I'm back on the track again, walking the length of the course with my trainer. I can hear his voice, can recognize his words as things he would actually say, but they don't have any real meaning to me.

That's my first clue that I'm stuck in a dream.

Time distorts, the image cuts as if it's been edited together for someone else to watch. I'm on the scale, and I can feel my anxiety bearing down on me, twisting my stomach into knots. I secretly hope the sweat beading on my clammy skin will drip away and put me under the limit. I've never feared anything in my life the way I feared the small bit of metal that levels out those sliders.

Again time skips ahead—or backward, it's hard to tell in a dream—and I'm hunched over a restless horse, both of us crammed into a tiny stall. A shot rings out, the gate is raised, and I lower myself as much as I can, aligning my center of gravity with the horse's so I'm just an extension of his sleek, powerful muscles.

I can feel the wind as it burns my cheeks, can taste the dirt in my mouth, can hear the pounding of hooves on track, the restive snorting as my gelding pushes himself under my direction.

And then I hear the worst sound I've ever heard in my life: the sound of a horse screaming in pain, the violent exhale as air is forced from its lungs, the nauseating sensation of being thrown through the air.

I force myself awake, gasping for air. My own lungs hurt, my body feels like it's on fire, and I'm shaking as I throw the blanket off myself. I swing my legs over the bed, cover my face with my hands, and it's all I can do not to sob.

Because it's not a dream. No part of that was just a dream for me.

I reach for my phone to see what time it is. Not long before I would've gotten up anyway. A shower and a long day of work will hopefully set me right, but I know Travis will be here, and I'm not sure I can handle that today.

As I force myself into the shower, I think about calling him and canceling. The lumberyard won't have my order until tomorrow, so there's not much he can help me with, anyway. By the time I'm toweling off, I've pretty much decided, but Otto's distant braying stops me in my tracks.

He couldn't be here already. Unless I took the world's longest shower. Another quick glance at my phone tells me it's only been fifteen minutes, but I can see Travis' car chasing the sunrise as it gets closer to my house.

I throw on some clothes and head out to meet him. He's wearing a smile that honestly nobody should have on their face at six-thirty in the morning, and his arms are filled with… coffee and donuts, from the looks of it.

"Hey," he calls, and appropriately lifts up his offering to keep it away from Otto. "I know I'm early, but I thought you might like some breakfast."

"You didn't have to do that."

It's a weak plea, and it falls on deaf ears. Travis puts the box and the two large cups of coffee on the one piece of outdoor furniture I've ever owned—a warped picnic table. He does his best to keep Otto from investigating, and eventually the donkey gets bored and wanders off.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I got a mix of everything."

I approach almost warily as he opens the box, the smell of sugar overpowering everything else. I've never been much for sweets, but my mouth starts to water.

"I can't remember the last time I had donuts," I admit.

"Same," Travis says with a smile.

To my surprise, he doesn't move to sit on the far side of the table. He sits on the bench closest to me, turning around so his back is pressed against the table.

My brain wages a war with my stomach. For a second I see the level on the scale again, the slider being moved too far right. Years ago, I would've sent myself into a panic attack when faced with this decision. Even now, the feeling doesn't exactly pass. It's still there, like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach. But I grab a donut and a coffee cup and sit beside Travis.

Sugary sweetness fills my mouth in a rush at that very first bite. It's almost too much, and I'm grateful the coffee doesn't have anything added to it. He must've noticed I take mine black.

It's weird. When Jake told me his brother was this big football star, I imagined someone… else. Someone so full of himself he wouldn't set foot in Glen Springs, let alone a horse ranch. Someone who wouldn't care what his brother thought of him. Someone too inconsiderate to notice things like how some random guy takes his coffee.

"Man. It's beautiful out here," he says, and I follow his gaze to the sun as it paints a horizon of oranges and yellows.

He's not really anything like I thought he'd be.

"Yeah," I manage.

We sit in companionable silence, chasing a couple donuts with coffee from Gracie's. My nightmare from this morning has slipped away somewhere in the calm, quiet sunrise, but I do manage to remember what I was going to tell him.

"I was actually just about to call you when you pulled up. The lumberyard won't have what we need to finish the paddock 'til tomorrow, so I don't have much work for you today."

"That's cool. I'll help with whatever I can." He has both hands around his coffee cup, and he looks down at it briefly. "The slower pace of everything here… it's a lot to adjust to. I'm used to having a packed schedule, from the time I wake up to the time I go to bed, and a lot of that's training or practice. Even during the off-season." He looks at me with a small smile. "So whatever work you've got, I'll take it."

"Just the normal things." I feel a little bad. It's not my job to keep him from going stir-crazy, but I definitely understand how hard the adjustment can be. "Not even a lot on the docket for me today. I'm supposed to be working with Apollo."

The words don't come out as easily as they should. Dread tightens my stomach and makes me instantly regret eating those donuts. It's no wonder I had those dreams. I've been putting this off and putting it off, but if Apollo's ever going to get back on the track, I have to work with him.

"I'd like to stick around for that," he says. "I mean, if I won't be in the way."

My first instinct is to say no. There's too much tied up in this for me. Too much at stake. Too many ways it could go wrong. And honestly, I'm not sure I want anyone to see me back in a racing saddle before I'm ready.

But I think about the coffee and the donuts and the sunrise, and the fact that once Travis got here, I wasn't stuck reliving that nightmare anymore. It's been nice having him around, and maybe him being here will help me keep my cool.

So I tell him, "Sure," and hope to God I'm right as we start our day.

* * *

It doesn't take long to muck out the stables and care for the horses. I let Travis lead Gloria and some of the others out, so they're getting a little bit of attention before Apollo hogs it all. Gloria especially has a tendency to get jealous, and she's already started bumping her nose into Travis whenever he ignores her even for a second.

He handles it in stride though, and gets the horses out to the pasture without too much fuss. While he's gone, I lead Apollo out and fit him with a halter and a training saddle, hoping he won't immediately go for all-out speed if he isn't in full racing tack.

Travis meets me at the small field where I've been turning Apollo out for a couple of hours every day. He settles at the fence line, boots on the bottom rung, arms draped over the top like he's an excited kid. It's silly, but it eases some of the tension I let build in me.

I take the lead in hand, my grip confident but not tight. With a click of my tongue, I get Apollo to move in a slow pace beside me for a few strides. But I can tell the moment his gait changes. I break into a jog, and still he tugs at the halter. My heart starts to pound as I imagine him breaking into a full gallop and hurting himself again.

"Really wants to run, huh?" Travis asks with a soft laugh.

And just like that, Apollo drops back into a slow trot.

"Can't imagine he's happy being cooped up for this long, but if he over-extends that tendon before it heals all the way, we'll be back to square one."

I walk with him, giving some slack on the lead. His ears twitch when Travis starts talking again.

"What happened to him?"

"He tore it during a race," I say, reaching down to brush my fingers over the affected leg. It hasn't been swollen or hot in a while. "They didn't tell me how, but I'm guessing his handler didn't warm him up enough."

It seems like such an easy thing to remember, and it is. When you don't have everything else in the world on your mind. When your thoughts aren't racing because of all the things you've done to even qualify.

Just thinking about that makes my heart trip into a hard rhythm, and I can feel the moment Apollo picks up on it. He tosses his head and snorts, clearly agitated.

But then Travis speaks again.

"Ouch. They're brutal about that with us. Good reason, too."

And like magic, Apollo calms. And so do I.

"Can you come over here real quick? I want to test something."

Travis gives me a quizzical look, but climbs over the fence and approaches cautiously. Apollo sidesteps and tugs at the lead, tossing his head again.

"Say something," I tell him. "Anything."

"Uh… I don't… You're really putting me on the spot here." He laughs nervously, but already Apollo's starting to calm.

"He responds to your voice," I say softly.

Travis gets closer, approaching Apollo from the front, where I am. He looks genuinely surprised, his blue eyes wide as I share my theory.

"What? That's crazy. Why…?"

"I'm not sure," I admit. "Your voice might be close to someone who worked with him when he was a foal. Maybe his original owner, or a trainer."

"Wow."

There's so much awe in his voice, and it fills me with a wonder I have a hard time finding sometimes. It is amazing. All of this is. And if I let my fears get the best of me, I'm going to regret it.

"I just thought of something you can help me with," I say, and I hand him the lead.

It doesn't feel like a huge thing when I do it, but I know it is. I don’t let other people have this much control over anything in my life, but I’m trusting him with my safety. He's going to be the one to help me if Apollo starts getting too excited.

He might be the only thing standing between me and another catastrophe.

It's crazy, but maybe I need a little crazy. As he stands there, looking at me with a furrowed brow, I climb up into the saddle.

"Ease up on the lead," I tell him, "and just walk like I was." After a moment, I add, "Keep talking."

I can tell he's nervous. Apollo can tell, too, and I can practically feel the vibration of that uncertainty as it winds through him and into me. But Travis casts his own fears and doubts aside and starts walking.

He tells a story about training, knowing the words don't really matter. It's the sound and the consistency that keep Apollo from trying to break into a run. Even when I nudge him into a trot, he doesn't go any faster. Whenever Travis pauses, I feel the muscles in Apollo's back tense, but as soon as he starts talking again, they loosen up.

It's the strangest thing, but it's working on me, too. By the time Travis' story is over, we've walked the full perimeter of the pen and then some. A lather is just starting to shine in Apollo's coat, and I feel like I'm on the other side of that finish line, safe and successful.

"Go ahead and stop him," I tell Travis, and he slows his pace until he and the horse stop.

Something happens then. I don't know if Travis thought I was motioning for help, or if he just decided to offer it, but he's there as I dismount. His hand on my arm is so unexpected that I trip out of the stirrup and literally fall into him.

His arms are suddenly around me, bracing me. My hands are on his hard chest. I can feel his sharp intake of breath and the fast thumping of his heart.

Everything else fades away, every voice that would tell me this is a bad idea is silenced. All I can feel is him. The toned muscle of his chest, the heat of his body so close to mine, the scrape of his stubble as I brush his jaw with the pads of my fingers.

I lean up to close the distance, but instead of being met by Travis' warm, soft lips, I'm met by a little gust of air as he draws back.

"I uh… I should probably…"

He jerks his thumb back behind him, and the message is pretty clear. I've crossed a line, and he wants to be anywhere else right now. So long as it's not here.

"Yeah. Yeah." My hand goes to the back of my neck, my gaze cast to the ground.

And all I can do is stand there, in the middle of a field with an agitated horse, knowing I’ve just made the absolute biggest fool of myself.