“It wasn’t reckless. It was awe-inspiring.”
“No.” Her eyes narrowed. “Jacob is kind, gentle, caring, and generous. But with good attributes comes bad, and one of his flaws is searching for freedom from things he doesn’t want to face. He believes he’s immortal. One day, he’ll realise he’s not.”
I froze in my saddle, but Della wasn’t finished. “Promise me you won’t be reckless like him.”
Our eyes locked, held, and sent messages I didn’t fully comprehend.
Before I could reply, Della’s gaze fell to the glint of silver around my throat. “Jacob might be reckless, but he also has good taste in jewellery.” She smiled knowingly. “The locket suits you, Hope.”
Leaning forward, she urged her mare into a gallop, leaving only wind for conversation and the pound of hooves as I chased her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jacob
* * * * * *
STANDING ON THE deck of my cabin at one a.m. usually meant I was alone in the world. The owls in the trees, crickets in the grass, and the vast, incomprehensible emptiness of the galaxies above my only company.
But not tonight.
Tonight, my sanctuary had once again been intruded upon.
I stiffened as my gaze trailed Cherry River from one end of its boundary far, far in the distance to the other. As I skimmed over my mom’s house, Grandpa John’s house, Aunt Cassie’s, and the equestrian business, my attention landed on the candy pink and white stripes of a pyjama-clad girl with brown hair so dark it looked black and feet so bare they looked like white slippers.
What the hell is she doing out of bed?
Mom had kept her occupied all day with a long hack around the farm, saddle and bridle cleaning for the riding school after lunch, and then a visit to Aunt Cassie’s to do God knew what.
When I’d finished work, I’d found them sharing freshly squeezed lemonade in the setting sun on Mom’s porch, giggling over something I wasn’t privy to. Despite my discomfort with how well Mom and Hope got along, I kept my promise and cooked dinner—bowing to the pointed glares to ensure there were three helpings, not two.
I’d stayed mostly quiet while we ate a simple meal of honey roasted ham, crisp green salad, and fresh buttery rolls, and made excuses to return to my own space the moment I’d helped with the dishes.
I’d done my best to relax at home—even going as far as turning on the TV and listening to the mindless drone of nonsense I didn’t care about.
But I couldn’t turn my brain off. Couldn’t stop the possessive annoyance that Hope was in my space, hanging out in my room, and making my mother laugh when I’d failed in that level of companionship.
I’d gone to bed early, hoping sleep would be my salvation, but when the mattress refused to cradle me into unconsciousness, I’d given up.
So there I stood, nursing a mug of hot chocolate laced with whiskey—whiskey Mom didn’t know I drank—and instead of finding peace surveying the empire I’d inherited, I spotted an enemy who didn’t belong.
The world was hushed and heavy as if waiting for something to happen as Hope picked her way through the bottom meadow, crossed the small bridge Dad had made, and followed the path to the willow grotto.
Each footstep brought her closer. Each explore guided her unwanted presence to my door.
The thin navy T-shirt and linen pants I slept in didn’t stop my skin from prickling with unease as Hope’s head came up.
Our eyes tangled, locking together in a way that felt almost physical.
The silver moonlight obscured her face but didn’t hide her sudden stillness. Sudden awareness. Sudden fear of discovery.
Neither of us moved for the longest moment.
Her as still and wary as prey. Me as coiled and on edge as a predator.
Finally, she raised her arm and waved, breaking the spell, sending a wash of something hot and angry down my spine.
Slugging back my cocktail of chocolate and liquor, I placed the empty mug on the wooden seat I’d carved and leapt off the deck.
Soft grass was the perfect carpet as I padded barefoot toward her. Silver light and flickering stars were our only witnesses to being out of bed when everyone else dreamed safely.
When I was close enough to whisper rather than shout, I murmured, “You shouldn’t be out here.”
Her head tilted, brown hair sliding over her shoulders like liquid silk. I hated that she no longer resembled a child. I despised the fullness of her chest beneath such girlish pyjamas and the way her hips filled out her riding gear.
It’d been a long time since I’d seen her, and this new woman in front of me didn’t compute with the waifish girl I’d done my best to scare off.
“I couldn’t sleep.” She blinked with eyes too hooded to be innocent. She spoke with a voice too rich and feminine to belong to the annoying Hope Jacinta Murphy.