Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amara wasn’t proud at how fast and how recklessly she drove Ethan’s truck back to the farm. Even Brock, who had high tolerance for road rage, gave her the side-eye when they parked back at the James family farm.
She didn’t stand around to explain. She just marched her ass right into that barn, the one she’d been coming to see the horses in ever since she was a little girl.
The familiar smell of hay, mildew, old wood, feed. All of it. The salt licks that needed changing. The stallion’s stall right at the front, a few mares at the back.
Brock stepped into the barn behind her, slow and silent. “You good?” he asked, voice low.
She wiped her face without turning. “No.” She leaned over the stall and ran her hand down the stallion’s nose, whispering her appreciation to him, until she felt the tears coming.
Brock stirred behind her. “You want me to stay?”
“I want…” She bit the word off, shook her head. “I don’t even know what I want.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Brock, next to her, patting the stallion. “You got him, Mar. He’s alive. And you’re alive. That’s a win.”
She laughed, bitter. “Tell that to the pile of ash that used to be my house.”
Brock didn’t answer. What was there to say?
Amara turned finally, eyes raw. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
Brock blinked. “No.”
“Liar,” she whispered. “I’m half feral. I can’t sit still. I don’t trust anyone. I love a man who leaves every time I need him most.” Her voice cracked. “And I keep choosing to survive instead of rest. I don’t know how to stop running.”
Brock didn’t say a damn word. Just crossed the space and wrapped her in a hug so solid it made her cry all over again.
“Then don’t stop,” he said, voice rough. “But don’t do it alone.”
She was in Brock’s arms when the barn door creaked open behind them.
Soft steps. A shift of light. Then a voice—gentle, almost shy, said, “Sorry to interrupt.”
Brock turned first, his hand still steady on Amara’s back.
“There she is. Corrianne.” His voice warmed, and then to Amara, he added, “This is the girl I told you about. Been here since last night. Hasn’t left his side.”
Amara stepped back, wiping her face with the edge of her sleeve. Her throat was tight, her eyes sore, but her spine straightened like it always did when strangers entered the frame.
The girl—young, maybe early twenties—walked slowly toward them in worn jeans and a faded T-shirt, a flannel tied loose around her waist. She carried a bucket, some bandages, and a tin of salve. Her steps were soft, deliberate.
Corrianne walked straight past them and into the stall, placing the supplies down and kneeling at the stallion’s side like she’d known him forever.
She had a quiet way about her, soft movements, but her posture told Amara she’d carried heavy things before.
Not just physically—life things. Big things.
“Hey there, sugar,” she whispered, scratching his jaw just right. “You’re still my bravest boy, aren’t you?”
The horse let out a low rumble and leaned his massive head into her hands.
Amara’s heart twisted. She crossed to them slowly, eyes wet again for a different reason now. She reached out, laid a hand on the stallion’s neck, and pressed a kiss just behind his ear.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You saved my life.”
The horse shifted slightly, as if acknowledging the weight of what had passed between them.
Amara drew a breath. Calmer now. Steadier.
She turned to the young woman still crouched beside the horse. “Thank you, too. For staying with him.”
Corrianne stood and offered her hand, smile shy but kind. “I’m Corrie. Or Corrianne, if you’re mad at me.”
Amara took her hand. It was small but strong, callused like hers. “Amara.”
The sunset pushed through the high western window, catching dust motes in midair and cutting across Corrie’s face. And for a heartbeat, time stopped.
Amara stared.
The light hit her eyes—impossible eyes. Not just hazel. Not just green. But meadow and gold, summer and burnished metal, heat and dusk all at once.
Amara’s breath caught in her chest.
Something about them was too familiar. Not just their strange, wild beauty—but something else. A flash. A feeling. A memory she didn’t own. Her pulse spiked.
She didn’t know why.
Corrie tilted her head slightly. “You okay?”
Amara blinked, heart still stuttering. “Yeah. Yeah, just—sun got in my eyes.”
Corrie smiled again. “Happens a lot around here.”
Amara nodded, stepping back once more, stealing one last glance at those eyes.
It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be possible. But could it? She didn’t know.
They were Ethan’s eyes.
She was damned sure of it.
And she didn’t know what the hell to do with that.