Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nora
The light was bleeding out of the sky faster than I’d anticipated.
Untouchable stood three-legged, her head low, her injured foreleg barely touching the pine needles.
I knelt in front of her, running my palm down the cannon bone again.
It was warm and swollen, but no sharp edges, no bone jutting through skin.
Hopefully just a bad sprain, not a break.
She’d live. She’d walk. But not fast, and not without help.
I pressed my forehead to hers for a second, the scent of horse and mountain dust filling my senses. Her breath came in soft, warm puffs against my cheek.
“You’re okay, girl,” I murmured. “We’re okay.”
My shirt was already half-soaked with sweat and the creeping mountain chill. I didn’t think twice. I gripped the hem, yanked hard, and the fabric tore in a long, satisfying rip. My arms goose-pimpled as the evening air bit straight through what was left of my T-shirt, but I didn’t care.
This wasn’t about comfort. This was about getting her home.
I folded the first strip into a thick pad and pressed it gently against the heat radiating above the fetlock. Untouchable flinched but didn’t pull away. I hummed to her—old lullabies Mom used to sing when I was small and scared of thunder, lyrics I hadn’t thought about in years.
“Easy, sweetheart. Easy.”
I wrapped the fabric around and around, firm but not tight, crisscrossing the way Harper had shown me when I was nine and Sunny came up lame after a stupid jump.
Layer. Pull. Secure. When I finished, I sat back on my heels and studied my work.
Not pretty. Functional. Good enough to take the weight off the joint for the walk down.
I stood, brushed the dark mountain dirt from my knees, and took hold of her reins to lead her. “Come on, beautiful. One step at a time.”
She hesitated, then shifted her weight and took a halting step forward. Pain flashed across her face—ears pinned, nostrils flared—but she followed.
Steady. Willing. Just like Mom had always said she was.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Mom had ridden this mare out here alone so many times. Maybe she’d stood right here once, in this same fading light, her hand resting on Untouchable’s neck, whispering the same quiet reassurances I was now.
We’re okay. We’re getting home.
The air smelled of damp pine and coming rain—that metallic, heavy scent that always meant a storm was brewing.
Shadows pooled thicker between the trees, swallowing the trail a little more with every passing minute.
If I had my phone, I would have used the light from it, but my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I didn’t allow myself the luxury of doubting we could find our way back.
Somewhere higher up the ridge, a barred owl called once, low and mournful.
Untouchable leaned slightly into me as we walked.
I kept my hand on her neck, steady pressure, letting her borrow my balance.
I was bone-deep tired, but I wasn’t scared.
I’d made my choice when I turned her toward the mountain.
I’d come out here looking for answers, for some piece of Mom that might still be waiting in these woods.
And even if I hadn’t found all of it . . . I’d found enough to keep going.
My fingers brushed the leather at my wrist, the worn talisman Evan had made me. It had kept me safe away from Firebrook Valley, it would keep me safe on the mountain.
“We’re going to be okay,” I murmured, more to myself than to Untouchable. Then I heard it.
A familiar, rolling equine cry—deep, impatient, unmistakable.
Sunny.
For a second, I stopped breathing. Sunny should be back at the barn, safe in his stall. But another squeal echoed through the woods, closer this time, and Untouchable replied with a loud eager whinny that rippled through her whole body.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I knew before I saw him that he’d come for me.
Evan.
He always showed up. Always.
Hoofbeats thudded toward us. A shadow detached itself from the trees, tall and broad-shouldered. The rising moon caught the sharp line of Evan’s jaw and the wild sweep of his hair.
Evan swung down before Sunny fully stopped. His boots hit the dirt and he was moving—long, aggressive strides, his eyes locked on me like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. “Nora.”
His voice cracked on my name. It was a jagged mix of gratitude, fear, and a raw fury that made my breath hitch.
I didn’t think. I just stepped forward.
He reached me in three strides, his hands framing my face. They were warm and rough from the ride, his thumbs brushing my cheeks with a frantic intensity, as if he needed to prove to himself that I was alive.
“You’re okay,” he said, the words a jagged prayer. “You’re okay.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
Then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t a gentle reunion. It was hungry.
Desperate. It was an explosion of ten years of patience finally snapping.
I kissed him back with everything I had, my fingers curling into his jacket, pulling him closer until I could taste the salt and pine and the sheer, overwhelming relief on his tongue.
His arms banded around me, one hand tangling in my hair, the other pressing low on my back, lifting me until there was no room left for doubt.
He broke away long enough to drag his lips along my jaw, his breath hot against my skin. “God, Nora,” he rasped. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t.” I cupped his face, forcing his fierce, glassy eyes to meet mine. “You found me.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. “Don’t ever ride off alone like that. Not without telling me. Not without me.”
The anger simmering under the words wasn’t about control; it was pure, unadulterated fear.
“I won’t,” I promised softly.
He kissed me again—slower this time, a deep, soul-searching claim. His hands roamed over my hips, reverent and protective, and heat bloomed in my belly despite the cold biting at my bare skin.
When he finally lifted his head, his forehead rested against mine. “I was so damn scared,” he admitted, his voice still ragged. “And so damn grateful when Sunny took off up the mountain. He knew exactly where you were.”
I glanced past him. Sunny stood with his head tucked against Untouchable’s neck, the two horses breathing together like old friends.
“My heart horse,” I whispered. And then, looking back at the man who once again had come to my rescue: “And my knight.”
Evan brushed a loose strand of hair from my face, his fingertips lingering on my cheekbone.
“You’re freezing,” he said, his brow furrowing as he took in my torn shirt. He retrieved a jacket from his bag and tucked me into it, then pulled out a lantern and inspected Untouchable’s leg. He crouched, running careful, expert fingers over my makeshift bandage. “What happened?”
“She twisted it in a hole. It’s swollen, but I don’t think she broke it.”
He looked up at me, and I saw it then—respect that warmed me more than any jacket could. “Nora, do you know how amazing you are?”
“I don’t feel amazing.”
He rose slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “And so much stronger than I ever let myself see.”
My heart stumbled. He stepped closer, cupping the back of my neck.
“I used to think I had to save you from the world. From me. But here you are, waltzing through life, saving everyone around you.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek to his chest, listening to the steady, powerful thunder of his heart. He was kindly overlooking the role I’d played in putting Untouchable in danger, but I wasn’t about to ruin the moment by questioning that.
The mountain was still dark. The trail still long. Untouchable was still lame. But with Evan at my side the way home no longer felt perilous.