Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Cheyenne
I loved autumn. The change of colors in the trees, the crisp early mornings, the still nice warm days but cooler evenings. There’s enough of a chill in the air to make you think beef stew sounds like a good thing—yet none of the problems the winter brought. I loved it.
The horses loved the cooler weather too. Not that heat was that much of a problem in Green Point, Oregon. Sure, it could get hot and dry, but the higher temperatures were only for a few months, and a good share of the summer was a perfect eighty-five degrees. Hot enough to feel like summer, but not so much to cause heat problems with the horses. They grazed happily among the forty-five acres of sprawling fields.
Except for now though.
Cradling a cup of coffee, I gazed out through the front window in the direction of the massive barn, next to which about fifteen horses were currently gathered. They whinnied impatiently, looking in the direction of the back door while they waited for either Tiffany or me to step out.
I smiled. It had taken six years to save up and build the ranch. The horses that came through the gates at the front of the property had been either abused or abandoned. Some of them took years to regain trust in a human hand. The horses became my children in one way or another. I took my time when it came to finding good places for them to go, and some of them never left.
My stomach curled unpleasantly when I thought of the pink ‘past due’ slip that had come through the mail two days ago. Money was tight—way too tight for my liking. The grants were enough to cover the basics, but when it came to the mortgage on the property, it was a different story.
“Cheyenne?”
“Oh, sorry, Tif—what?”
Tiffany stood in the door frame between the living room and kitchen. Steam curled from the cup of coffee she had poured herself.
“I said we should get a move on with the feeding,” she said. “They are waiting not so patiently for their breakfast.”
“Right.”
“Hold on.” She placed a hand on my shoulder, frowning slightly with one eyebrow raised. “What’s going on with you?”
I frowned back at her. “Nothing. Why would you ask that?”
“Maybe because you’re pale and look like the Grim Reaper is about to stop by any second.”
“Pffft.”
Tiffany’s eyes scoured my face, and her expression implied that she didn’t believe a word I said. It didn’t surprise me. Tiffany’s uncanny ability to read expressions and pick up on personal energies and body language was one of the main reasons I hired her to help out with the sanctuary and ranch. I needed someone that could read others—especially people who came in looking to adopt a horse. Many of the horses we sheltered were either neglected, abandoned, or severely abused. It was comforting to have Tiffany at the sanctuary because she could pick up on that sort of thing before I could even run a background check.
The horses loved her too. They trusted her just as much as I did.
“We better get to feeding, or we’ll be fixing that fence this morning,” I said and pulled away from her. “You know how they get if they don’t get their oats first thing.”
There were a few times when certain horses had arrived at the ranch beyond terrified of any human contact. There were others who trampled through fences, or over horses, to get to food. The ones currently standing at the gate especially looked forward to mealtime.
We quickly downed the rest of our coffee before rinsing the mugs out in the kitchen sink. Grabbing a jacket, I followed Tiffany’s swinging blonde braid out to the barn through the chilly morning air. A bit of misty fog still clung to the sprawling field around the barn, and the morning dew sparkled in the sunlight. The quiet here was one of the main reasons I had fallen in love with Green Point. The town was small, and there was plenty of room for the sanctuary.
The next few hours flew by as they usually did, with Tiffany chatting cheerfully with the horses while we attended to the morning chores, which included handling the horses and brushing them down. I half-listened to her chatter while I brushed out the palomino mare with gentle strokes. Her ribcage was covered in deep scars from running through a barbed wire fence in an attempt to escape from the terrible treatment she had endured.
My blood simmered when I traced one of the jagged scars across her belly. How anyone could torture any animal was beyond me. The mare nickered softly, shifting beneath my hands.
“I know, girl,” I said, rubbing her neck affectionately. “Trust me… I know.”
She tossed her head empathetically before directing her attention to the clumps of hay on the floor.
“I swear they know what you’re saying sometimes,” Tiffany said. “The connection you have with these horses is amazing.”
I gave the palomino a friendly pat on her hindquarters. She moved on without hesitation to enjoy the warm sunlight in the field. I grinned over at Tiffany as she finished brushing one of the dark brown mares.
“They call me the horse whisperer for a reason,” I said.