One to Take (One to Hold 8)

With a start my eyes blink open as the heavy metal gate groans. Six horses burst through it at different speeds, some trotting, others loping. Their pungent, earthy scent fills the air as they spread out in the enclosed pen. I watch them toss their heads in the cool morning air, stamping their hooves, and admiration warms my chest. They’re mystical and gorgeous, especially Freckles, the Appaloosa. Her white-grey coat is speckled with black dots, and her mane is jet-black over her pale face. She looks like a ghost, and she’s just as flighty and unpredictable as one.

She’s the spirited mare who got Stuart and me together the first time I was here. If she hadn’t tried to kick me, he wouldn’t have put himself between me and her hooves, but I don’t hold it against her. It was just the push he needed. I’m not sure my stubborn cowboy would have ever lowered his guard enough to let me in without her help.

Dakota and Cheyenne jog past. They’re large, chocolate-brown, and so gentle a child could ride them. Ranger is the brown and white Paint Stuart prefers. He loves to run. Scout is the Palomino.

Just then a smaller grey Appaloosa glides across the yard, nickering and tossing her black mane as if she’s offended. My eyes widen—she’s new and I love her on sight! I watch as she scoots in beside Freckles. It must be her foal.

“You know I don’t like waking up alone.” Strong arms surround me, and Stuart kisses the back of my neck.

“Mm,” I melt into his firm chest. “Is that an indirect order, soldier?” I tease.

“Yes.” He nips my earlobe, and a little thrill makes my shoulders jump.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, turning to face him. “I wanted to be outside and watch the sun rise.”

“You didn’t sleep well last night.”

The wind pushes through the yard in a strong gust, and I clutch my coffee cup and the blanket tighter. Tall and slim, the lines of his muscled arms show through the grey Henley he’s wearing.

“Hey!” I cry. “You’ve been in my suitcase! That’s mine!”

He only laughs. “You stole my favorite shirt. I stole it back.”

“It’s my favorite shirt now.” Pressing my face straight into his sternum, I take a deep breath. “It smells the most like you.”

His arms are around me and the morning chill is lost in the warmth of my love for this man. Another burst of wind hits me from behind, sending my long hair swirling into my face in chestnut ribbons.

Stuart catches one side holding it back. “We’re moving in together. You can stop stealing my clothes.”

A tingle of joy moves through my stomach… At least I think it’s joy. I recently found out it could be something else, but for the moment it’s still my little secret—and I’m about to die waiting to tell it! One more doctor’s visit, and I’ll be ready. I want everything to be certain before I share my amazing news.

As my mind travels, concern fills his eyes. “What was your dream about?”

Images of dark alleys, panic, and those terrible whispers return to my mind, and I shake my head. “I don’t know. It didn’t make any sense.”

“You haven’t had nightmares in a long time.”

“Not since the fire in the desert.” Our eyes meet, and I touch his cheek.

My nightmares of his injury while serving in Afghanistan, of the explosions and the carnage, of him being dragged away while his partner was left to die on the sand flood my mind. They were the reason I came here to find him when I barely even knew his name. It was the only time I’d ever dreamed about someone besides myself.

We’re quiet a moment as he studies my face. “If you figure it out, you know you can talk to me.”

“That’s the problem. I never figure it out until it’s too late.” My teeth clench, and I blink away from his gaze. He’s still serious, but I don’t want to think about my dreams. I don’t want them spoiling our waking hours.

I turn to face the yard again, and a shrill whinny draws my attention. The cute little gray horse is prancing across the grass with Freckles. I watch as she rears her dark head. Right in the center is a bright white circle like a moon.

“Who is she?”

Stuart steps beside me to the fence, looking over at her. “Seems Freckles had a lost weekend.”

Wrinkling my nose, I can’t help laughing. “Lost weekend?”

“She ran away, and Bill thinks she must’ve hooked up with a wild mustang. All his males are geldings.”

“So she’s a year old?” I watch as the small horse ventures closer to where we are, only to toss her head and run back across the yard.

“About.” He crosses the fence and steps into the pen, making a clicking sound as he approaches her.