking over the ranch. We start the paperwork to legally switch the ranch over to my name.

And within a week, Mom packs her things up. She ships them to Lynda. She sells her truck.

She claims we couldn't have a goodbye at the airport because we'd make too much of a scene. So she arranges for a cab to pick her up and take her to SeaTac.

We give each other tearful goodbyes. It's taking everything I've got in me to not break down and sob. To try and tell her she needs to stay.

But she's right. It's time. This is where I want and need to be.

It's time to live my life as an adult and take charge.

So I watch her roll down our driveway in the cab.

Lake stands at my side as we watch her go.

And without thinking, I slip my hand into his.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It's hard.

Long days. Hot sun. Humidity. Chaotic running between lessons and training and figuring out the office stuff. I've never had to be the face of the ranch before. And now it's all on me.

But over the next month, we flourish.

Lake and I are so busy keeping everything running that we don't have a spare second to analyze feelings. We just work.

Constantly.

By the time we get to the end of July, we've made enough that I can hire a bookkeeper. Numbers are not my strong point, and if I continue to handle the financials, we won't make it. That takes one responsibility off my shoulders.

Surprisingly, Lake takes on a huge amount of accountability for the ranch on as well. He carries the phone around with him everywhere and answers it when it does ring. He gets new clients. He schedules my lessons. When people want to host events here, he handles it. He talks to people while I'm out working.

He also takes over Mom's vegetable garden. Good thing, because under my care, it would have died.

If I were to lose Lake as an employee, there's no way I'd be able to continue working the ranch. We would go under without him.

I've just sat down on the couch for two seconds at the end of the day on a Thursday in August, when the phone rings. Thankfully for my exhausted feet, the phone is within reach and I grab it off the end table.

"Hello," I say when I recognize Jesse's number.

"She hasn't disappeared into horse land oblivion," he says with a chuckle. "I wasn't sure if I'd ever get you on the phone again."

"Yeah," I say with a chuckle. "Things have been pretty busy around here."

"That's a good thing," Jesse says. "Hey, I wondered if you'd do me a favor. My cousin is getting married on Saturday, and he's kind of a jackass, so if I don't show up with a date I will never, ever hear the end of it. Would you like, pretend to be my date? Think you could stand to be around me for an entire evening?"

"Wow, I didn't know it was that much of a problem," I say with a laugh. "I was pretty sure I could stand to be around you, all the time."

"Sorry," he says, his voice sounding uncomfortable. "I nearly psyched myself out of asking. I guess this is why I'm still single. Smooth isn't exactly my middle name."

I laugh with him, even though I'm exhausted and tired. "Uh, yeah, why not? For the first time in weeks, I don't have anything pressing on my schedule Saturday. What time?"

"I'll pick you up at four?" he says. It's easy to hear the appreciation in his voice.

"See you then."

The air is hot Friday night. The temperature reached ninety-seven, with eighty percent humidity. Since it doesn't normally get this hot in the summer, we don't have an air conditioning unit. The windows are all open in the house, fans blowing, just trying to stir the air up.

So, at two-sixteen a.m., when someone yells out in the night, I hear it.

I'm familiar enough with his voice that I know it's Lake.

And he sounds like he's in pain.

I scramble from the bed, darting down the stairs, through the back door. I sprint across the gravel with bare feet. My feet pound his wooden stairs as I dart up and into his apartment.

I hear him swear in the darkness and I switch a light on. Faintly, I can see his figure sitting at the edge of his bed, cradling his hand.

"What happened?" I ask as he looks over at me.

His brows are drawn together as I walk toward him. He seems slightly confused, still half asleep, half in agony. 'Cause when I look down at his hand, it's covered in blood.

The ceramic lamp that normally sits next to his bed is shattered, pieces on the table and across the floor.

"What happened?" I ask again as I duck into the bathroom, looking for anything to bandage his hand. Thankfully, under the sink, I find a first aid kit. Grabbing a rag and wetting it, I walk back into the bedroom.

"There was..." he pants. I then notice the sweat that covers his brown. "An explosion. Shrapnel—everywhere."

I squat in front of him and gently take his hand. He flinches back from me, his eyes still wild and not fully awake.

"Lake," I say, my voice firm but even. "It was a dream. You're not in Iraq anymore. You're here. With me. At home."

His eyes lock on mine, and slowly, slowly, they start to focus.

As I take his hand once more and start dabbing at the blood, he looks around. "I'm...I'm sorry about the lamp. I'll get a new one."

"Don't worry about the lamp," I say, shaking my head. "Are you okay? That must have been a pretty intense flashback you were having."

His head drops and with his uninjured hand, he rubs at his eyes. "Yeah."

The excess blood wiped away, I take a bandage and put it over one of the cuts. I then cover the other. It isn't too bad. Not bad enough for stitches.

"Was it about Cal?" I ask. I'm still holding his hand, even though I'm done cleaning it up. It takes me a moment, but I'm finally brave enough to look up at him.

His eyes are on the broken pieces of lamp on the bedside table. They're unfocused, like he's seeing it all again.

I swallow hard and think of the urn of Cal's ashes that sits on his parent's mantle, just under his framed flag.

"Here," I say. "Lay back down. Get some sleep."

He does lay down, and I pull the sheet up over him.

Just as I start to walk away, he grabs my wrist.

"Will you stay?" he asks. His hold on my wrist is firm enough I won't get away, but gentle enough to tell me he'd never hurt me.

I hesitate. Everything in me tenses, pulling tight and itchy. But that look in his eyes, like Lake's two millimeters from the edge of something dark and sharp—I can't walk away.

So I climb into bed with him. I pull him into my chest, barely able to wrap my own arms around his giant shoulders. I rest my cheek on the top of his head. Feel him breathe.

Softly, I hum him the lullaby Dad used to sing to me when I was little. I can't remember more than a few words, but the tune is soothing and calm.

Lake clings to me, hard. And I hold him as he drifts back to sleep.

"Lake, have you seen Riley?"

My eyes flash open and I sit up, just as Kyle walks into the apartment.

Lake jerks into a sitting position, his hands reaching for a sidearm that isn't there.

With wide eyes, I look back at Kyle.

"Ho! Sorry," he says, turning away from the two of us. "I, uh. I was just looking for you, Riley. I brought by that stuff. It's down in the garage."

I swear under my breath and climb out of the bed. I glance over my shoulder to see Lake pulling a shirt on.

"I thought you were going to call before you came over," I say, standing in the middle of the kitchen awkwardly.

"I did call," he says, eying Lake with an indecisive look. "You didn't answer, so I figured you were out working. I walked around for a minute and couldn't find anyone inside or out. Are you sleeping with him now?" Just like that, he whiplashes back to the awkward situation at hand.

"It's none of your damn business," I snap, my voice quiet. I look back and see Lake watching us with caution in his eyes. "Thanks for bringing it by. I'll see you later."

"No problem," Kyle says, never taking his eyes off Lake. To my complete surprise, he leans forward, and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. "See ya later."

My eyes grow wide, and I stiffen up, taking a half a step back as I watch Kyle leave.

That was weird. And so out of place.

It takes a full minute before I can turn and look back at Lake with guilty eyes.

He looks at me, long and hard. It's hard to tell what's there.

But I don't have to wait long to find out.

"So I guess that's the real reason why," he says, his voice low, but with a sharp edge to it.

"That was—"

"You know what, I don't want to hear it," he says, shaking his head as his eyes narrow. "I keep hanging on to one little shred of hope, thinking maybe someday, if I'm patient enough, that you'll see that there is something between us, and that it's real. But I can see now that I've been an idiot."

"Who do you think you are, acting like you've got some kind of claim over me?" I spit, taking four aggressive steps toward him.

"I don't have any claim over you," he says, his voice rising as well. "Hell, every man on the planet wants you, but you just keep your head down and pretend that you don't have a heart. That you don't ever have the right to love anyone ever again, because Cal died."

"It's not just Cal, Lake!" I yell. Moisture pricks at the back of my eyes and my throat grows tight. "Every relationship I've ever had has ended in disaster. There's only been two of them, okay. But they've wrecked me, and I won't survive another capsize."

"You know how many times I got knocked down in combat?" he says, taking a step toward me. "How many times I was literally blown off my feet? Hell, I'm lucky to still have feet, but I still got back up. Get. Back. Up. Riley."

My eyes are burning, but I refuse to let a single tear fall.

"I can't. Because my feet were blown off to start with, and for a while I learned to walk on stumps. But not again."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks with his brows furrowed and his eyes sharp.

I take a sharp sniff, turning away from him for a moment. My blood boils hot and quick.

"Kyle is not just my boyfriend from high school," I nearly yell. I turn back around to face Lake. "We were married. He's my damn ex-husband!"

"What?" Lake asks, confusion taking over his face. He actually takes half a step back. "When?"

"In high school, damn it," I say, my shoulders falling. I shake my head as I sink into a chair at the table. My hair cascades around me, hiding my face from Lake's view. "We'd been together for the last half of our junior year. It has hot and quick and way too heavy for only being seventeen. The last day of school, he asked me to marry him, and I said yes."

I don't look up at him. Lake keeps his distance, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He's absolutely silent and totally still.

"Mom and Dad weren't too happy about it. They knew how stupid it was and how hard it was going to be. But I insisted it was going to work. I loved Kyle and Kyle loved me, and that was all that mattered." My voice grows quiet and I stare out the window. A soft breeze blows over the pasture, swaying the tall weeds back and forth.

"So they said yes. They were going to let me learn from my mistakes. That's what it was," I continue. "They let me marry him, the two of us still only seventeen. We had the wedding two weeks before we started our senior year. He already had a job working with his dad, and I went and got a job at the diner in town. We lived in this little hovel and kept going to school."

Lake finally moves from his spot. He crosses the living area and sits on the coffee table. I don't look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me.

"It ended about like you'd expect. Things were exciting and great for a while. Then we were so poor we didn't have money for food, and we started fighting. He started eying some other girl and we couldn't stand to be in the same room with each other. We got divorced after just three months."

My chest feels tight as I remember the way I felt dead inside for so long.

"That's the problem with small towns. Everyone knows what you've done and the shame you have to bear, knowing what an astronomically stupid mistake you made. The whole town still thinks of us as the dumb kids who thought getting married in high school was a good idea."

I pick a piece of lint from my cotton shorts and roll it between my thumb and index finger.

"It took me a long time before I thought I'd try love again. And then there was Cal. And it was perfect, and we took things slow. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes."

Finally, I look over at Lake. He watches me with openness. "And then he died," he says quietly.

I stand up and walk over toward him slowly. "Then there's Travis." My insides shake just thinking about him constantly hanging over my head. How he's invaded my life and is trying to control who I spend my time with. His gifts and hang up calls haven't stopped over the last month. "He follows me around, watches me. We've talked for less than a total of ten minutes, but he thinks he owns me."

"What?" Lake whispers, anger and disgust forming on his face.

I'm just a foot away when I stop, looking down on him. "My past experiences with love and the heart have been shit."

"Riley, if some guy is threatening you, we need to do something about it," Lake says. He reaches forward, and then seems to think better of it. "I promise you, I will never let anyone hurt you."

"That's the thing," I breathe as I stare down at him. "You're not safe from him either. Like I said, my legs have been blown off. And I can't get back up. Love has wrecked me."

Lake stands, his huge form towering over me. His eyes are intense and bright as he stares at me.

I don't hear him move, but my heart breaks into a sprint when I feel his fingers brush the backs of my arms. His scent floods around me, triggering a million memories between the two of us. He's so close I can feel the warmth of his skin.

His hands slip from my arms to wrap around my waist. His eyes never leave mine, and his lips are only inches away.

"They haven't been blown off," he whispers. "They've only been broken a few times. And broken bones heal eventually."

Even though my blood is racing and pounding, there's that bite at the back of my eyes once again. I shake my head. "Not these ones."

He leans in closer. As he does, my eyes slide closed. The scruff of his jaw brushes against my cheek and I feel his lips whisper against my neck.

"Just let go," he whispers.

And I do.

Lake's lips brush against my jawline. His hands press into the small of my back, drawing me closer. Goosebumps flash across my skin, and a storm ignites in my lower belly.

And then his lips are on mine. Slow, tender, deep in a way that draws something up from my soul and rearranges my very core.

My arms wrap around his neck, and I pull myself to him. The kiss deepens, my lips parting to his. My tongue searches for a companion, and he is my willing guide.

With no effort at all, Lake hoists me up, my legs parting and wrapping around his waist, energy surging through my core in a way that leaves me feeling dizzy and filled with constellations. He carries me to the table, leaning over me so our bodies never have to part.

With one kiss, Lake pulls something out of me. Something dark and broken. Something that was never expected to be put back together. Something visceral and real.

My hands drop to the hem of his shirt and pull up, dragging it over his head. One of his own hands slides under my tank, slipping over the bare skin of my side. It wraps its way under my back, completely circling to the other side. The tips of his fingers brush the edges of my breast.

But despite the way my body is feeling—alive and electric, tears sting at the back of my eyes. I'm closing my eyes and having a war with three faces fighting for my present attention.

There was Kyle. My first lover who showed me passion. With his aggressive, hot desire and devil-may-care smile.

There was Cal. Who showed me what real love was and showed me that it was okay to take things slow and get them right.

And here is Lake. Who's been waiting and waiting. Who saved me from the brink of destruction.

There shouldn't be three men in my head.

And Lake is wrong. My legs have been blown off. If we go here, I won't stand back up again.

I would never survive loosing Lake.

There's also the overwhelming sensation that we could be being watched right now.

Against everything in me, I push Lake's chest. He backs away, a mix of fear and confusion and panic in his eyes.

I get up from the table, pulling my tank back down. Moisture pools heavy in my eyes, and I can't look at him as I start toward the door.

"You're wrong," I say. "Some people can't get back up. I used up both my chances. I don't get a third."

I turn my back and walk away.

Even as the tears start rolling down my face.

Even as something breaks inside my chest.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I'm a shaking, distracted, eye-welling mess as I try to get ready for my "date" with Jesse tonight. I pull jeans on and then put my dress over it all, pull on boots, before I realize what I'm doing. Boots and jeans off, I put on some black flats and put on a minimal amount of make-up. A simple braid over my shoulder is as good as it's going to get today.

Just as I put an elastic around my hair, Jesse knocks on the back door. I hear him let himself in and he calls up the stairs for me.

"Coming," I say as I grab my purse and head downstairs.

"Hey," he says when he sees me, his entire face lighting up.

"Hi," I say, apprehension and awkwardness oozing out of me.

"You look really nice," he says as he holds the door open for me. We step outside. And I hate that my eyes automatically jump up to Lake's apartment. He's nowhere in sight. And neither is his truck.

One of these days I'm going to make him run away for good.

I probably just did. Who would stay after me walking out on them so many times?

Jesse talks about work and horses and cows and everything as we drive to the wedding. He doesn't require much conversation back, and I sense he can tell something's off with me. So he just keeps talking to himself, pretending like he's including me. I'm grateful for that.

The wedding is at the park in town. Jesse parks the truck along the road and comes around to help me out. I manage to slide down from his truck without showing the world the blue with white polka-dot underwear I'm wearing today. He offers his arm, and we walk across the lawn.

White chairs are set up in rows facing the pavilion. Someone's wrapped white lights and white silks around the posts. Flowers hang over everything. It's really beautiful. Exactly a picturesque summer wedding scene.

We have our first wedding scheduled out at the ranch in two weeks.

We sit in the second row. Jesse's sister is there, so is his mom and dad. I've met them before, and they seem happy to see me. Maybe a bit too happy. Like they're hopeful that something is going on.

Guilt just keeps layering on top of me. I mess up everything I touch. Someday it's all going to crush me down through the center of the earth.

Within a few minutes, the groomsmen and the groom line up in front of everyone. As does the pastor. A minute after that, soft music starts playing.

One by one, beautiful girls and women start walking down the petal-lined aisle in soft pink dresses. They smile and glow and everyone around us is so happy. And then the bride appears at the end of the aisle. She looks gorgeous with her Hershey-smooth brown skin and stark white dress. Everyone stands and all eyes fix on her as she walks down the aisle while the love of her life beams at her the whole way.

I almost had this once. The outdoor wedding. It would have been fall. In fact, I was supposed to be getting married in about five weeks. We would have all gathered at the ranch. I would have worn the white dress. Everyone would have been staring at me, and I would have only been looking at Cal.

As the bride finally reaches the groom and the pastor starts talking about love and commitment, I feel a tug in the bottom of my heart.

Maybe I do still want this.

My phone vibrates with a text message, and I discreetly pull it out.

This could be us.

My heart drops out and I look around. There are many faces here. A few I recognize, most I don't. But I can't see Travis anywhere.

Anger surges up inside of me. It's hot and wicked. It's tired and vengeful.

This ends now, I text back. You have no control over me, and if you try to get in my life again, you'll regret it.

You'd really hurt me?

A small chuckle works its way up out of me, and I shake my head as I text back. You'd better fucking believe it.

Travis doesn't text back after that.

Good. 'Cause that's it. Because I'm so freaking tired of him having any effect on my life. Screw this. Screw his threats. I can handle myself.

Just seconds later, the pastor tells the groom to kiss his bride. We all clap and cheer when their lips meet and they are pronounced husband and wife. Jesse wraps an arm around my shoulder as we watch them walk back down the aisle. Everyone follows behind to the tables are set up not far away.

Cake. Speeches. Love in the air. This wedding is the whole nine yards.

"I thought you said your cousin is a jackass," I say later on as Jesse and I watch people dance on the floor that's been hauled in. "It's hard to imagine that's true, seeing him so happy and in love right now."

"It's easy to look like a saint on the happiest day of your life," Jesse laughs as he sets his wine glass down. "But you're right, he isn't a full on jackass. He's a good guy, most of the time. He'll treat her right."

"Hmm," is all I say as I take a sip of my water. I haven't had a drink since that night at the bar. Might be a long while before I have one again.

I watch the two of them. He wraps his arms around her waist, his hands hanging dangerously low for all the other people around. He whispers something in her ear and she laughs, smiling brilliantly. She leans in and presses her lips to his.

They sway back and forth slowly, and he presses his lips to her forehead, leaving them there for a good long while.

"Do you want to dance?" I ask, surprising myself.

Jesse must be just as surprised as I am. He looks at me with big eyes, so bright. "Sure," he says, his expression turning serious and evaluating.

We both stand and Jesse takes my hand as we walk to the floor.

I hope Travis is watching.

It's hard to meet Jesse's eyes as I wrap my hands behind his neck and he places his around my waist, but I force myself to. This should feel comfortable, and in a way, it is. I've known Jesse for forever. But...

He holds my eyes as we turn in a slow circle, shuffling back and forth in time with the music. I search inside of myself, looking for answers.

Do I want to feel again?

Can I let myself feel again?

I want to be happy. I am so damn tired of feeling the way I have been for the past nine months. It's hell. I want to feel alive. I want to breathe.

I don't want to drown.

Without giving myself time to think about it, I move on my impulse, and lift myself up on my tiptoes to press my lips to Jesse's.

He stills for a second, surprised at my action. And then he relaxes, his hands pressing into the small of my back.

I search myself, fast and hard.

I felt something, hot and fast and deep this morning with Lake. Surely it can be repeated with any other male I have some sort of a connection with. Right?

But there's nothing here.

No sparks. No lightening. No heat.

Just two strips of flesh pressed up against my lips.

I pull away, meeting Jesse's eyes.

What is that there? Is that confusion? Disappointment?

"Was that just really, really uncomfortable for you too?" he finally asks.

"Yeah," I say with a little breathy chuckle. "Like, really...flat?"

"Yeah," he chuckles. His face breaks into a smile, his eyes becoming bright again. "I, uh...wow. I have to admit, I've kind of thought about that kiss for a long while, but the reality of it was..."

"Un-explosive?"

"Something like that," he laughs. "That kind of surprises me. I just expected when it happened that it just be perfect."

We continue moving in slow circles, because during the weirdness, we stopped in the middle of the floor.

"I guess sometimes people just don't have the right kind of chemistry?" I suggest.

"I guess not," he says, his eyes distant, like he's suddenly reevaluating everything. "Well, I guess now I know."

"Now you know," I add. I look back up at him, and it takes a moment before his eyes drop back down to me. "But still friends?"

His face breaks into a smile and he nods. "Friends."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When Jesse drops me off at home, Lake still isn't back.

I notice that. Right away.

"Goodnight," I say to Jesse as I open the door to the truck.

"Thanks again, for coming with me today," he says.

"Thanks for being understanding about the weird kiss," I reply with a little smile.

"Like I said, now we know. And now we can move on from it." He looks hopeful. But not necessarily for himself. He looks hopeful for me.

"Maybe," is all I say, because I don't dare imagine further. "Night."

I slide out and close the door behind me. I glance over my shoulder once when I get to the door, and I watch as Jesse drives away as I pull the door open.

For a second, my heart jumps into my throat and I about have a panic attack when I see a figure sitting on the couch.

"Kyle!" I half scream, half choke out. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Kyle turns from the TV that's on low and looks back at me. His eyes grow hard, his brows furrowed together. He clicks the TV off and stands. "Lake called me this afternoon. You've got a stalker?"

"What?" I breathe, squinting in confusion. "Lake..."

"Yeah," Kyle says, his hands on his hips. "Lake called me and said he had to go deal with stuff, but he didn't want you at the house by yourself because some asshole is threatening you."

"Uh," I say with a groan as I kick my shoes off. "Go home, Kyle. I can handle myself."

"Like hell I'm leaving you alone," he says as he follows me upstairs. "How long has this been going on, Ry?"

"I'm putting an end to it," I say when I get in my bedroom. It's true, Kyle has seen me naked plenty, and I'm tired and annoyed, so I unzip my dress and let it drop to the floor with my back turned to him. I grab a tank top and pull it over me and slip on some denim shorts. "If he comes around here again, I warned him I'd hurt him."

"So, what?" Kyle says. I look over my shoulder and see him folding his arms over his chest. "You're just going to shoot him?"

"I have a right to defend myself," I say with annoyance as I tuck my handgun into the back of my shorts. I push my way past Kyle and head back downstairs.

"Ry, this is nuts. We have to call Sheriff Akins." He follows me down.

"Fine, call him!" I say as I slide my feet into my boots and walk out the door. I make sure to slam it shut behind me, a loud and clear message that I don't want him following me.

I head out into the barn.

The horses whiney and snort when I walk in. I check their feeders and find them completely empty. From the ruckus going on, it's clear that they haven't been fed yet tonight.

A dead weight settles into my stomach as I carry out a bale and cut the twine. I feed each of them a flake, and then move over to the boarding stalls. They too haven't been fed yet.

I try to tell myself that I'm not scared of the darkness around me and anyone who might be hiding in it, watching me.

The cold metal pressing into my back is a comfort. So is knowing Kyle is inside, watching me.

When I'm finished feeding the animals, I stand at the bottom of the steps to Lake's apartment for a long while. My mind goes back to this morning, to me on the table, Lake between my legs. The Two us yelling at each other, each wanting different things, but the same things. Both unable to get there.

Finally, I walk up the stairs. I open his door, and turn on the light.

Lake doesn't have much by way of earthly possessions, so there aren't too many indicators right away if he's packed up and left. I check the bathroom. No toothbrush or toothpaste around. There is a razor and some shaving cream in one drawer.

In the bedroom there aren't many clothes in his drawers or in the closet. His boots are gone, probably the only shoes I've ever seen him wear.

But there's his Seahawks hat on the dresser. There's a pack of Big Red gum next to it, the same kind he always chews when he mucks out the stalls. The bed is made, in a man kind of way.

I'm not sure what to think. He hasn't completely packed up, but who's to say he didn't just pack up in such a hurry to get away from me that he forgot some things?

My insides are a bloody mess. An annoying, confused, ridiculous female mess. If I were looking at me from outside this situation, I'd hate myself. I'd be completely annoyed with me.

Just figure out what you want, woman.

It shouldn't be so damn hard.

I sink down on to Lake's bed and lay back on it. It smells like him. Mountains and water and wilderness.

What do I want?

I don't even know how to start picking that apart.

I fell asleep in Lake's bed. I woke up, found Kyle camped out on Lake's couch, got showered and dressed, and the two of us went into town.

For the first time, I go to church without Mom. There isn't any awkward moment where I look around, wondering where or with whom to sit. We walk in and Kyle's mom waves us over. I sit next to Kyle just as the pastor starts.

For the majority of the meeting, I sit there with my eyes closed. I listen to some of the sermon, but mostly, I'm just searching for some inner peace. I've never been religious, I don't really know how I feel about God and Jesus. So I can't say that I've ever asked for anything through prayer.

But in that church, I ask for something simple.

I just want to feel peace.

The meeting comes to a close and people start filing out, talking and smiling and feeling happy and filled. Kyle looks at me as we stand, a small little smile on his face. He doesn't say anything, and for that I'm grateful.

Eyes always watch the two of us whenever we get within five feet of each other. They watch, looking for signs that we're back together. For the first five years after our divorce we avoided each other at all costs. But time heals pain and after a while we could talk to each other without feeling like we were going to die. Now we're friends and the whole town thinks it's their business to try and see if we're a couple again.

We walk outside, the sun hot and bright. On the way out, Sheriff Akins says he'll be coming by just after church to talk to me about my "situation." Kyle's parents stop to talk to him and his wife after. Kyle and I walk to the end of the sidewalk, just to the side of the road.

"You okay?" he finally asks. His hands are in the back pockets of his jeans. He never would wear Sunday best.

I shrug. Shake my head.

"Come here," he says. He takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. He wraps his arms around me, guiding my head to his shoulder. He hugs me tight. His strong arms are comforting. He rests his cheek on the top of my head.

"We're going to take care of this Travis problem," he says. "You'll be safe. I promise."

I ignore the prying looks we're getting and just close my eyes. I block everything else out and just let myself be in this moment of acceptance.

"It's okay to let yourself be happy," Kyle finally says after a long time. "There's more to life than just keeping it together, and making smart choices, and playing it safe. A life without passion is just a slow way to freeze to death."

There it is. The exact description of how I've been feeling for so long now.

I've been slowly freezing to death.

I pull back so I can look up at his face. I place a hand on his cheek.

"Thank you for being there for me," I say. "No one really understands what things are like. Living with your mistakes. But you do."

He shrugs one shoulder. "We may have been divorced for nearly ten years now, but I still love you, Ry."

And I know what he means. It isn't the kind of love that is in love. But the kind of love where you accept people as they are. All their faults and shortcomings.

"I love you, too," I say as he lets me go.

"Go be happy," he says as he turns to leave.

I'll try.

"Hey, Sweetie," Mom says from the other line.

"Hi, Mom," I reply back as I lie back on my bed. "How are things going?"

"They're fine. Lynda and I just got back from church. It's such a nice little congregation."

"I just got back from church myself," I tell her. That'll make her proud. I do, however, leave out the part where I had that talk with the Sheriff. Where he said he'd be looking for Travis to talk to him. Where he said until they catch him on my property again, there isn't much they can do. Where he in a roundabout way said if I felt my life was in danger, that I had a right to protect myself.

"That makes me glad to hear," she says, and I can feel the smile in her voice. "How's everyone doing?"

"Everybody's fine. You know not much changes around here," I say as I roll one of the ties on my quilt between my fingers.

"How true that is," she chuckles. "How are things going at the ranch? Still flourishing?"

"Yeah," I tell her. "I've got an eighty hour work week ahead of me. Things are good."

"And how's Lake?" she has to go and ask. "I haven't talked to him in a few days. He always seems to be the one who answers when I call the office lately."

I swallow hard and sit up. My eyes shift to my window, the one that looks out toward the barn. Still no truck. "He's okay."

"What's that?" Mom says, but her voice sounds farther away, like she's pulled the phone away from her face. "Oh, alright. I'm sorry, Riley, but I guess we have some people who've invited us over for dinner tonight. We've got to get going."

"Okay," I say. "Love you."

"I love you, too."

I hang up the phone and set it on my bed. I lie back down, resting on my side.

There are two pictures in frames on my night stand. One of me and my parents when I was about sixteen. I'm sitting on a horse, and they're on either side of me. We're all smiling and happy. I trace my finger of my father's face, missing him so much.

When Dad was deployed, back forever ago when he was only in his twenties, he was in the middle of a war zone. There was an explosion. His body was peppered with shrapnel. They never got all of it out. There was a little piece stuck in the back of his head, in a place they couldn't get it.

It sat there, harmless, for twenty years. Then one day it dislodged. And killed my dad.

The red, white, and blue runs through my veins, but it has a tendency of breaking my heart.

In the other picture frame is Cal. It was just after he asked me to marry him. I snapped the picture of him with my phone. He's smiling, his eyes squinted small, like they did when he was truly happy.

I trace a finger over his face as well.

Be happy, Ry, Kyle had told me this morning.

Cal would have wanted me to be happy.

I try to tell myself that I don't need to be happy again. That I got my chances, that I had enough happiness in those short times to be contented for forever. That was it for me. Cal would be waiting for me on the other side of this life.

I pull open the drawer of my nightstand and reach for the small black box at the back. My fingers close around the soft velvet, and I pull it out.

The hinges squeak as I open the box. My fingers close around the cold gold, and I pull the ring from the lining.

It's a beautiful ring. A round cut diamond sits slightly off to the left side. Five smaller diamonds wrap partly around it before curling off onto the band. He had it custom made. I always thought it was a somewhat strange design, but it is gorgeous.

I slide it onto my finger. It's loose. I've been working so hard lately and Mom hasn't been around to keep any padding on my frame. I've dropped nearly ten pounds since she left, and I'm leaner than I've ever been in my life.

Keeping the ring on, I grab Cal's picture again and hold it on my stomach.

"Do you want me run out my contract?" Cal had asked me just minutes before he proposed. "I've got nine more months of service left, and then it's up."

"How is that up to me?" I had asked. I was lying in his arms in the back of my truck, wrapped in a pile of blankets and pillows. We were parked in the middle of nowhere, stargazing.

"I was just wondering if you wanted me around for more than two months at a time," he said, squeezing me tighter.

"You know the answer to that," I said, leaning in and pressing my lips to his.

"That's good," he whispered. "Cause I want to stay home with you, for forever."

He then reached into his pocket, brought out this black box, and asked me to marry him.

I pick up the box, pressing the lid to my nose. It used to smell like him. He'd carried it around in his pocket for at least a week before he worked up the nerve to ask me. But it doesn't smell like anything now.

I start pulling the ring off, about to put it away, when I notice the lining of the box is poking up slightly.

My brows furrow together, I pull at it. It comes out easier than it should. A piece of folded up paper falls onto my stomach.

It's a letter, addressed to me. And at the bottom is Cal's name.

Hey Riley,

Of course I had hoped that you'd never, ever find this and have to read it, and because you are reading it, I'm really, really sorry. But because I know you, and because I love you, I have to write it.

I always wanted to serve my country, you know that. I knew the risks of being in the services. There's always a risk. And if you are reading this, then I am a statistic of war.

I love you, Riley. I've loved you from the moment I saw you at my unwanted birthday party. And I have no doubt that you love me. If we had gotten married, we would have had a happy life. Sure, things wouldn't have been perfect, and I'm sure there would have been days you would have called me an asshole and I would have called you a bitch. But we would have been happy. We would have loved each other for the rest of our days.

But, Angel, life changes. It throws us curveballs and sometimes rips the rug right out from under our feet. And that's okay.

If you have to read this, I want you to know that it's okay to move on. I thought about making some joke right here about asking you to not do it within the first few weeks of whatever might happen to me, but that's just not you, and I know that's not how it's going to be. But it is okay. I know you love me, and I am a damn lucky man to have been loved as deeply as you did me. But it's okay to feel that way about someone else at some point.

I need you to be happy. I've seen a lot of terrible things come about because of people's unhappiness. And I need you to be happy. Let yourself be happy.

I need you to promise me that you can let go.

I need you to promise me that you will live and be happy.

Love, always...forever,

Cal

Tears roll down my face, and my breath catches in my throat.

But still I whisper, "I promise."

CHAPTER TWENTY

I need something to go right today.

It's a Monday, which is bad enough, but considering everything else going on, it's time for a triumph.

Dust billows around my boots as I step into the barn after lunch. I've already fed the horses, rotated them through the pasture, mucked out the stalls. The farrier will be by to shoe the first half of the horses this evening.

But right now, I will ride the Devil.

When I get to his stall with his halter and a lead line, he tosses his head and gives a little snort. I hold his eyes as I open the stall door and step inside.

He paws one hoof over the ground and backs away from me. It's all for show though. We've made huge strides lately. I successfully got a bridle and saddle on him two weeks ago. All last week I worked on sitting on him just tied up to a hitching post. He didn't particularly like it, but he tolerated it.

Today, I will get on his back and ride.

Sir Devil only shakes his head once as I slip his halter on. I clip the lead line under his chin, and we walk out to the hitching post next to the outdoor arena. I tie him up, get his tack, and saddle him up.

I'm a bit nervous, I will admit. Every time I did this last week, Lake was here and he held Sir Devil still while I got on and stayed on. It's just me here this morning. By myself.

Random people kept dropping on me earlier today. The Sheriff, Julianna. Kyle has called a few times. But right now, I'm all alone.

I slip my foot into the stirrup and grab the horn. I pause here for a moment, gauging the beast's level of crankiness. He looks back at me, his ears turned in my direction, but he stands still.

Pulling myself up, I swing my other leg over the saddle and wedge my foot into the other stirrup. I reach forward, unclip the line tied to the post, and rein us out into the arena.

Sir Devil walks sideways for a second, feeling his belly out against the cinches around him. He tosses his head for a second, the feel of the bit in his mouth uncomfortable, the reins leading back to me disorienting.

My heart rate picks up, but there's a triumphant smile on my face.

We go slow. We simply walk around the perimeter, keeping close to the fence line, but not close enough for him to hang me on it if he decides to throw a fit. He wiggles himself into his tack, getting used to the feel of it on him, with a person on his back.

And once he gets used to the feel of me up there and seems more comfortable, I give him a little nudge.

He twitches hard when I do this, but I'm prepared for it and hold his reins firm. Once he realizes I'm not trying to beat him, he works into a trot.

Every new step we take, every new speed we try, it takes him some getting used to. But one by one he settles his way into it.

The grin on my face must really look crazy.

The most out of control horse I've had to deal with yet, and probably the most expensively bred one too, and I'm on his back. And he's listening to me.

It took us a few months to get here, but here we are.

After a full three hours of work, I tie him back up, unsaddle him, brush him down, and put him back in his stall. Because he did so well, I even give him a scoop of grain.

I rest my hands on his gate, and look out toward the driveway. There's still no truck that's rolled up it. Still not one parked next to the barn.

There's one person in the world that I wanted to see me actually ride Sir Devil. To share this huge triumph with. And he's gone.

I've been watching the driveway all day. For a rusty old beat up truck to drive up. For Lake to come back.

But he doesn't.

Instead, the random people keep dropping in to check on me.

I'm fine. No signs of Travis. But I keep my handgun nestled close to me at all times.

I head into the house that night at nine o'clock. Make myself a ham sandwich. Shower. Collapse into bed.

I stare up at the ceiling as the house grows dark. Outside it's silent—as bad as I want to be hearing the sound of tires on gravel. It doesn't come.

It isn't in me to go chasing Lake down, begging for forgiveness. But as I lay there, I feel sick. I feel hollow. I feel as if there's that extension of me that is one of my better halves, and it's missing.

I miss Lake.

I want him back.

I need him back.

But there's this snake around my heart. And it says I'm too prideful to go chase him down. It says you need to be careful and protect yourself. It whispers nasty things about him not wanting me anymore after everything I've put him through.

Lake is probably at his parents' house, and I'm sure I've got an address for them as an emergency contact somewhere. If I really tried, I could probably go track him down.

But the snake inside of me says I'm too scared to do it.

In the morning, I wake to the rising sun. In the midst of my tangled thoughts I forgot to set an alarm. I roll over and see it's six-fifty.

The house is always so quiet and still in the mornings now. I miss Mom being downstairs, cooking something up. I miss her yelling at me to come down and eat. It's just me now.

Comfortable, worn-out jeans hug my legs as I pull them on. A tank top I've had since high school goes on next. I walk downstairs. Make some toast to take out to the barn with me. Pull on my boots and step outside.

The first thing I notice is the dogs acting fidgety. Bear simply stares up the stairs to Lake's apartment, his nose twitching. Chico paces back and forth, giving a low growl.

My eyes dart up to the apartment.

The door is open.

But Lake's truck is nowhere in sight.

The door to the barn is also open. And I never forget to close it.

I rest my hand on the gun tucked into the back of my jeans and silently cross to the stairs. The dogs whine softly when they notice me and start licking me like crazy.

"Stay," I say quietly. They both sit, but Chico continues to complain quietly.

One step at a time, my heart hammering in fear that one of them will give me away with a creak, I make my way up them. My heart is racing in my chest so hard I can barely breathe.

I listen outside the door to Lake's apartment. But no sounds come within.

The handgun leveled in front of me, I push the door the rest of the way open and step inside.

Everything has been tossed. The kitchen drawers have been emptied onto the floor and across the counters. I find Lake's few leftover clothes strewn out across his room. His bed has been torn apart. Someone has searched Lake's apartment.

But there's no one here.

The dogs whine quietly again when I come back down the stairs, Chico jumping up on my legs as if to say "Don't go searching, Mom." Bear glues himself to my side. But I creep into the barn, never resting my gun.

The horses seem agitated when I walk inside. Lady snorts, Trooper stomps and shakes his head. This is more than being morning hungry. This is knowing something wrong.

Sometimes animals just know.

I check each stall. And my grip on my handgun nearly falters when I reach the end.

Radio's gone.

My blood runs hot and vengeful, and I swear I see red. I tuck my handgun into the back of my pants and reel back one stall. The gate creeks loudly as I open Dakota's stall. He whinnies and tosses his nose, excitement and agitation obvious.

He follows me out of his stall and I dash to the tack room for his bridle. Not bothering with a saddle, that's as much as I suit him up before I climb onto his back and head out.

For all of two seconds, I'm not sure where to start looking. But as soon as the dogs see me, they dart toward the back of the property.

I urge Dakota into a lope and we follow the dogs down the driveway, past the garage. Past the pasture fence. And I see the hoof prints in the dirt.

Headed straight for the mountain trail.

"Bear, Chico!" I yell to the dogs. As soon as they hear my voice, they grind do a halt. They both turn and look at me expectantly. "Stay," I say firmly, pointing to the ground.

They both whine, but they sit their hairy rear ends on the ground and obey.

I race past them, into the trees.

The air is still and quiet around me on the trail. It's only three feet wide and tends to get lost in the undergrowth. Trees press in on us, overhanging the trail, creating a tunnel. Sound doesn't travel far, and the sound of Dakota's hooves pounding the soft ground falls flat.

Every once in a while, Radio's hoof prints disappear, but they always resurface.

This is it. This ends now with Travis.

He's stalked me with calls and gifts.

He's watched me, and seen who knows what.

He's threatened Lake.

And now he's stolen my horse.

I reach to my back and grab my handgun from my waistband.

One mile stretches into two and still Radio's hoof prints continue.

I finally hear something up ahead.

It's Radio, I know it is. He snorts, and I hear him stomp his feet in aggravation.

Someone swears.

I slow Dakota to a walk, then pull him to a stop. Looping his reins around a tree branch so he won't run off on me, I creep along the trees, my gun ever before me. The trail makes a slight curve and I'm familiar enough with it to know it opens up to a little meadow.

And sure enough, there in the middle of the meadow, is Travis.

I watch him from the shadow of the trees, hardly daring to breathe. He's got a blanket laid out in the tall grass. Some kind of picnic is spread over it. A bottle of wine, glasses.

It would look romantic.

Except for the handcuffs that dangle from the back pocket of Travis' jeans.

Radio is tied up to a tree nearby. He's tugging on his reins, trying to free himself. Good boy. Travis keeps himself busy preparing everything. He looks exactly the same as I remember him. Tall and lanky. Curly brown hair that he keeps a bit too long. Button up plaid shirt, jeans, and always cowboy boots. His bottom lip bulges slightly from the chew that is always there.

This entire scene makes me sick. I'm so tired of this. Of having him over my shoulder, in the shadows, creeping into my room. Of feeling like he has any control over my life. I can do this. I can make him leave. I can make him see that if he keep coming around, that I will hurt him.

In five...four...three...two...

I take a step forward, and snap a twig.

Travis looks up, and I've blown my element of surprise.

"Riley," he says, his voice surprised and caught. He starts toward me, just as I level my handgun and step into the meadow.

"I told you if you didn't leave me alone that I'd make you regret it," I hiss as I aim for his head.

"Whoa," he says, holding his hands up, his eyes going wide.

Everything in me roils at the sight of him. He's disgusting. A filthy, disgusting pervert. I shiver at the thought that he's been watching me. What he must have seen. What he must have done while he watched me.

"Let's not go and do anything rash here, darling," he says. He takes a step toward me. I load a round into the chamber and he stops. "I just...I missed you. I wanted to see you."

"You've been seeing far too much of me lately," I hiss through clenched teeth. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Right now."

"You going to shoot me?" he asks. There's disgust in his voice, but also shock, like he's totally delusional. Like he really believes I want him here.

"If I think I'm in danger, yes," I say. I take a step toward him, fire in my eyes.

"Such spark," Travis says, a disturbing smile curling on one side of his mouth. "Just one of the many things I love about you, Riley James."

"Get off my property!" I scream. Being in the same space as him makes my skin crawl. It makes my stomach roll. Makes me feel like I'm suffocating.

"Hey, now," he says as he lowers his hands. "Let's play nice. You wouldn't want to go upsetting me. I just might do something truly nasty to that hired help of yours. It would be a tragedy if he were to go missing. Right?"

And a noise off in the trees distracts me just long enough for him to rush me.

Travis grabs my wrists and pushes the gun down just as I fire off a shot that embeds itself into a tree. He squeezes and twists my wrists, and the gun drops from my hands.

I swing at him, just as he grabs my hair and yanks me back. Instead, I give my elbow some momentum, and catch him on the side of the head. As he goes down to the ground with a yell, I hear the dogs barking off in the distance.

I haul myself on top of Travis and swing a fist. I land one solid blow to his cheekbone. There's murder in his eyes when he looks back up at me and he catches my fist on the next strike. Using his body weight, he shoves me over, landing on top of me.

I can feel him harden as he presses himself against me in the dirt, even as he presses his forearm across my throat. My lungs grow desperate for oxygen. Frantically, I search for my gun.

"I love you, Riley," Travis says, spit flying from his lips. He gets in my face, his wild eyes boring into me. "Can't you see that I just want to love you? Why are you making this so damn hard?"

There it is. Just there.

My fingers stretch for it. Catch the edge of it.

But I can't close my fingers around the barrel.

"Are you even listening to me?" Travis bellows.

And then he realizes what I'm trying to do.

On instinct, I swing my knee up.

I catch him in the groin at the same time Lake comes barreling into the clearing on Sir Devil.

Travis is off of me in a flash and oxygen floods back into my body. There's yelling and scuffling, and suddenly the two of them crash into a small tree, snapping it right in half.

My feet try to get purchase under me, and all I manage to do is slide myself through the dirt away from the two of them.

"You picked the wrong woman to jack off to," Lake bellows as he takes a swing at Travis. His fist meets him square in the face, and I can hear the crunch from across the meadow. Blood gushes from Travis's nose. He only gets a pissed off look before going for Lake's throat with his bare hands.

But Lake has to outweigh Travis by at least seventy-five pounds. Lake grabs his wrists, gives a sharp twist and flips him around. Travis loses his balance, falling to his knees. Lake, with one wrist still in his hand, kneels with one knee on the Travis's back.

"I'll kill you!" Travis screams madly. "I'll kill you for touching her!"

Anger surges hot and wicked inside of me.

He's threatened Lake verbally now. And the look in his eyes as he stares at me says he means it.

My fingers wrap around my handgun, and I close the distance between us, dust swirling around my boots.

"Riley," Lake says in a breath through the early morning light that shoots through the trees in brilliant rays. One lands right on him, illuminating Lake's face. "Riley, listen to me. Go call the cops. Let them come and deal with this bastard."

I shake my head as everything in me goes still and cold. I press the barrel of the gun to Travis's forehead as I kneel on one knee.

"You can threaten me," I say, my voice absolutely calm. Travis's eyes cross as he tries to look at the gun. He's stopped fighting Lake. He looks terrified and shocked. "You can break into my house, and you can watch me like the creep you are. But you threaten those I love, and you're dancing with death."

"Riley," Lake breathes again.

"My daddy taught me how to shoot when I was eight years old. I am very good, and this is point blank," I say. My hands don't shake. There is no hesitation in me. This ends now. "So do not have any misconceptions in my ability to kill you right here. Right now."

"I'm sorry," Travis whispers. Blood has run all over his face, and he looks like a disgusting, sniveling pig. "I'm sorry. I'll do anything. But don't kill me. You wouldn't kill me, would you, Riley?"

I swallow, press the barrel harder to his forehead. "I want you to leave. I want you to leave this county. I'd prefer it if you left this state, this continent, this planet. But I want you to leave. And if I ever catch a breath of you again, you'll regret it. And if you ever so much think of Lake's name again, I will kill you."

He mutters and sobs something as fat tears roll down his face.

"What was that?" I yell, shoving the barrel into his forehead again. "I couldn't hear you."

"I'll go!" he cries. "I'll leave. I promise."

"Riley, we can't just let him go," Lake says. I feel his eyes shift to me, but I don't look back at him. "Guys like him, they don't just disappear. He'll just find someone else to stalk. You don't want him doing what he did to you to anyone else, do you?"

Finally, my eyes snap to Lake's. He stares at me, adrenaline, fear, anger, and justice all there dancing in his eyes.

And I feel sick. I've handled Travis. I've hated every second of what he's done to me. But I've handled it.

But what if he starts stalking some other woman who doesn't know how to defend herself?

That would be on me for letting him go.

"He's got handcuffs in his back pocket," I say, looking back down at Travis. His face is a bloody, snot streaked mess. His expression wars between terror and anger.

Lake pulls the handcuffs out and snaps them around his wrists.

Suddenly, I'm filled with violent shakes. I yank the gun away from Travis' head and back up a few steps. There's a heavy indent impressed into his skin that's the exact shape of the barrel of my gun.

Lake stands and yanks Travis to his feet. Travis keeps my eyes as Lake leads him over to Dakota. I watch, frozen and in shock, as Lake not too gently forces Travis onto Dakota's back and ties his cuffed hands to the horn of the saddle.

Lake speaks to Travis in quiet, harsh tones as he makes sure Travis won't get away. Travis' eyes are wide and shocked, and he doesn't say a word. I can only imagine what Lake is saying.

You really don't want to mess with Lake McCain.

It takes me a moment to spring back to life. I unthaw, one limb at a time. I take the few steps back to the trail, and suddenly the dogs run into view. Bear and Chico circle me, panting and licking me like they're all excited and so confused.

I climb onto Radio's back, and it's as if I can hear him give a sigh of relief that everything is back the way it should be.

I ride over to the two of them, and holding my eyes, telling me that this is my moment for justice, Lake hands Dakota's reins to me.

It takes everything in me to not spit in Travis' face.

Lake, like it's the most natural thing in the world, climbs onto Sir Devil's back. And the three of us head back to the ranch.

Lake is not a skilled horseman. Not yet anyway. He barely knows what he's doing on the back of such a powerful animal. But just like that, he's taken control of the most out of control horse I've ever worked with.

I watch him as we ride back to the property. And something shifts inside of me.

Lake's strong legs, the Devil underneath him. The muscles that flex in his arms as the commands the beast. His furrowed brows, and the line between them that can't seem to relax.

Lake McCain.

Here he is again.

And I'm never going to be the same.

Lake keeps checking his phone, and just a few minutes later, gets a cell signal. Within seconds, he's on the phone with Sheriff Akins.

When we get back to the ranch, not another word spoken, the Sheriff is waiting there for us. Travis is read his rights, and then put into the backseat of the police car.

It took hours, lots of questioning, and statements from both Lake and me, but on that day, Travis Malone was brought to justice.

And he'd never terrorize another woman again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When Lake and I walk out of the police station that evening, I want to laugh and to cry and to give a huge sigh of relief.

As the warm summer air hits my skin when we stop on the sidewalk, I stop. I close my eyes. I tell myself that it's over. I tell myself that it's okay for me to relax. I tell myself that it's time.

It's time to move on.

I open my eyes, and there Lake is. Standing just a few feet away from me.

There's uncertainty in his expression. I'm learning to read Lake's unreadable eyes lately. I think there was always a little bit of something there. I just didn't speak the language. But I'm learning it. Slowly.

"I promise I wasn't walking away from the job," he says. He stands there, like he's not quite sure if he should approach or keep his distance. "I just needed a few days to clear my head."

"It's okay," I say. I stand there frozen, rooted on the spot. "Though I wasn't sure if you were coming back or not."

There's a flicker in his eyes that tells me, for a second there, he wasn't sure if he was or not either. "I called Kyle to keep an eye out for that bastard. I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier this morning. That asshole—"

"I think we should take the rest of the day off," I cut him off and shake my head. My heart is racing and my stomach is full of flutters. "I...I want to take you somewhere."

"Okay," he says, just like that.

Easy as can be, he and I climb back into his truck, and drive home. I take him to the barn, and we roll out the four wheelers.

Lake follows me, and I lead him back along the property. We cut through the trees, a part of the ranch I'm sure he's never been on before. Towering evergreens surround us, ferns and undergrowth on either side of the barely visible trail. On for five minutes.

And then we break into the clearing.

It isn't big, maybe a half acre in size. Tall grasses span out before giving way to the rocky, sandy beach that drops down into the lake. A small dock juts out over its glassy smooth surface.

"Come on," I say as I climb of my machine and turn the key off. Lake does the same. I set out toward the dock. I look over my shoulder and see him following me.

A rowboat is tied up to the side of the dock. It bobs up and down as I step inside and bobs a lot harder when Lake climbs in. He pulls the oars out from the bottom of the boat and fits them into their handholds. I untie us and then he starts rowing us out over the water.

Neither of us says anything as we cut through the smooth water. Birds chirp around us, the oars splash softly. A gentle breeze brushes through the trees that surround us.

When we reach the middle of the lake, he stops, pulling the oars in.

"I found a letter, from Cal," I say. I feel Lake's eyes shift to me, but I keep my own fixed on my hands in my lap. "It was hidden in my ring box. You can probably guess what it said."

Lake shifts positions, one foot stretching forward, his forearm resting on his knee. His other hand rests on his hip.

"But I've come to realize something the last few days," I continue. "I wasn't ready to let Cal go. I guess that's not the right way to put it, because I'll never really let him go. But I wasn't ready to move forward. I wasn't done mourning him."

"We all process in our own time," he says.

Finally, I look up at Lake and nod. "For a long time, I've felt like if I moved on that I was betraying Cal. That I would be dishonoring him and his memory by feeling anything like what I felt for him about someone else. But..." Emotion threatens the back of my eyes, but I push it away. I'm done crying. I'm done feeling like an emotional wreck. I'm ready to be me again. Me who is bold and brave. "But that's not what he wanted. And that's not how I want to feel."

Lake holds my eyes, firm and true. He drags his feet toward him, resting his forearms on his knees, his fingers clasped together.

"I don't know that I can say that I'm in love with you, Lake," I say as I hold his gaze intensely. "But I do know that I've been lying to myself and lying to you for the past few months. I do want to breathe again. I don't want to suffocate. And when I'm with you, I don't feel like I'm drowning anymore."

There isn't much space between us. Our benches are close, and it only takes a little bit of leaning forward on both our parts to close the distance between us.

When things have gotten too intimate or too personal these past few months, one of us has walked out. We've run away from each other and the truth of what has been building between us.

But I know it now. I know it the same way I know the moon will come out tonight and the stars will shine. No more walking away from each other.

"I'm still here, Riley," Lake says in a whisper. His eyes right now? They are amazingly alive. "Breathe with me."

Lake's hand comes up to the side of my face. His skin is rough and calloused, but his touch is gentle. He holds my eyes as we get closer and closer. My own hand comes around the back of his head, my fingers wrapping in his hair.

Our lips together are hesitant and soft when they meet. They linger, still and unsure, as if we're testing to see if there is still that something between us that was there up in his apartment.

But these lips know each other. These souls have experienced the same great loss, and these two people have accomplished incredible things together.

So it only takes a few moments for our lips to deepen into one another.

My lips part at the same time Lake's do. His tongue invades my mouth and every cell in my body comes to life again. With the need to be closer, I crawl into Lake's lap, my legs wrapping around his waist. His enormous hands press into my back, holding me closer. My arms wrap behind his neck, and he reminds me of what it's like to be alive.

I've been constantly guilty of comparing Lake to Cal since I met him. And even Kyle at times. But right here in this moment, it's just Lake.

Lake understands me in a way that no one else could. He knows the pain I've gone through. He knows the hardships that come with the service, for those that serve, and for those that sacrifice for them to serve. He knows my love for this land we occupy. He knows how I love the hard work we do day in and day out.

And as we intertwine, I know he can feel that I'm ready for him. I'm right where I belong. With someone who understands me and my own depths. Who was patient enough to wait for me to surface.

And now I'm ready.

A smile crosses my lips, and I pull Lake's shirt up and over his head. And something I have yet to see comes over his own face. A smile. A real, true blue smile. It's bright, and crooked, and it does something to my core that I can't quite explain.

"I don't think I've ever actually seen you smile before," I say as I look down at him.

"It's been a while since I had a reason to," he replies as he leans forward and presses his lips to my neck. His fingers make stealthy work as they slip under my tank top, relieving me of it. "Riley, I never thought I'd ever feel what I feel for you, about anyone. You're..."

"Oxygen?" I breathe into him. Because that's exactly what he feels like.

"Something like that," he says with that grin as he presses kisses to my jawline. "But a hell of a lot more than just that."

"I know how you feel," I say as I place a hand on either side of his face.

And in this moment, I feel whole.

There is no Travis and no hurt. There's just this moment that is perfect, and exactly when it was supposed to happen.

Lake's fingers reach between us, and make swift work of unbuttoning my jeans. His fingers brushing my bare stomach make my insides go ballistic. "Care to join me for a swim?" he teases.

"Yeah," I say, smiling ridiculously as I nod. I climb off his lap and kick my boots off. I peel off my jeans, watching Lake do the same.

Together, in only our underwear, and oh what a glorious sight nearly-naked Lake is, we stand on our benches, hand in hand. "On three?" he asks. He looks over at me, that boyish grin still on his face. It really is an amazing thing. His smile. I can't get enough of it.

I bite my lower lip and nod.

"One, two, three!"

I nearly jump, but at the last second, I panic, let go of Lake's hand, and he launches himself into the water without me. A screaming squeal leaps out of me as his wake splashes over me.

"You cheat!" he calls when he surfaces. He wipes the water from his eyes and squints up at me. "You can't back out of something like that. There's this thing called trust, Riley."

"It looks so cold!" I squeal. Goosebumps are already flashing over my skin. The air is warm, but it's getting late, and I'm standing here in only my bra and panties.

"Get in the water!" he taunts me, that lopsided smile wide.

"You going to make me?" I tease him right back.

"Riley James, you get in this water right now, or I will make you," he growls, trying to be serious. But that smile won't leave his face.

"Excuse me!" I mock offense. I put my hands on my hips and everything. I give him a narrowed look.

"I'm sorry, Baby," he says, putting a stop hand up, even as he treads water. "Just get in, please."

Then there's a mischievous glint in his eye. Before I can do a thing, he lunges forward, grabs the side of the canoe, and tips me right in.

I splash into the water, landing half on top of him. As I break to the surface, I send a splashing wave into his face.

"So that's how it's going to be, huh?" I say as I push myself toward him. With a great kick, I surge myself up, put my hands on his head, and dunk him under the water. Which works, until he grabs one of my feet, and pulls me under with him.

We both surface, laughing, and coughing water a little. "Okay, maybe we end this game before one of us drowns," I say as I doggy paddle in the water.

Lake grabs the side of the boat, and wraps his other hand around my waist, pulling me near. "I like seeing this side of you," he says quietly. We're so close, I can see the water droplets holding onto his eyelashes.

"It's nice to see this side of myself again," I say as I study his lips once more. "And I like seeing the real Lake McCain. I knew he was under the surface somewhere."

He smiles and then leans in, kissing me softly.

"Call me baby again," I breathe.

"Anything you want, Baby," he whispers into my lips. His eyelashes brush against mine, sending a million tingles up my spine.

A few minutes later, we climb back into the boat with some effort. It's a trick to get Lake back in. He's so huge that every time he attempts to get inside, he nearly capsizes us. But finally, he makes it.

I unearth the blanket that is stored in one end of the canoe, in a waterproof compartment. Lake and I snuggle up on one end of the boat, lying down as best we can with the benches in the way. I lay curled up into his side, his arms wrapped around me.

It's peaceful, and quiet, a completely perfect.

My fingers trace over the stars tattooed over Lake's right breast, just over his heart. "They're for your brothers who didn't make it home, aren't they?" I say quietly.

Lake nods, his scratchy cheek brushing in my wet hair. My finger traces the points of the last star, the one I know is for Cal.

"Riley, there's something I need to tell you," Lake says quietly. As he says it, his arms tighten around me just slightly.

"What is it?" I ask, pressing my cheek into his chest just a little harder.

"I've been called back into service," he says.

My entire body slows, as if it's had hot lead poured into my veins and it's hardening quickly. My stomach sinks.

"I've got one more year of IRR service before I hit my ten year limit," Lake continues. "I got the call yesterday that with all the turmoil going on in the middle east, they need experienced sergeants back."

"For how long?" I ask through the metal ball that's suddenly lodged in my throat.

"Just four months," he says. "I have to report for duty in three weeks."

Once again, moisture bites the back of my eyes. It threatens to push me over the edge, back to the dark place again.

But I just got out of that dark place. And I don't want to go back.

I look up at Lake. His eyes are regretful and open. He doesn't want to go. But it's there. He loves his country, being a soldier is part of who he is.

"Then we'll just have to make the most out of our three weeks." I push myself up and my lips meet his.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"Right through here is the tack room," Lake says. I watch him from the back porch as he shows Dale what his duties will be. "Lunge lines go there. You can see where everything else goes. Riley likes things pretty clean, so don't slack on that. You said you'd worked with horses before?"

"Yes, sir," Dale says. I can't see him. He's too far into the barn. "I grew up in Montana. Most everyone out there knows how to ride."

"I would guess they do." Lake smiles.

When we got back from the lake on Tuesday, Lake posted another help wanted ad. We upped the pay, so it wasn't a complete shock when Dale, a retired police officer from Bothell with no wife or kids, responded to the ad. We both interviewed him. And hired him on the spot.

"So, just keep an eye on Riley, she'll tell you what horses she needs you to get ready, but sometimes she forgets and gets busy, so just keep an eye on her."

I chuckle as Lake looks over at me and gives a wink.

"Well, thank you," Dale says, and I see him shake Lake's hand. "I appreciate the job, and I'll see you again tomorrow."

"Thanks for coming in," Lake says as Dale starts back for his car. He calls a goodbye to me, and I wave to him before he climbs in and leaves.

Lake walks toward me, gravel crunching under his boots. He walks slow and relaxed, and I realize how dead sexy this man is. That lopsided smile, deep eyes with fire in them, a body most women dream about. Muscle upon muscle. That quiet strength. And knowing he's a soldier could damn near kill me.

He stops in front of me, placing a foot between my legs on the bottom steps.

"You're really, really drop dead sexy, did you know that?" I say as I stand. I gather his tank in my hands and pull him toward me.

"You're really, really gorgeous, did you know that?" he says as his hands wrap around me, hanging low on my back.

I just smile as I lean forward and press my lips to his.

"I'm not normally down for shrugging off work, but I really like this kind of procrastination," he says as he picks me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. He pins my back against the wall, pressing himself into my center.

"Is it procrastination or distraction?" I growl as I bite his lower lip.

"Whatever it is, I like it." He grinds his hips into mine.

Cursedly, the phone rings inside.

"Ignore that," I say, pulling him tighter around me. He starts to move away, and I yank him back harder. "I said ignore that!"

"But it might be your new secretary!" he says as he pulls away from the wall, me still wrapped around him. His lips don't leave mine as he stumbles through the house toward the office. My lips only shift to his neck when he grabs the phone.

"James Ranch," he says very professionally, despite my tongue, which is tracing his jawline. "Riley James is otherwise occupied at the moment, but I can help you."

I bite a tiny bit of his skin on his neck. I look up at him. His eyes are closed, his face turned toward the ceiling, and he seems to be having a hard time concentrating on his phone call.

"Uh huh," he says. I feel him twitch beneath me. "Yeah, that sounds great. When can you come in for an interview?"

My hands slip under his shirt, and I try pulling it off his head, but it doesn't work well, since he's holding the phone to his ear. "That sounds great, we'll see you in an hour then. Uh huh. Bye."

He hangs the phone up and flings it into a chair. He finishes the job of removing his shirt.

"You are a wicked, wicked woman," he says, pressing me against the wall once again and burying his face in my neck.

"The phone was the one who interrupted us, not the other way around," I say as a smile curls on my face and my eyes slide closed.

"You know, being with you like this is going to make it much, much harder to have to leave in two and a half weeks."

With that, the heat and passion in my blood dies off. Lake must instantly feel it, because he pulls back, and looks into my eyes.

"You're going to be safe, aren't you?" I ask him. Last night I couldn't sleep. I just kept thinking of Lake, back out in combat. He almost died once, and would have if it hadn't been for Cal. He could easily do it again.

He continues to study me. He brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes and tucks it behind my ear.

"I'm going to do my best," he says quietly.

"Okay."

Three days later, I find myself lying in the hammock outside. It's nearly dark. I went to church this morning. Lake and I had dinner tonight. And now we're around the fire pit. Lake sits comfortable and stretched out in a lawn chair.

"Why'd you join the Marines?"

We haven't spoken in a while, each of us simply enjoying the still, warm night. So my words cut through the quiet.

His eyes meet mine and there's hesitance there.

They tell me he's never actually told anyone the reason why.

I remember Drake telling me that Lake had changed. Over time he got more closed up and darker. He isn't the same cocky jock he was in high school.

"It's not a good story, and it doesn't make me sound like a very good person," he says simply.

"Not many of us are perfect," I say. I lie on my side, my head propped up on my hand.

Lake's eyes go back to the fire. I see his gaze pull inward, traveling back to some place in the past.

"I was different in high school," he confirms. "I was loud and obnoxious. I chased after girls, flirted relentlessly. I was on the football team, and a lot of people liked me. You could say I was popular."

He doesn't like telling me this, it's obvious. But we've opened up. We're showing each other what's lurking in the deep dark.

"Me and my buddies were at this party once. There was a ton of people there. To be honest, I don't even remember what I said or did, and maybe that's the worst part, that it meant so little to me that I don't remember it. But I embarrassed this kid. He was kind of an outsider, the kind to stick to himself, but mostly did that because he didn't know how to be a part of anything. And I did something that embarrassed him."

Lake clears his throat and leans forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. "A little while before the end of the school year, I went into the bathroom before first period. While I was taking a leak, I heard someone come in. Didn't think much of it until I heard the door lock."

His eyes are distant and even though it's dark, I'm pretty sure his skin has paled. "I turned around to see that kid. Derek Sleven, that was his name. He'd locked the two of us in there. He was crying, but he was mad. Started going off on me, and ten seconds later, he pulls out a gun. Points it right in my face."

I do a sharp intake of breath, my brows pulling together. "This was at the school?"

Lake nods, even though he doesn't look up. "He started yelling that it was because of assholes like me that guys like him kill people. That we don't think anything about anyone other than ourselves. He said he was tired of being treated like dirt."

"What did you do?" I ask. My heart hammers in my throat as I try to imagine such a terrifying image. I think back, trying to recall any gun incidences at Woodinville High School nine years ago. Our towns are so close. I would have heard about it.

It takes Lake a minute to respond. He just keeps staring into the fire, and I know I'm getting a glimpse at one of the demons that clings to Lake's back.

"Like I said, I was on the football team, and I was good and fast. It was pretty easy to tell he didn't know what he was doing with that gun. So I rushed him. Grabbed the gun right from his hands, pinned him down."

Lake rubs two fingers across his lips. "And then I made the most profound apology of my life. I hadn't meant to wreck this guy's life over something that I don't even remember saying or doing. I hadn't meant to hurt anyone. But I did. And I was truly sorry for it."

"What happened to Derek?" I ask.

"I took the gun with me, left school right then, and told the police what happened," he says as he looks down at the dirt at his feet. "I didn't want to rat him out for something that was my fault, but I knew Derek was dangerous. It's one thing when you punch someone to settle a score, maybe slash their tires or something. It's another when you bring a gun to a school."

"They arrested him?" I say.

Lake nods. "They kept it quiet. Never released anything at the school, never told my brother or Kaylee. My parents knew. But no one else did. They just hired another security guard and started watching everyone close."

It's quiet between us for a while. This is heavy and dark, and absolutely one of those situations that changes who you are as a person for the rest of your life.

"That's why you joined."

Lake nods. He sits back in his chair again, stretching his leg out once more. "I realized that I was selfish and I did only think about myself most of the time. And that I didn't want to hurt anyone. Everyone has value."

He looks over at me, finally meeting my eyes. They aren't haunted, but they are serious and educated in the way of a hard lesson learned. "I wanted to prove to myself that I'm not a bad guy."

I climb out of the hammock and skirt the fire pit to join him. I sit on his lap, wrapping my arms behind his neck and rest my cheek against his. "You're not a bad guy."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Holy..." I breathe as we pull up to the gates. Lake rolls his window down and punches the code into the pad. It beeps, and the gates roll back.

"I know," Lake says and shakes his head. He pulls forward and parks next to the small row of cars.

The house is big. And modern. And right on the water.

Lake opens my door for me and holds my hand as we walk up to the front door. It's a scary thing. Touch is personal, and touching in front of his family invites everyone in on the fact that something has changed between us.

But I'm not ashamed of Lake.

Quite the opposite. I'm incredibly proud of him. And I'm proud to be the woman he chose to have at his side.

The front door has been left open and we walk into the foyer. The ceiling rises up high, housing a huge, modern chandelier. As I take it in, I hear someone scream toward the back of the house, and then a huge splash.

"Come on," Lake says, tilting his head to the belly of the house.

We walk in, me taking in the beauty of his sister's home. We step into a dining room and off of that is a huge kitchen.

Robin and Kaylee are there, putting the finishing touches on lunch.

"Hey you two," Robin says with a bright smile. "We were wondering when you guys were going to show up."

"It's good to see you again, Riley," Kaylee says as she comes around and wraps me in a hug. Lake drops my hand as Kaylee hugs him. He squeezes her tight, lifting her clean off her feet. "There's my little brother."

"Little," I chuckle. Lake is anything but little.

"Cannon ball!"

I look out back, just in time to see Kale run and jump into the pool with a huge splash. Paisley and Lucian giggle over by Robert as Kale shark swims over to them and grabs their feet.

"Go on," Robin says as she shoos us out. "Everyone is out back. We'll be done in a minute."

I don't need much more encouragement than that. I walk out the door into the hot summer air.

"Hey, Riley!" Drake calls to me from one end of the pool. He's holding onto two kid float things. Afton in one, Quinn in the other. He wears this pair of vintage sunglasses, looking very retro dad-of-the-year. "Glad you could make it!"

"It's good to see you," I say, actually meaning it. He always knows how to make someone instantly at ease and part of the family.

"Excuse me, sorry, coming through."

Suddenly Julian bursts through the door, bumping me as he goes. He takes a huge, bounding leap, arching in the air, and careens into the pool, right next to Kale.

Just as he bobs back to the surface, he holds his fists into the air and looks around at everyone. "Who's was the better splash?"

"No question—it was my husband," Sage says. I find her lounged out on a chaise, wearing this adorable black one-piece suit. "Julian also had more flare."

"Come on, you can't be the judge," Kale says, waving a dismissive hand at her. "You're opinions are one-sided. You saw mine, right, Beautiful?" He's giving me his signature smile, which he tops off with a wink.

"I did indeed," I say, placing my hands on my hips. "And I have to say, Julian's did have more flare. I have to declare him the winner."

"Yeah!" Julian cheers, pumping his fists in the air, displaying his plethora of tattoos. Seriously, there's more ink than bare skin.

"Come on," Kale groans. "You're picking the scrawny nerd over me?"

"Now watch this one."

I turn to see Lake just behind me. He's stripped off his shirt, wearing only his swimming suit he wore over. I move out of the way, he readies himself. And sprints toward the pool. He leaps when he gets to the edge. And somehow manages to flip himself fully in the air.

When he lands, it soaks everyone. Including me. Lake causes a freaking tsunami.

"Lake!" everyone yells as they try to shake off the water. "Lake wins!"

Lake holds one fist up triumphantly in the air. He looks my way, and I wink at him. He grins brilliantly in return.

"I hope you have a suit under all of that," Sage calls to me. She pats the seat next to her.

"I do indeed," I say as I walk toward her. I slip my shorts off and pull my tank top over my head, revealing my powder blue bikini that I haven't worn in quite some time. I settle down into an impressively comfortable lounge chair.

"How are things at the ranch going?" Sage asks.

"Really, really good," I say, finding myself feeling proud of what we've done. "We just hired two new employees."

"We?" she asks with a hint of a smile.

I look back over to Lake, who's got Lucian on his back and is swimming around, saying he's a whale. "I would have lost the ranch without your brother. He saved it."

Sage takes a sip from her water bottle and sets it back down. "You know, a lot of people look at Lake and see how big he is and think he's nothing but muscle and action. They don't see the big heart and the drive to help people."

I look over at Sage and find her eyes fixed on Lake. There's sadness there, and worry.

"He's going to be okay over there," I say. And it's as much for myself as it is for her. "He's a good soldier."

Sage wipes a hand quickly over her cheeks, even though there isn't anything there. Yet. "He is a good soldier. It's just been hard. Worrying about him for the past nine years. I thought I was done having to worry about him."

"Yeah," is all I respond with.

"Whatever you've done to him in the past few weeks, thank you," Sage says. She turns and looks at me. Even though she's wearing sunglasses, I can see that she means it. "I haven't seen him this happy in a long, long time. Maybe ever."

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. It's nice.

"Would you two girls mind helping us carry this stuff out?" Kaylee says as she pokes her head out the door. "Everyone else is soaking wet, and I don't think you want them romping through the house."

Sage and I both climb to our feet and help bring the food out to a table on the deck. There's sandwiches, fruit, potato salad, dinner rolls, orange juice that has KALE written across it in big, bold letters, and a big jug of fruit punch.

"Can I help you get the kids some food?" I offer Kaylee as I watch her try and balance three plates along one arm.

"Yes, thank you," she says with a chuckle. She hands me one of the plates, and I pick up another. "It's a little intimidating, being vastly outnumbered by them. But I wouldn't trade my chaotic morning snuggles for anything."

"It sounds perfect," I say, and it actually does.

With the kids dished up and sitting at the miniature picnic table that feels completely out of place here at Julian and Sage's house, the adults serve themselves.

"You work out, right?" Kale asks from behind me in the line at the table. I turn to find him very thoroughly checking me over. "You don't get a sports model-shaped bod like that by just riding horses."

Lake clips him on the back of the head. Kale whips around, holding his fists up. It's a comical sight. If it really were to come to blows, Lake would kill Kale. Figuratively.

"You do if you work fourteen-hour days," Lake says, his eyes annoyed but playful. "And stop checking her out."

"So does this mean that there's a stake that's been claimed?" Kale asks, turning to me and raising an eyebrow.

I bite my lower lip as I scoop myself some fruit salad and look up at Lake. He's got that lopsided smile on his face that is completely irresistible. "You bet your ass it has been," Lake says.

And all the men around us whoop.

"It's about time you found yourself a woman," Julian teases. Lake turns and glares at him, immediately shutting Julian up. His face grows serious and he looks down at his food. "Sorry, I'll just..."

Julian is genuinely scared of Lake. And I find that hilarious.

I finish getting my food, right behind Kaylee. As we look for somewhere to sit, she bumps my shoulder gently. "Seriously though," she says. "Thanks for making him smile. And welcome to the family."

She goes to sit over by her kids. Her words stick with me though.

Welcome to the family.

My own family was always so small. And then Dad would be out on duty for months, sometimes over a year at a time. There were no other kids around. I barely knew any of my aunts and uncles or cousins.

But this family? They're something special. They're tight. And loving. And supportive.

They're also loud and teasing and in a constant state of joking.

But they love each other.

And being invited into this fold means a whole lot more than I expected it to.

"You want to sit over there and eat?" Lake asks, nodding his head toward two open chairs.

"Yeah," I say, smiling as I look over at him. He stands close to me, plate and a cup in hand. I lean forward, balancing my own meal, and press my lips to his.

I know the entire family is watching us, but I really, really don't mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"Favorite color?" he asks as he traces a finger up my arm.

"Burnt orange, like a sunset," I say.

"Like your hair?" he says. I can hear the smile on his lips.

"I guess I hadn't thought of that," I reply. I nuzzle my face against his bare chest, over the tattoos of the stars on his skin. We're on a blanket out in the middle of the pasture, staring up at the stars.

"Favorite ice cream flavor?" I say.

"Hmm," he mulls. "Reese's."

"It is pretty good," I say.

Lake's hands shift and he pulls me on top of his lap. I look down at him. It's dark, so I can't see too many of his features. But I can see the brilliant stars reflected in his eyes. He stares at me back, so many deep emotions there.

"I don't want to leave you," he says as he reaches a hand up and runs his knuckles over my cheek.

I place my hand over his, trapping his palm to my face. "It's only four months." Which feels like a lifetime, but I try to pretend otherwise.

"And you'll be okay, right?" he asks. He asks the question hesitantly. Like he doesn't want to hurt me by saying it, because he's asking if I'll be okay in more way than one. He's worried about it.

"I'll be okay," I say with a nod. It's hard to say the words. But I get them out.

Because it will be true. As hard as it's going to be, I'll keep moving forward one day at a time. I'll worry about him and I'll constantly be praying for him to whoever might be listening, but I'll be okay.

"And I'm going to be right here, waiting for you when you come home," I whisper as I lean forward and kiss him.

"You ready?" I say as I look around the apartment. The few things Lake has are in boxes, ready to be taken into the house and stored for the next few months until he comes home.

"Yeah," he says, weight in his voice.

He stands before me, dressed in fatigues. His canvas bag is at his feet, containing the few things he'll be taking with him.

He looks incredible, dressed in his uniform. A man in uniform is unbearably sexy. But seeing him dressed like that, it makes a hard lump form in my throat.

I'm scared to death.

But I'm also incredibly proud.

There are few people in this world who are made to give. Give to those who are around them. Give to their families. Give to their country.

Lake is one of them.

"Let's go," I say. I take one step toward him, grabbing his collar, and pulling his lips to mine. Lake brings one hand to the small of my back, pulling me close. The other, he places at the back of my head.

I wrap my arms around his neck and let myself sink into this moment.

One hundred and twenty-two days, and he'll come back to me.

When we pull apart, Lake grabs his bag and we head down the stairs. He puts it in the back of the truck and we both call a goodbye to Dale. Katrina, the new secretary we hired last week, pops out of the house and waves a goodbye.

There aren't too many words that pass between us as I drive to the airport. Lake's fingers are wrapped firmly around mine in the middle seat. I glance down at them every once in a while, and he squeezes my hand gently.

Just as the airport comes in sight, he lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it.

I park in the hourly parking, and hand-in-hand, we walk into the airport.

The whole family has come to see Lake off. We get our visitors passes, go through security, and head for his gate.

Lake talks and jokes with his family. They all laugh and tell stories. But I sit there quietly, trying not to let worry drown me. But it's hard.

What feels like all too soon, his gate is being set up for the arrival and then departure. One by one, his family members start hugging him and saying their goodbyes. Sage and Julian. Kale. Kaylee and Drake. All the kids. And then his parents. I stand off to the side while they see him off.

And when he's said goodbye to them all, he turns to me.

I can't hold myself back. I rush toward him, his arms open and waiting. I throw my arms around his neck, hugging myself tight to him.

"I'm going to be back," he says. I can hear the tightness in his voice. Feel the fear. Feel the sincerity behind that promise. "Just 122 days and I'll be back."

"Come home to me," I say, trying to hold back my emotion. I pull back so I can look in his face. I study it, tracing every line and curve, praying that this won't be the last time I see it.

"I'll come home, Baby," he says in a whisper.

People start filing off his plane as he leans forward and kisses me. It's deep and longing and full of passion. A lot of people are looking, I can feel their eyes, but I don't care. It's just me and him and this promise between us that he will not die while he is out there.

"Be safe," I breathe as we pull away.

They announce that his flight has begun boarding, inviting all military personnel to be seated with the business class. He bends and picks up his bag, and holds my hand and my eyes for another long moment.

He bends in for one last kiss, brief, but full of everything.

Then he takes a step away, holding my hand for one moment longer, before his touch is gone, and he has to turn and get on that plane.

"Lake," I call to him just before he disappears. He looks back at me, his eyes wide, his expression full of longing. "Oorah," I say.

A smile forms on his face and he blinks, slow, just once. "Oorah," he calls back.

He looks over his shoulder, one last time, before he disappears down toward the plane.

"Be safe," I say quietly one more time to the universe.

I feel someone's arms wrap around my shoulders and turn my head to see Sage hugging me. A moment later, she's joined by Kaylee. Robin wraps her arms around us all, just as one single tear slips down my cheek.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I throw myself into work for the first weeks after Lake leaves. Because otherwise, I will turn into a dysfunctional ball of worry and fear. So Dale, Katrina, and I, we work our tails off. Dale moved into Lake's apartment after he left. Katrina takes care of the phones and bookwork. And I ride my heart out. I teach lessons. I help with the events.

At the end of the day, I collapse into bed so hard I don't have the opportunity to lie awake and wonder how Lake is doing.

On the fifth of September, I study my pictures of Cal. Today would have been our wedding day. The day is beautiful and warm. It would have been perfect.

But each day has led to the next, and maybe one event has led me to right where I belong.

So that night, I take Cal's pictures, put them in a box with his ring, and I set them on a shelf in my closet.

I have moved on. I will not ever let him go, because Cal will forever be a part of my heart. But I can move on and live my life.

I can be happy.

September is busy. Just an extension of summer.

But come the beginning of October, the clouds move in. The rain comes, and things start to slow down for the first time in months.

We see a big rotation in our horses. Trooper and Trapper are ready for their owners. I deliver them the first weekend in October. Lady is indeed the perfect little lady now. The little girls who are meant to ride her are beyond ecstatic when I drop her off the second weekend.

And the last weekend in October, I take Sir Devil back to his owners.

He's a brilliant horse. He listens, he obeys, he feels his rider. He'll be a moneymaker for them. I even get a brilliant bonus from his owners, they are so pleased with the work I've done with him.

On Halloween, I get a call from Sheriff Akins. Everything has finally settled with Travis' sentencing. He'll be serving the next two to three years in prison, and I will have a permanent restraining order against him. It's an incredible relief to know that I will never have to worry about him again. I hope no other woman ever has to worry about him in the future.

It's November before the months start to feel unbearably long. We cut our days down to four days a week. Dale still feeds the animals every day except Sunday and most Saturdays. I still teach lessons twice a week, but I only train on Mondays and Wednesdays now. It's nice to have a bit of a break, but it does leave me with more time to miss Lake.

I write him emails every Sunday and Wednesday night. He can usually only reply once a week. Sometimes it's less frequent than that. But that tight ball of fear loosens just a bit every time I see an email from him in my inbox.

He's doing well. He's a platoon sergeant now. He's hardly ever out in the field. He's away from most of the danger.

He misses me.

And how I miss him too.

Toward the end of November, just two days before Thanksgiving, he sends an email that he will be able to video call for a few minutes the next day.

My heart leaps into my throat and my pulse skyrockets.

I don't sleep that night. I lie awake, imagining what we'll talk about, how he'll look, where he'll be. In the morning, I rush through my chores. I shower, do my hair nice, get dressed, and sit in front of my laptop, eagerly waiting.

He misses the time he was supposed to call me. Which doesn't surprise me. This happened all the time with Cal, and sometimes he was never able to actually call.

So for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes I wait nervous and scared that he won't actually be able to talk.

But twenty-five minutes after he said he'd be calling, my computer rings out with the call.

I click accept to the video call, and the screen goes black for a moment while the connection is made.

And suddenly, there his face is.

"Hi," I say as my eyes instantly well.

"Hey, Baby," he says, a brilliant smile breaking on his face. Lopsided as ever.

"How are you?" I ask. I reach forward, touching my fingers to his cheek on the screen. He's wearing a simple white T-shirt, his dog tags under it. His hair is close cropped, his face completely clean shaven. But he looks good. He looks alive.

"I'm fine," he says through his grin. "Great now."

I laugh, a breathy, emotional thing. "It's really good to see you. I miss you."

"I miss you too," he says, his eyes reflecting his words. For a second, my heart panics as the screen freezes and goes fuzzy. But a moment later it rights itself.

"Sorry," he says, adjusting the screen on his own computer. "The connection here sucks."

"It's okay," I say, smiling once again. "I'm just glad to see your face."

"How is everything at home?"

And everything in me melts at him calling this, and me, home.

He knows right where he belongs.

"Things are good," I say. "Getting slower, like they should. Sir Devil finally went home."

"I bet you're glad to be rid of him," Lake laughs.

I shrug. "I don't know. I think I might kind of miss him. He was a challenge, but in the end, he's a good animal."

"You're not working yourself too hard, are you?" he says as he leans forward. He seems so close, like I could just lean forward and press my lips to his. And yet so far away.

"I'm down to forty hours a week," I tease. "I'm not sure what to do with myself. I have way too much free time."

Lake's eyes suddenly shift up, like he's listening to someone behind the screen. And my stomach sinks, because I know what that means.

A few seconds later, Lake's eyes meet mine again. "They're saying I need to get off in a second. Lots of guys are waiting to talk to their families."

"Okay," I say, once again filling with emotion at the word family. Because I realize that this was probably his one video call home, and he chose to call me. "I will tell your family you said hi."

"Are you going for Thanksgiving tomorrow?" he asks.

I nod. "Your mom didn't give me much choice. But I'm happy to go."

Lake laughs. "Yeah, that sounds like Mom."

"Will I get to see you again before you come home?" I ask. Once again, I touch my fingers to the screen. I wish I could reach right through and touch him in real life. To feel his skin against mine.

"I don't think so," he says, a regretful look on his face as he shakes his head. "Only thirty-eight more days though."

"Thirty-eight more days," I repeat. It feels so long. But I remind myself that we've already made it through eighty-four.

"I've got to go now, Baby," he says. I see him reach forward, like he's touching his screen too. "I'm coming home soon."

"Come home to me," I say as emotion pricks at the back of my eyes once again.

And our connection goes out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

On December eighteenth, I get a surprise I never, ever expected.

I walk out of the barn when I hear a deep rumbling coming up the driveway. I tuck my gloves into my back pocket and wipe a trail of dirt from my brow. When I step outside, I see Sage's BMW rolling up to the house.

Immediately followed by Dad's Shelby. Driven by Julian.

The two of them park next to the house and both of them step out. Sage wears these fantastic boots, leather pants, and a pea coat. Julian looks sophisticated as well in his button up coat and polished shoes.

I can just stand there and stare at my dad's car though.

It's beautiful. It's been repainted, a shiny, slick black. And I can see through the windows, it's been fully restored. Gorgeous white leather seats, new everything.

"You're the one who bought my dad's Shelby?" I breathe, my eyes shifting from the car to Julian.

His eyes are bright when he smiles. "I have specific tastes when it comes to cars, and I've always wanted to get my hands on one of these. Lake had no idea when he asked us if we'd be interested in buying it. Needless to say, I had no hesitations in giving you top dollar for such a rare gem."

The back of my eyes sting. I bite my lower lip and nod.

"It's all fully restored, with a few extra bells and whistles," Sage says. She wears a soft smile. She always seems so intimidating and powerful. But right now, she looks open. Like a big sister. "Merry Christmas, Riley."

My eyes jump up to her once again. "What?" I ask, completely confused. "What do you mean?"

"That car, it's a piece of your dad," Sage continues. "That means it's a part of your family. It should always be yours. I know I don't know you that well yet, but I know you well enough to know you have about as much pride as I do. But we want you to have it back. It belongs to you."

Tears threaten to well in my eyes.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "I just about lost this place. We were one day away from it. But we kept it, because of you."

Sage shrugs. "It's just money," she says. And the way she says it, it isn't her bragging about how much of it the two of them have. "It's still Lake who brought you back."

I give them a little smile, fighting back my emotions. I cross to the both of them and wrap an arm around each of them.

"I would like to steal it back every so often, just for a drive," Julian adds in. "All the girls want me when they see me in it."

Sage smacks him on the back of head as all of us laugh.

I've never had a brother or a sister before. But having these two here, that's what they feel like.

And family always looks out for family.

____

Two days before Christmas, I head to the airport to pick up Mom. I wait for her down at the baggage claim, and the second I see her coming down the escalator, a huge grin plasters on my face. I rush forward, engulfing her in my arms. We both laugh, Mom cries, and in general, we make a bit of a scene.

"I missed you so much," Mom says, still squeezing me tight.

"Missed you, too," I say when she finally releases me. We collect her bag and head out for the Shelby. Mom is completely shocked to see it, and can't stop talking about how generous the Dohrings are as we head home.

I smile as I watch the road. I pat Mom's leg and leave my hand there. She laces her fingers through mine. For the first time in weeks, I feel peaceful.

We spend most of the night talking. About the ranch and all the changes. About Virginia and Aunt Lynda. About what we want to do for the holidays coming up. About my relationship with the McCains.

And finally, Mom brings up the man himself.

"How's Lake doing?" she asks.

"He's good," I say, feeling my face warm. "He's staying safe."

"I'm glad to hear it," she says with a smile. "You two are so good for each other."

"How do you mean?"

"Oh, Honey, I think you know," she chuckles. "That boy, when he came to this ranch that first day, was drowning in guilt over the fact that Cal saved his life. He was buried in a debt that wasn't his fault. And he carried it around for a while, but being with you? You freed him. And he freed you." She studies me, just as I study her. Her eyes are bright and hopeful. "You weren't living before, Sweetie. You were existing, you were going through life. But you weren't really living. But he brought you back to life."

My throat tightens. "Yeah, he did. You know, I was thinking about something. That first day when he showed up, if you had been two minutes later, and hadn't invited him to stay for dinner, our lives would have been much different."

We would have lost the ranch. Who knows where I'd be living now. And I would have still been drowning.

"I do know what I'm doing sometimes." Mom squeezes my hand, and excitement builds in her eyes. "We need to make some changes around this house, baby girl," she says. "It's yours now, and this is your life. Let's make it you."

It feels a little silly to me, but Mom insists, and it has been my house for nearly six months. Maybe I shouldn't still be living in the same bedroom I've had since high school.

We move all my things down to the master bedroom. We convert my old room to a guest bedroom, that for the next week and a half, Mom will occupy. All this on Christmas Eve. That evening, we head into the trees on the property, find one that isn't a hundred feet tall, and I chop it down. We tie it to the back of the four-wheeler and drag it to the house. After setting it up in the living room, we decorate it with all the ornaments we've accumulated over the past few decades.

Mom makes cookies after and sets out a plate and a glass of milk next to the fire place, which has a roaring fire in it. I know Santa won't be coming down to get burned that night and bring me presents and eat his cookies, but I appreciate her stirring my childhood memories anyway.

Christmas day is quiet but joyful. Dale went back to Montana for a few days to be with his family. Mom and I open our few presents to each other. She makes her traditional cinnamon rolls for breakfast. We listen to Christmas music, and just like a miracle, snow starts to fall outside.

It's simple, and it's nearly perfect.

If only one person weren't missing.

Six more days. From Christmas to when Lake comes home. Six days.

Over those days, while work is on break for the holidays, Mom and I work on the house. It's getting old, and it's outdated. So we put some effort into it. On the first day, we paint my new bedroom and the bathroom. Over the next two days, we paint the old wooden cabinets a brilliant white and give them some new rubbed bronze fixtures. We then paint the walls in the kitchen a Nantucket blue. Next comes the living room, with new paint and new drapes.

I'm at a bit of a loss with it all, but Mom pulls up the internet and starts showing me pictures until I find things I like. We shop, we work. I'm impressed with the changes.

I can still see the bones of my childhood home. A lot of it is the same, from the worn out carpet, to the wood floors that have hints of track marks between rooms. But the facelift is nice. Like this really is my home now.

Like I'm really on my own two feet by myself. Like this is the life I've chosen.

I can feel something big and important building up inside of me as the end of the day New Year's Eve draws. This feels like a new beginning. A beginning that doesn't have a stumbling block right out the start. A beginning that has happiness in it.

Because tomorrow, Lake will come home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I wake early that morning. It's still strange, walking up in what was always Mom and Dad's bedroom, but it's different. The walls are no longer white. They're burnt orange and cream. The pictures on the wall are different. My things are scattered about. And on the bedside table, is a picture of a soldier with badges on his chest.

I pull his picture into my hand and look him over. I can't help but smile as I do.

And just then, my phone dings with a text message.

About to get on another plane, but I'm in Dallas. Be home in a few hours.

Lake.

I press my lips to my phone, a smile pulling at my lips.

"That must be a certain soldier," Mom says from the doorway of the bedroom. "No one else can make you smile like that."

I cover my face with the picture frame in embarrassment. "He's in Dallas."

"You'd better go get ready to greet your man," she smiles.

I raise the flag after I get dressed. For just a few minutes, I stand there. I think of Dad. Think of Cal. And think of the soldier I'll be seeing in just a few hours.

The red, white, and blue runs through my veins. It may have broken my heart a few times, but it's a part of who I am. And I'm proud to be an American.

I feed the animals. Bear and Chico run around my feet like they can feel the excitement and know Lake is coming home. I shower and dry my hair. Dab on a bit of make-up. Pull on skinny jeans and some nice boots. Put on a sweater and wrap a scarf around my neck. Top it off with a knit cap.

Mom makes me lunch, though my nerves are too high to eat much. She kisses me on the side of the head as I head out the door.

My heart flutters hard and fast as the miles between us close. The traffic is intense at the airport on such a heavy travel day. It's hard to find parking, making anger and frustration rise in my blood. Finally, I find a spot.

I wait by the baggage claim with a few other families. I wonder if there will be any other soldiers coming home with Lake. Probably. They seem to deploy in waves.

I check my phone again as I wait. Nothing.

Any minute now.

The plan was that I would pick Lake up, and then we'd head to his parents' house to have dinner with the family. Except for Kale, who's been in Paris for weeks and won't be able to get away for a few more.

His career has exploded. He is the it man in the modeling world right now.

For Christmas, he sent me this poster of himself. He's shirtless—of course—and it has his branch of the company plastered along the bottom of it: Your Fantasy. His name, Kale McCain, stretches along both sides of it. He signed it to me, saying something inappropriate and completely Kale.

I check my phone again, looking for any kind of text confirming that Lake is in. The flight status board says he is.

And when I look up from my phone, there he is, coming down the escalator.

Emotion instantly stings the back of my eyes, but more than that, happiness explodes in me. It erupts from every pore, putting a spring in my legs that launches me forward. The second Lake sees me, his face breaks out into a smile, and it's a brilliant thing that could change the world.

He barely steps off the escalator before I launch myself at him.

His skin is real, his lips are real. The heat of him is real.

And he's alive.

And I never want to part from him again.

My lips consume his and he drops his bag at his booted feet, his hands pressing into my lower back. My hands hold his face to my lips and his tongue has a reunion with mine.

Everyone around us starts clapping and cheering.

It's a perfect scene, a country girl reunited with her soldier.

I lean back so I can see his face, my legs still firmly wrapped around his hips. I smile like a fool, and so does he.

"I love you," I say. The words threaten to explode from me with their truth. "I love you so much, and I don't ever want you to leave again. Promise me you'll stay and just love me. Promise me that you'll be mine. Forever."

A small little chuckle comes up his chest, but his eyes burn with sincerity and brightness. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. "I love you too, Riley James. So damn much. And I promise. All of it."

I lean forward and press my lips to his again, gently this time.

This is my soldier. This is my helping hand and partner. This is my man and my lover and my equal.

I'm going to marry this man someday. Maybe not tomorrow, or in the spring, or next summer. But someday. I'm going to marry this man, and I'm going to have his babies.

And I'm going to love him to the end of our days and beyond.

Because we've both swum to the depths of the darkness. And we've surfaced.

Together.

CATCH THE NEXT BOOK IN

THE McCAIN SAGA

PLAYING IT KALE

Coming January 20, 2014

Did you miss Drake and Kaylee's story?

Or Sage and Julian's?

Catch up now!

KEARY TAYLOR grew up along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains where she started creating imaginary worlds and daring characters who always fell in love. She now splits her time between a tiny island in the Pacific Northwest and Utah with her husband and their two children. She continues to have an overactive imagination that frequently keeps her up at night.

Please visit www.KearyTaylor.com to learn more about her and her writing process.

