by Leigh Riker
“Let me tell you something, my friend. Nothing can ever take away that horrible loss—for you or for Emma. But grief...to quote another old saying, ‘is the price we pay for love,’” Max murmured. “Let me know what happens.”
Christian was just pulling out of the lot, determined to find Emma so they could talk, when his cell phone rang.
He checked the display. And saw Mountain View Farm.
Something else had happened to the General.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE FRONT OF the barn reflected the sun like a mirror. As he’d done a million times, Christian opened the gate, drove through, stepped out again and closed it behind him before driving on. Remembering his dreams of the General last night, Christian gripped the steering wheel.
Inside the barn he hurried down the aisle, straining to hear the General whickering a greeting. His stall was empty.
Christian glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t see Rafe anywhere. He was alone. There was no General here to shift around and amble toward him, joints cracking. He didn’t move up to the bars as he always did to poke his velvety nose through sniffing for gummy bears, which Christian wished he’d brought today. No childish giggles filled the air.
Come on, boy. These are for you. I know it’s been a while. I brought these because—he can’t.
If Owen were here, the General would grab the handful of gummies he held on his flattened palm. He’d lip then chew. And, tail swishing, chomp some more. He’d work his mouth until Christian had to laugh.
A cold sense of growing alarm settled in him. What exactly was wrong? All Rafe had said on the phone was, “Can you get over here right now?” Then, in an obvious hurry, he’d hung up.
“Where’s the General?” he asked no one in particular.
As if he’d conjured Rafe with the question, the trainer suddenly appeared.
“He’s with Hailey Morgan,” Rafe said. “They’re in the arena.” Rafe started back down the aisle. “I couldn’t get you the first time so I called Emma, too.”
“She won’t come,” Christian said, then trotted after Rafe.
* * *
EMMA HADN’T COME anywhere near the farm since last December. But when Rafe called, Emma was out the door before he hung up. She had no idea where Christian might be. He was probably on the road, and for all she knew he wouldn’t be back until late tonight. Or even tomorrow. If something was wrong with the General, he’d never forgive her if she didn’t show up and at least offer to help. After yesterday, she couldn’t take that chance.
“Hurry!” Rafe had said on the phone.
Emma pulled off the narrow road that led to the farm. She had to put her own memories of this place on hold. Just don’t look, she thought, then opened and closed the gate and swung into a parking space to brake in a spray of gravel. The lot held Rafe’s truck, Grace’s car, a luxury SUV Emma didn’t recognize—and Christian’s pickup. Thank heaven Rafe had reached him, too. Her heart began to hammer. He was here, even sooner than Emma was. She could turn around. Leave. Never come to this place again.
For a moment longer she stood beside her car, holding on to the door handle so tightly her knuckles turned white. Go, she thought. You’re not needed here now. She wouldn’t have to relive that dreadful day simply by walking into the barn. Yet she’d heard the fear in Rafe’s voice. Taking a breath, she let go of the door handle, then crossed the parking area to the open barn doors.
But as she stepped out of bright daylight into the temporary gloom of the barn, even before her eyes could adjust, she ran right into a storm. In the indoor riding ring a woman was on the General’s back, sawing at the reins as Emma, who was certainly no rider, might have done. The black-and-white horse’s ears lay flat against his head and his dark eyes rolled as if in terror.
Emma backed up a step. Christian had stalked into the arena with Rafe at his heels. Grace was here, too, watching from her place against the wall.
The rider, decked out in new-looking breeches, boots, a tailored blazer and a safety helmet, jerked again at the reins. Even Emma knew that wasn’t wise. A few strands of glossy black hair had escaped from the woman’s loose knot at the base of her neck. She looked as if she were ready for a top-ranked national show but she wasn’t acting like a pro.
“Get away from me,” she told Christian.
Instead, he reached for the bridle. “You’re not riding him anymore. You made him colic the other day. Rafe says you never came back to see how he was.”
“I’ve been at the hospital,” she said, her hands taut on the reins, her mouth set. “My dad’s out of danger but my mom still needs me. Riding was the last thing on my mind.”
“I understand that. You may be a good daughter, Hailey, but when you finally showed up here today, Rafe tells me you threw a saddle on this horse—never mind checking his feet or brushing his hide first—and now you’re giving him contradictory aids. He doesn’t know what you want him to do. Lighten your hands. Get down. Or I swear I’ll haul you off this horse. He’s still mine.”
“He’s not really your horse,” she said. “I’m paying his board.”
“I should have trusted my instincts when we met. I don’t care about the lease. You’re done. If you have a problem with that, your lawyer can call mine.”
Unnoticed, Emma hung back by the entrance to the arena. After a few tense seconds, the woman sent Christian a steely look, then got off the horse.
“He has no manners,” she said. “I need a better-trained animal.”
“He’s not just an animal! He’s the General,” Grace suddenly said, charging across the arena. She’d been standing out of harm’s way, but like Christian she’d apparently seen enough. Father and daughter had shared the horse once, and Grace obviously still had feelings for him, too.
Brushing hair and dust from her breeches, Hailey glared at her then at Rafe. “I should sue this farm—” She looked at Christian. “And you.”
Emma tensed. Owen, in this same barn, by the General’s stall, feeding him candy that last day and laughing...and Emma thinking, I’m late, I’m late. Minutes after that, the horse had knocked her son into the dirt of his stall. Dangerous, she thought. Lethal. Why couldn’t Christian see that? Maybe the woman had a point. Emma had heard of rogue stallions, and although the General was a gelding, and supposedly tame, she didn’t trust him. He hadn’t been tame enough for Owen.
The General was still prancing, his ears laid even flatter against his head. He pulled at the reins in Christian’s hand. “I need to take care of this,” he said.
Grace took the reins. “I’ll calm him down, Dad.”
Emma watched him and Rafe stride from the arena, after the rider whose boot heels rang on the concrete floor near the tack room. The two men followed her inside, then shut the door behind them.
“He’s upset,” Grace said to Emma. Then she realized Grace meant the General. “I don’t want this to be another bad experience for him.”
Grace led the General to the center of the ring, apparently intending to ride. She was an experienced rider, Emma told herself. Although she hadn’t ridden in months, like Christian, she could handle him. And at least thick sawdust covered the floor of the ring. If the horse did act up and throw her, and Grace fell, the bedding might cushion the impact, but she could still get badly hurt—or worse. If she fell the wrong way and snapped her neck...
Emma had once admired horses for the beautiful animals they were but always from a distance. She knew now just how quickly tragedy could occur.
As Grace started to swing up into the saddle with the ease of long practice, Emma heard a door slam, probably in the tack room. Footsteps pounded down the barn aisle. Most likely, the woman who’d leased the General was leaving. In her rush to storm off, she’d forgotten or didn’t care about the cardinal rule in barns everywhere. As herd animals, Gra
ce had once told her, a horse’s first instinct was to flee from danger. For all their size and power, they were timid.
The sudden noise spooked the General. He shied to one side and unseated Grace, who’d still been getting into the saddle. With a whoosh of breath, she pitched sideways, then flew off the horse to land on the ground with a jarring thud.
Emma froze. She wanted nothing to do with the General, and she still had cramps. Yet she’d answered Rafe’s call, come to this barn again for the first time in a year and she couldn’t let anything happen to Grace. She was Emma’s daughter as much as she was Melanie’s. Melanie had said so herself. Grace has two mothers.
There was no more time to think. The horse was loose now, still wild-eyed and dancing, his hooves bare inches from Grace, who was lying on the floor, moaning. Emma grabbed for the dangling reins—but in the instant her fingers closed around the leather, the General saw her in his peripheral vision. And bolted, dragging Emma with him.
She cried out. The walls sped by in a blurred flash.
“Let go!” Grace shouted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THROUGH THE OPEN tack room door, Christian heard a shout from the arena. He and Rafe exchanged looks. Then they were both in the aisle, running toward the ring, before the thought had even crossed Christian’s mind to move. Grace!
But when they reached the entrance, Christian saw his daughter lying on the ground, propped on one elbow and shaking her head as if to clear it. There was no one in the saddle. Then Emma flew past him, skimming along the sawdust-covered floor, gripping the reins in her still-bandaged hand.
“I can’t let go!” she yelled. “My hand’s stuck.”
Christian silently cursed. Then, heedless of the fact that he might only send the panicked horse into a faster gallop, he had already reached the center of the ring when he saw Rafe, who’d been right behind him, switch course and head for Grace. He bent over her, checking for injuries, then dragged her closer to the wall, out of harm’s way.
Christian knew Rafe would take care of her. His daughter seemed safe, but Emma was not.
In the next heartbeat the General rushed past and Christian’s momentum slammed him into the horse’s shoulder. He grabbed for the bridle, caught it, then jerked, not caring if he got stepped on by giant hooves. A second later Rafe scrambled away from Grace to help him.
“Whoa!” they both shouted. Between them, they managed to bring the General to a halt. Exhausted, the horse was breathing hard, his sides pumping like a bellows. Christian unwound the reins from Emma’s hand, causing her to cry out again. “Your burns,” he said, the words little more than a wheeze of sound. Still holding the reins, he gathered her in his arms. “My God, I thought—” He laid his cheek against the top of her head. Emma was trembling, too.
“Haven’t you seen enough?” She tried to pull away from Christian’s embrace, to distance herself from the General. “I’ve told you—he’s a dangerous animal!”
But it was Rafe who answered, his gaze somber. “No,” he said. “He’s not.”
“After last year—after today—how can you say that?”
Christian hung his head. “Today he was scared. Last December...” He waited a moment then said, “If you want me to sell him, Emma, I will.”
He started toward the barn aisle, leading the General as if for the last time. But he’d taken only a few steps before Rafe stopped him. He took the horse’s reins from Christian, holding them loosely in one hand. The General nosed his shoulder but Rafe didn’t seem to notice. Certainly he didn’t fear the horse.
He stroked his muscular neck. “Emma, I need to tell you what really happened that day. You, too, Christian. I would have said something sooner, but I knew how painful it is for you to even think about this.” He cleared his throat. “You already know the General was in his stall then. When you went to answer your phone call, Emma, while Grace and I were still in this arena, Owen must have dragged the mounting stool over to the door.”
“I know that,” she said. “Don’t you dare try to make that his fault. He was a child, scarcely more than a baby...” She choked on the word.
But Rafe held her gaze. “True. And he couldn’t reach high enough to feed his gummy bears to the General so he must also have climbed on that stool. He obviously managed to shove the bolt open, then cracked the door wide enough to slip inside.”
“The General can be like a lot of other horses,” Christian admitted. “Territorial about his stall—”
“Or he wanted that candy so badly,” Rafe said, “that he may have sidestepped or even pushed Owen off balance to get at it. In his eagerness—because I think that’s what may have happened—he probably shoved or backed him into the wall. Owen fell hard and hit his head.”
“A more than thousand-pound horse against a little boy who weighed thirty-four pounds,” Emma said, her tone bitter.
“That was no match, I agree, but even Christian doesn’t know the rest.”
Rafe laid his free hand on Christian’s shoulder then raised his voice so Grace could also hear. She was just getting to her feet. “I’m sure you remember, I was the first person to reach the stall, to see Owen lying there...” His voice turned husky. “You know what else I saw? The General standing over him. Quiet as an old school horse, not moving a muscle, and making these little snuffling sounds as if to explain to me what had happened, if he could.” He held her gaze. “He was guarding Owen, Emma. I swear he was.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Christian asked.
“I wish I had. But until the General colicked because of Hailey, then today—minutes ago—it wasn’t as if we were all great friends, so I...well, I wasn’t sure. I’m still not. We’ll probably never know exactly what happened, but that’s the feeling I’ve had.” He patted the General’s neck, straightened his forelock. The horse’s ear didn’t flicker. “I still do. I thought you should know.”
Christian let out a shaken breath. He released Emma, brushed a hand down the General’s nose and left the arena.
* * *
EMMA SAW HIS shadow cross the wall out in the barn aisle. Then it was gone. He’d walked outside, probably to get control of himself. She wished she could.
Emma didn’t know what to believe, but the General gazed at her with liquid brown eyes, unblinking. She’d need time to make sense of what Rafe had told them, what she’d always believed. For now, she limped over to Grace.
“Are you okay?”
She shrugged. “You’re not a real rider until you’ve fallen off. More than once.”
Rafe scowled at her. He was still holding the General’s reins, the horse standing quiet. “You’re going to see a doctor, Grace. Don’t say another word.” His mouth looked hard. “Next time you want to ride, I’ll lead you around like a little kid on a pony.”
“Maybe you won’t,” Grace murmured, but her eyes were soft. “I love you, too. Don’t forget to cool him down,” she said.
Rafe didn’t answer. He led the horse away, but his face was still ashen. He’d been terrified for her.
“Oh, sweetie,” Emma said. “You’re in trouble now.”
Grace sobered. “With you, too.” She reached for Emma’s hand. “I’ve been such a brat.” Emma shook her head, just grateful she was okay, but Grace said, “No, I let you down with the store when I knew you were struggling to hang on to your business. I should have been more of a help, but I got caught up in packing the condo—moving is really the pits—being married isn’t easy either, you know.”
“Yes, I do know. It’s an adjustment.” One Emma probably no longer had to make, but she drew Grace into her arms, and this time Grace didn’t avoid her touch. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with the shop after New Year’s, but if there’s any way to save it, I will. I want you to be part of that, Grace.”
“I do lik
e working with you,” she said. “Maybe I’ll go back to college, major in business or whatever and someday we can even be partners. If you’d been hurt today, I would never have forgiven myself. You risked your own safety to keep the General from stepping on me. You tried to stop him when you have zero experience around horses.” She paused. “That’s a shame, you know. Rafe is right. He would never have stomped on me. He knew I was there.”
Her lips tightened. “Like he did with Owen?”
“Yes, Emma. You heard Rafe. And didn’t I tell you once that Bob was depressed?” Grace looked deeper into her eyes. “Couldn’t you read the General’s expression just now? Think about it. I hope you will. I’m going to think about how to be more mature—be a real help to you from now on. When Owen got...hurt, I blamed you, too. I was wrong. About both of us.”
Not sure Grace was right about Emma’s own guilt, she held Grace to her for another moment. Then she drew away and kissed Grace’s cheek.
Emma limped toward the main doors of the barn.
Outside, she leaned against its warm metal siding. She must look a sight with her eyes reddened from crying, a hole in her jeans from being scraped along the arena floor. She would ache all over tomorrow. And her stomach still hurt. She’d almost forgotten how bad she felt.
Christian came from around the far side of the barn where the paddocks were. He ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. He looked as bad as she felt, and she reached up to pull a stalk of hay from behind his ear.
“Emma, we have to talk.”
If there was any chance of saving their marriage, they did, but a sudden cramp, worse than before, made her stop thinking before a single word could come out. The cramp in her stomach worsened, gripped her now, deep inside, where that new little life was growing.
To her horror, a warm wetness began to seep through the fabric of her jeans. Emma moaned and doubled over.
“What is it?” he asked, reaching out as if she were about to fall.
“Christian, I think I’m bleeding!”
