In the stable, Jake finished toweling Kira’s mare, closed the gate and walked down the row of stalls to the gentle chestnut that had carried him down the canyon and back. He’d already removed the saddle and bridle and replaced them in the tack room, and the horses had been fed before dinner. But he wanted to reward Dynamite with some extra attention.
He’d learned about grooming along with Kira’s students. Now, with a currycomb, a brush and a towel, he stepped into Dynamite’s stall and began.
None of the horses in the stable wanted for care. But because Dynamite was an extra, he hadn’t received a daily grooming like the students’ horses. A shudder of pleasure passed through the old gelding’s body as Jake combed the loose hair from his coat. He snorted and shook his hide in clear enjoyment. As Jake followed with a soft brushing, he began to talk to the horse.
“So you like that, do you, old boy? Well, you’ve earned some special treatment. Any horse that’ll let me on its back without a fuss is one classy animal.. . . Say, maybe we can get to be friends, if you don’t mind a man who gets crazy sometimes. Could you handle that? I’ll bet maybe you could. . . .”
Jake rambled on, letting the words flow as he brushed the horse. The stable was quiet, the air fragrant with hay and horses and fresh manure. The only sounds were peaceful sounds—horses moving in their stalls, breathing, munching. The stillness and the warm, earthy aroma gave him an unaccustomed sense of safety. As he worked, he found himself talking about things he’d kept to himself—not about the war, but about the loneliness and frustration of not being able to let go and just live life. Talking to a blasted horse that was listening like he could understand every word.
This was crazy, he thought. But somehow it felt all right.
Jake finished grooming the horse and walked outside, closing the stable behind him. The lights were on in the house. He knew he’d be welcome to join the students for post-movie donuts and Kira’s briefing about the next day’s activities. But right now, it felt good to be alone and enjoy a rare few moments of peace.
The full moon had crested the sky, flooding the hills with light. Jake found himself walking under the gate, back down the trail where he and Kira had ridden earlier. He stopped at the flat rock with a view of the valley and took a seat. The sky was clear, the breeze cool. Still wearing their crowns of white blossoms, the saguaros stood like silver sentinels in the moonlight. A gray fox paused in a pool of light, then vanished into shadow.
Why not stay here? an inner voice whispered. Where else would he have a better chance of healing his tormented soul? Where else could he be a father to the little girl who meant more to him than anything in the world?
He was needed and welcomed here. He had meaningful work, friends, a decent place to live. And there was Kira, whose brusque manner hid a woman’s tender passions—passions barely glimpsed, barely tasted.
He could love her if he let it happen. Maybe, in a way, he already had.
His thoughts went back to the kiss they’d shared and then to how he’d spoiled the moment by talking about Wendy. Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone?
As his thoughts changed, Jake could feel the darkness closing around him. Once more, he went over what Kira had told him about the events leading up to Wendy’s accident—how Wendy had called her from the party across town because her friends were drinking and wanted to stay.
Strange, he thought, remembering. Kira had mentioned that Wendy was sober and wanted to go home. But the Wendy he remembered had loved a good party. More often than not, she would be among the last to leave. And she’d enjoyed drinking. Not that she was an alcoholic. He’d never seen her sloppy drunk. She’d always had her drinking under control. In fact, when she was pregnant with Paige, she’d stopped drinking altogether because it was bad for the baby.
Bad for the baby.
Something shifted in Jake’s mind—like the drop of a coin or the click of a switch. He stared into the night, his hands clenching into fists as he grappled with the truth.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Let me see your arms, Lanie.” Kira kept her tone friendly and informal, masking her concern. Nine days had passed since this group of students had arrived at the ranch. Lanie had been among the first to be interviewed. At the time, the razor slashes on her arms had been scabbed and raw. Now, as the petite, dark-eyed girl rolled up her sleeves, Kira saw that the cuts were mostly healed.
“Good for you. How about your legs? Sorry, you know the drill.” Kira had cleared this inspection with the girl’s parents.
Lanie stood and dropped her jeans below her knees. No new cuts on her thighs, either. “I’m not cutting myself here at the ranch,” she said. “I only feel like doing it at home.”
“Why’s that, do you think?” Kira asked, although she knew at least part of the answer.
“My mom and dad aren’t here.” Lanie pulled up her jeans and fastened them. “When I’m home, they fight all the time. It makes me feel awful. That’s why I cut myself.”
“How does that make you feel, cutting yourself? Doesn’t it hurt?”
Lanie twisted the hem of her shirt. “Well, sure. But it takes my mind off the fighting. And when they catch me at it, they, like, freak out, and I say, ‘Well, if you wouldn’t fight, I wouldn’t cut.’ ”
“Does it help?”
The girl shrugged. “Maybe, for about ten minutes.”
“So you can’t really control your parents.”
“I guess not. But I can make them feel bad.”
“You can punish them by cutting yourself. Does that make you feel better?”
“I guess.”