by Angel Smits
She moved easily into his arms these days. It felt right. And so very, very good. Several long, quiet minutes passed before Wyatt pulled back and looked at her.
“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered.
She frowned at the seriousness in his eyes. Shouldn’t a surprise involve happiness? “What is it?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?” He started the truck and they were soon driving toward the city limits, in the opposite direction of the ranch.
She pouted but no amount of questioning made him give her even a hint. She gave up and leaned back to watch the scenery fly by.
Half an hour later, Wyatt drove the big truck into the yard of the Therapeutic Riding Center and killed the engine. He sat for a long minute staring out the windshield. Finally, he turned to look at her.
She gazed at the huge horse barn. “What are we doing here?” she croaked out. He’d been concerned about her emotional well-being, but why would he think it was important for her to interact with the horses? She’d settled into life at the ranch just fine. She slowly shook her head.
Wyatt faced her and cleared his throat before speaking. “You’re going in there. You can call me every name in the book, but you’re going to face this.”
“Why?” she whispered, looking at him with tear-filled eyes.
“I asked Pal Haymaker to do some checking.” He stared out the windshield and swallowed hard. “Sugar’s in there,” he whispered back.
As if a gun had gone off, she jerked. It wasn’t possible. Was this some type of cruel twist? Oh, God. She trembled.
Wyatt climbed out of the truck and walked around the front and opened her door. “Come with me?” He extended his hand.
Just then, a woman stepped out of the large, open barn door. She looked vaguely familiar, as if Emily had seen her long ago, when they were both younger. A name came out of the past. “Bonnie?” Emily whispered, and slowly climbed out of the truck.
“I didn’t know if you’d remember me.” The woman moved closer.
“I... Vaguely.” A neighbor? One of Mom’s friends? Fleeting memories of her sitting at the kitchen table having coffee with Mom surfaced. But that was all that came to her.
Wyatt’s hand was warm and reassuring under her elbow, but he didn’t say anything. Just followed, a wary look on his face. She swallowed, wishing... Wishing what? That he’d talk? That he’d explain? That she could express what she was feeling? She couldn’t. Instead, she focused on Bonnie, following the woman inside.
“Sugar is old and retired now. But today we brought him up from the pasture where he spends his days now,” Bonnie explained as she led them into the dark confines of the barn structure.
It was a huge facility. Stalls, dozens of them, lined each side of a large riding area. Even now, a group of kids was mounted on horses in the arena. Laughter and horse noises filled the cavernous building.
Bonnie led them to the last stall, away from the others, where it was quieter.
Outside the stall hung a blanket and a wooden sign with the name Sugar burned into it. On the table outside, a photo album of pictures lay open. Emily stared in wonder at the dozens of pictures of Sugar and all the kids and caretakers alike who had loved him over the years in place of Emily.
“Sugar,” Bonnie called into the stall. “You have a visitor.” The big horse turned, ambling up to the half door that closed the stall.
Emily could only stare, her eyes awash with tears. He was really and truly alive. He looked older, but so beautifully familiar.
Slowly, Emily reached out a tentative hand, remembering the day her father had given him to her. She’d promptly named the big beast Sugar for the pure white color of his coat. Her father’s laughter echoed over time back to her. He hadn’t thought much of the name, thinking a male horse should have a more masculine moniker, but he hadn’t argued.
All these years later, the aged horse was still as white and as beautiful as he’d ever been.
She blinked, trying to clear the emotions from her eyes. He nuzzled her hand with his broad face and her knees grew weak. She sighed at the warm softness of his nose.
“You can go in,” Bonnie said from behind her.
“I’m afraid I’m dreaming.” Emily couldn’t move. “Tell me how... Mom couldn’t really give details.” Her throat ached at the memory.
Bonnie cleared her throat. “After Earl tried to kill him—” Her voice wavered and Emily saw the old anger in the woman’s eyes. “After that night, Sugar came back to your house the next day.”
Memories flooded Emily’s mind. She closed her eyes, seeing, feeling it all again. She shivered and Wyatt stepped closer, slipping his arms around her. She leaned against him.
“You were at school,” Bonnie said, breaking into her painful memories. “Your mom was afraid Earl would finish what he’d started, so she called me. My husband, Tom, and I brought Sugar here and the people here saved him. Barely.”
Emily’s heart broke. She had lived with the belief that she’d sent Sugar to a certain death in the wilds of East Texas. Thank God for kind people like Bonnie and those who worked here.
“He’s lived a good life.” Emily could see that clearly, even while knowing that time with her hadn’t been part of that, thanks to Earl.
Bonnie opened the stall door and waved her inside. Dried grasses and dirt crackled under her feet.
“Take all the time you need,” Wyatt said, backing away and giving them space.
Emily had been a teenager when she’d driven Sugar away. Despite the years in between, she felt like she was a teenager all over again and her heart ached for all the hurt she knew lay between here and then.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Sugar, knowing he didn’t understand her, but needing to say it nonetheless. “I’m so sorry.”
He neighed softly and shook his head. She wanted to laugh at his timing. Did he sense she needed an answer? She grabbed his brush from the battered tin bucket at the edge of the stall. She’d loved to brush him, listening to his even breathing, taking in the warmth of his big body and the unconditional love he exuded. He’d been her refuge from her abusive stepfather and her beaten-down mother.
And she’d failed him. All these years, others had loved and cared for him. She hadn’t been able to do anything for him. She lifted the brush and set to work offering what little she could now.
The motion of brushing him soothed them both, and she swore she heard him sigh in contentment. She started at his big shoulders and across his back, talking softly to him. Telling him about her life, about her job, about the kids and families she’d worked with. If he’d been a human, they might have had that in common. She as a judge in the family courts, he as a therapeutic riding horse.
She passed where the saddles would rub, spots that were no longer there. Bonnie had said he was retired now and spent his days in the far pasture. But still Emily worked on them as diligently as if she’d just unsaddled him.
And then she reached the ridges across his back.
Her heart stopped. Her hands trembled.
The scars were deep and wide. Dear God. What had Bonnie said? They’d struggled to save him. She trembled in the wake of the memory of her stepfather’s hand lifted, the pitchfork in his meaty fist. She heard again the screams and this time she knew they weren’t going to be banished. This time, she knew she couldn’t ignore what she’d been unable to stop.
But this time the pain wasn’t as harsh.
Emily walked around to face Sugar. She rubbed his ears, just the way he’d always liked. Then carefully slipped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane. “We beat them all, Sugar,” she whispered to the horse. “We survived.”
Sugar nudged her shoulder then, and she laughed, the sound filling the stall. She stepped away, putting the b
rush back and turning back to the door. “You need to get your rest, old man.” He followed her and stuck his head out over the door. He nudged her again. “Okay, okay.” She laughed, then looked back at him one more time. “I’ll come back again. I promise.”
She heard footsteps behind her and hoped it was Wyatt. It was. She looked over her shoulder at him. What was she going to say to him? Not a single word came to her.
She wished the ancient horse could give her advice. He’d heard all the wishes and desires of her heart when she’d been a girl. He knew her better than anyone else.
Wyatt leaned against the stall door just inches from where she stood, watching Sugar just as she was. He didn’t say a thing.
He’d brought her here, forced her to face her past. He’d risked her anger, her hate and losing her.
She couldn’t move. Could she take such a risk for him? Was she able to? Was she that strong? Looking over at Sugar, she didn’t find any answers.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Wyatt seemed to freeze, then slowly he moved away from the stall door and faced her. “You’re welcome. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to do this or not, so I didn’t ask.”
Emily moved closer to him, gently putting her hands against his chest, hoping he’d slip his arms around her. He didn’t disappoint.
“Emily, I know I can’t always fix everything. But I promise you, I will always fix the things I can.”
“Always?” Her voice shook, hoping, wishing.
“I love you, Emily,” Wyatt whispered.
“I...” Sugar nudged her shoulder, and Emily stumbled into Wyatt’s arms. She threw her head back, and with a laugh, put her lips right up to his. “I love you, too. More than I can ever show you.”
Applause erupted around them, and Sugar whinnied loudly in approval as Emily kissed Wyatt, long and sweet.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from HIS FOREVER GIRL by Liz Talley.
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EXCERPT
TESS ULLO SLID ONTO a stool and knocked her knuckles against the weathered bar. “The usual, Ron. Stat.”
The bartender with ripped biceps and a sweet smile sauntered over. “That kind a day, hon?”
“God, yes.” Taking Granny B to the doctor and running all the errands the older woman had piled up on her list wasn’t for the faint of heart. Tess’s Italian grandmother wasn’t of the sweet variety—more like the salty-with-a-side-of-vinegar kind. For seven hours, Tess had “helped” her grandmother find a bath mat the perfect shade of periwinkle. All that running around came after hearing Granny B tell the technician doing the mammogram about her sex life with Tess’s long-departed grandfather. Tess would never look at the picture of the stern-faced man dressed in his Navy uniform in quite the same way. Scarred wasn’t even the word for what she felt. “Took Granny B out today.”
“Yikes. I’ll make it a double,” Ron said with a twinkle in his eye.
Tess gave a wave to Petra Ostrav who worked in the paint department at Tess’s family company. The diminutive woman sat close to her lover, Paola, a beautiful Chilean dancer who headlined at a top-notch gentleman’s club. Otherwise there were not many patrons on this late Monday afternoon. Maybe it was the weather—misty rain fell outside the open plantation windows of the bar located not far from the French Quarter in the Marigny district. Or maybe the small crowd was because it was Lent and the devout were being, well, devout.
Two-Legged Pete’s was a regular joint for the employees of Frank Ullo Float Builders—owned and operated by Tess’s father—so she usually knew someone when she dropped by. Of course, she’d been a more frequent patron at Pete’s recently since Mardi Gras was over and she’d stopped seeing her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Nick. She’d caught him with Merri Wynn right after Christmas. Nick had defended himself by claiming they weren’t exclusive, but Tess didn’t care. Still felt like a slap after they’d spent the previous weekend talking about a possible future together.
Her phone buzzed and she slid it from her purse. The text was from Gigi Vastola, her best friend.
Can’t get away from the office. Sorry, babe.
Damn it.
Tess had wanted some girl time with her bestie, but she understood. Gigi worked with a law firm on Canal Street, climbing the ladder toward partnership, which meant her friend often got trapped after hours preparing cases. No biggie. They’d catch up later. Tess would have one drink then maybe head to spinning class...or home to watch The Bachelor.
The door opened and Tess caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She cocked her head and looked—like everyone else in Two-Legged Pete’s—at the man in a raincoat shouldering his way in. A navy suit and a conservative tie showed beneath the black trench. He sported a fresh haircut and had a jaw of granite.
Nice.
But very out of place for a casual joint like Pete’s.
Tess snuck a peek at her middle-of-the-week jeans and long-sleeved sweater. Although the sweater had a pinprick dot of bleach on the hem, the bright green made her eyes look deeper. And she’d worn her UGG boots so she didn’t look totally sloppy.
Jeez. Why was she taking stock of herself? Because a good-looking dude walked in? Or maybe it was because Granny B had pointed out she needed to do something with her hair and wear more flattering shoes.
She glanced at the table of women who looked like bank tellers. Every woman stared at the guy, too. One woman tucked a curl behind her ear, and another wiped the mascara shadow from under her eyes.
Even Ron sucked in his gut.
The stranger nodded at the bartender, who in turn gave him a quite charming smile. The man slid onto a stool three down from Tess as Ron flew toward him like a magnet toward a metal pole.
“Hello, there,” Ron said, showing his dimples.
Good Lord.
“Hey,” the man said, reaching into the open coat for what she presumed was a wallet. “I’ll take a J.B. and Coke, easy on the ice.”
Ron lifted an eyebrow. “J.B., huh? My kind of man.”
Tess snorted. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t seen that kind of bad flirting since Gigi got drunk and tried a top-ten list of bad pickup lines on every man at the Columns on Valentine’s Day. Okay, that was only a month ago, but still Ron not only took the cake...he’d already licked the spoon.
Typical Ron.
“Hush,” her friend said, slinging an arm her way, but not daring to take his eyes off tall, dark and hewn-from-granite.
Tess giggled. Yes, she actually giggled.
Damn it.
The man looked over at her and smiled.
Oh, hell, no. She’d pull out dimples, too...if she had any to use. She smiled as if they all shared one big joke.
“Ron’s a consummate flirt,” she said, jabbing a finger at her bartender bud. “You’ll fall prey if you stand too close.”
“Oh, please. You stand closer than anyone, mon amie. You love my flirting.” Ron grabbed a bottle of the amber liquid from the back shelf and held a glass to the light.
The stranger laughed and the sound tickled Tess’s stomach.
Whoa, girl. Down.
“True,” she said, pulling he
r own drink toward her. Ron made her gin gimlet just as she liked it—simple syrup, muddled cucumber, tarragon and Hendrick’s. Delish. “When it comes to flirting, you’re the don.”
“Ron the Don? Sounds like a wrestler.” The stranger quirked an eyebrow. He turned toward her allowing his gaze to travel lightly over her. A shiver ran through her. Dear Bessie, he had the prettiest blue eyes that would exactly match the bathroom rug her Granny B had spent eons searching for. Good humor twinkled in the periwinkle depths, and Tess felt more than the warmth of the gin in her girl parts.
Dang, he looked good enough to sop up a biscuit with, and Tess didn’t even eat biscuits. Carbs were the enemy, after all, but this man made her want to change her mind.
“What brings you to Pete’s? We don’t get much tourist traffic,” Ron asked, pouring a generous amount of whiskey into the tumbler then topping it with soda.
“Job interview. Someone at the company mentioned this place when I said I wanted a local pub.” The man pulled the drink to him, sipped and nodded in satisfaction.
“Really?” Ron said, swiping at the bar with a towel and sliding a surprised look at Tess, keeping her in the conversation. “Good to know we’re getting recommendations around here.”
The stranger made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like an agreement, and Tess sipped her drink, trying not to out-and-out stare at the hotness mere feet from her. She had to be ovulating because her hormones had shifted into overdrive and clamored for her to put on some lipstick and sidle closer.
She ignored her hormones because they made bad decisions. In fact, last time they’d led her to a strange bed, overly polite note and a cold cup of coffee the morning after. Tess had stopped letting her girl parts dictate her love life.
The man glanced at the TV that was broadcasting something with racing dirt bikes. “Any way I can talk you into turning to the Rangers game? Wanna check the score.”