I need an escape.
Ivory, a gorgeous cremello mare, snorts in the next stall. She’s the horse Carly was grooming when Austin first laid eyes on her. He’s told me the story a hundred times if he’s told me once—how he was a goner the first time he saw her.
Miles says the same thing about Sadie. As soon as she sauntered up to him in that bar and asked him to take her panties, he was all in. Doesn’t sound much like a love story, but the look in Miles’s eyes when he tells it removes all doubt.
Maybe I should go over to that bar sometime.
“What do you think, buddy?” I brush a tangle out of Raphael’s mane. “You think there’s a woman out there for me?”
“I’d like to think there is.”
That voice—melodic with just a touch of sexy rasp.
I drop the curry comb, and it lands on the hay-covered dirt with a thud.
I turn.
Standing in the door to the stable is a mirage.
A fifteen-year-old fucking mirage.
It can’t be. It just can’t.
“Avery? Avery Marsh?”
“Hello, Chance.”
God damn.
She was just in my thoughts.
One woman. I’ve loved only one woman in my life. People called it puppy love, but I knew the truth. I knew what I felt was special.
My heart shattered when she left. She and her mother moved away a few months before our high school graduation, and I never heard from her again.
But here she stands.
I know the stable stinks of hay and horse manure, but I swear to God all I smell is the sweet citrus floral of Avery’s perfume. She always smelled so good.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” I say.
“I’m actually here on…” She looks down at her feet.
Her blond hair is pulled up into a loose bun, and she’s wearing black pants, a white silky blouse, and a dark red blazer.
But I see her in cut-off shorts and a violet tank top, her silky wheat-colored waves tumbling over her shoulders.
That’s what she was wearing the last time we saw each other.
Those were the clothes she put back on after we made love in that spring on the edge of the ranch. We took each other’s virginity that day, and the next day she left.
“Here on what?” I ask.
“On business, Chance.” She draws in a breath as she flips open a black case to reveal a badge. “I’m a special agent with the FBI.”
“What? The EPA—”
“The EPA is doing its own investigation. I’m here about the death of Joseph Hopkins.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. We’ve been working with the local sheriff’s office.”
“Not anymore.” She closes her badge holder. “As of now, the Feds are taking over this investigation. That means I’m here on Bridger Ranch until further notice.”