Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Clothes. I’m going to need clothes.
She searched through her closet for something that would fit her. After discarding three pairs of jeans that refused to stay up, she found a pair from about six years ago buried at the bottom of the pile and pulled them on.
I knew I was right to keep you.
She still needed a belt to keep them in place, but it was better than wearing shorts or looking like some kind of free-spirited toddler with a mishmash of clashing colors and patterns.
But as she pulled on a hoodie with a book quote splashed across the front, she figured it didn’t matter because nobody would be looking at her.
Once she was dressed, she grabbed her phone and crossed the room to press her ear to the door.
Are they gone to bed?
When her parents were asleep, usually the sound of her father’s snoring rattled through the walls like a chainsaw. But all she could hear was the hum of the fridge and the distant whir of the washer in the laundry room, as it hit the spin cycle.
The last thing Momma does before she goes to bed is put on the washer.
Enya checked what day it was on her phone.
“Thursday.” That meant it was towel day, and her mom used a two-hour wash cycle for towels. “They have to be asleep by now.”
She exhaled slowly, then turned the knob with excruciating care.
The hinge let out the faintest whisper of protest, and she froze, her heart hammering against her ribs.
But when the house stayed silent, she eased the door open another inch, then another, until the gap was wide enough to slip through.
She cocked her head to one side and listened before stepping out into the hall.
If I see someone. I’ll just say I’m hungry and getting something from the fridge.
She tiptoed through the house, stuffed her feet into the barn boots waiting by the back door, and eased the door open.
Her Jeep was where she’d left it, parked next to the barn. The keys were still in the ignition, just like always, because this was Scott County, and no one in their right mind would attempt to steal a vehicle around here unless they wanted to get up close and personal with a shotgun.
Please start.
Enya slid behind the wheel, gripped the key, the metal biting into her palm, and turned.
The engine coughed, sputtered, then roared to life with a shudder that vibrated through the steering wheel.
She flinched at the noise, her eyes darting to the house, but no lights flickered on, and the windows stayed dark.
She didn’t dare turn on the headlights yet.
Please let Daddy stay asleep.
Please let Daddy stay asleep.
She repeated the silent prayer in her head as she kept the wheel steady, her hands clenched at ten and two, and eased the Jeep down the drive. When the tires hit the smooth surface of the county road, she reached for the headlight switch and flipped it on with a trembling finger.
The sudden glare was blinding, and she squinted against the onslaught. Her vision swam for a heartbeat before her eyes adjusted. According to her phone, she had less than two hours to travel; she’d be there before five AM. She hoped.
I don’t think this was what Daddy was hoping would happen when he sent Rain away.
But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had to focus because if she got in a wreck, she’d be more screwed than she already was.
Two and a half hours later, she was lost. No matter how many times she told herself it was a little further down this road, she was totally and utterly lost. She swung a right at the next junction and tried to talk herself out of everything.
She should just give up and go home to bed and pretend tonight had never happened.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
Coming here was stupid.
These people are going to think I’ve lost my mind.
Turn around and go home.
She sobbed, but it emerged as some kind of weird half-laugh. Who was she kidding? Most of the time, it felt like she had lost her mind. What had happened to her had stolen everything from her…her happiness, her drive, her soul.
Beeeeep.
“Oh.” Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she swerved back onto her own side of the road, and into the opening of a ranch gate. She squinted up at the sign. “T-bar-T.”
Wrong one.
A wave of frustration washed over her, so sharp and bitter it made her gasp. She slammed her palm against the steering wheel. The muted thud was unsatisfying. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and useless. She hit the gas, the engine roaring in protest as the Jeep lurched forward.
She didn’t remember the drive from the main road taking this long.
She had been here once before, years ago, a teenager giddy with the prospect of buying the most promising colt her father had ever seen.
She and her parents had followed a man in a dusty farm truck down this same road.
She remembered her father’s easy confidence, the way he navigated the unfamiliar turns as if he’d been born to them.
Daddy probably didn’t get lost three times.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
The thought was a dull, repetitive thud against the inside of her skull, keeping rhythm with the lonely thump of her tires on the cracked asphalt.
Coming here was stupid.
They’re not going to give me Rain back.
He needs you.
It was the first clear objective she’d had in over three months. The thought was a hollow ache in her chest. She wanted him. She wanted to curl in the stall next to him, lay her head on his flank, and sleep until the world wasn’t a scary place anymore.
Another gate materialized out of the darkness, this one a heavy black-painted steel, set between two massive stone pillars. A metal sign arched overhead, the letters cut from the same dark steel. She couldn’t make it out. She killed her headlights, hoping the ambient starlight would be enough.
As if the moon wanted to help, it broke through a thin veil of clouds, and the light caught the sign, and she could read what was written there. Stronghold Ranch.
That’s it.
A shudder ran through her, a tremor that had nothing to do with the chilly night air seeping through the truck’s vents.
Her hand hovered over the gearshift. For a full minute, she considered putting the Jeep in reverse.
She could turn around, drive away. Disappear back into the night.
No one would ever have to know she’d come here.
He needs me.
“I need Rain.”
Her jaw clenched, and she shifted the truck into park, then killed the engine.
The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the frantic drumming of her own heart and the distant chirp of crickets.
She got out and peered at the sign mounted on the gate, but couldn’t make out what it said.
She moved closer, her boots crunching on the gravel drive.
PRIVATE PROPERTY.
Deliveries by Appointment Only.
All Visitors must be escorted.
For Access, text for Authorization Code
Her stomach plummeted into her boots. There was a phone number on the sign but of course she had no authorization code.
Why wouldn’t there be a freaking authorization code?
Of course, there freaking is.
She vaguely remembered the clipped, professional way Rowan had spoken to his team, the way he’d navigated the world of covert airstrips and private jets.
This isn’t the folksy horse ranch it used to be.
“Hello?” Her voice was a pathetic croak, but she cleared her throat and tried again, louder, this time. “Hello! Is anyone there?” But only the crickets answered while she searched the gatepost for a call button, an intercom, anything.
There was nothing but smooth, cold stone and the red, blinking lens of a security camera she hadn’t noticed before. It was aimed right at her.
Are they watching me?
Why aren’t they opening the gate?
They were ignoring her. She didn’t blame them for thinking she was a crazy person showing up in the middle of the night.
She was a crazy person for doing it. But dang it, they had Rain, and while she knew he was probably better off without her, she hadn’t agreed to it.
She thought she’d have more time to figure her shit out.
She looked back at the Jeep, then at the impenetrable gate, and briefly considered ramming the gate, but figured that would end in disaster.
Already cray-cray, remember?
No.
The word was a silent scream in her head. She would not give up. They had her boy, and she was going in there to see him. Her eyes scanned the gate and the fence that stretched on either side of it. The gate was at least ten feet high, and there were no easy handholds.
Well, that doesn’t look too friendly.
They obviously don’t like visitors.
Her gaze fell on the heavy cross-bracing and followed it up to the decorative scrollwork that formed the Stronghold ‘SHR’ logo in the center. It wasn’t a ladder, but it might be enough.
Climb it.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
That’s an insane idea.
It was trespassing, breaking and entering, even. But the alternative of going home without Rain was worse.
Do. It.
Taking a deep, ragged breath, she jumped, her hand reaching for the bottom link of the scroll work.
Her hand slipped on the lower bar, and she slid back, barely managing to land on her feet.
The impact sent a jarring shock up her shins.
She grunted, ignored the flare of pain, and tried again.
This time, she found purchase as the waffle-stomp sole of her riding boot caught on a weld point.
Her muscles screamed in protest as she pulled herself up.
She was weak. So much weaker than the girl who could swing a fifty-pound hay bale like it was nothing.
Her fingers scraped against the metal, and a splinter of steel slid under her nail.
She bit back a cry, her breath hissing between her teeth, but she kept climbing.
She didn’t dare look down as she scrambled to the top scrollwork logo.
Her jeans snagged on a sharp edge, and the sound of fabric ripping was loud in the quiet night.
She paused, clinging to the bars, her chest heaving, before she went over to the other side.
I’ve done some unhinged things in my time. But this one takes the cake.
She swung one leg over the top of the spiked finials designed to deter climbers.
They dug into her thighs, but she didn’t care because she was over the gate, which was what mattered.
Scrambling, slipping, she half-climbed, half-slid down the other side, until her boots hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
She landed in a heap, her ankle twisting beneath her. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up her leg, and she crumpled to the ground, a raw sob tearing from her throat. She lay there on the cold gravel, gasping for breath, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth where she’d bitten her tongue.
I made it. I’m in.
She pushed herself up, her whole body trembling. Her ankle throbbed with every beat of her heart as she leaned against the gate, trying to get her bearings. Now what? Did she limp all the way to that house? What would she even say?
Hi, I’m the broken girl you rescued. I climbed your gate because my horse will be sad without me, and I want him back.
She took a step, and the pain brought tears to her eyes. She tried to push through it, but the second step dropped her to her knees. “Fuck. I can’t walk. Now what?”