Feeding the horses with Ailith beside me takes a long time, but only because she insists on chatting with each of our residents before we move on to the next. As I watch her whispering to Lady, her Welsh pony, I don’t have the heart to tell her to hurry up, even though I know we’re running a bit behind. I cross my arms as I lean on the door, letting my girl have her moment.

As Ailith leans in to murmur in Lady’s ear, warmth settles in my heart when I watch the ears on the pony twitch and she bends her head, nuzzling my daughter’s tummy with her muzzle. It appears as if the pony really can understand my her murmurings, and I wonder—for the millionth time—if the old sayings and superstitions could be right.

That there are, in fact, people who are able to speak with animals.

It’s a whimsical idea—one more fit for the stories and folklore my country thrives on—but a small part of me, the one that still dares to daydream, likes to think that there’s some truth to it.

“Ailith,” I call out to her, keeping my voice low. “We have to get a move on. You can come back to Lady later, yeah?”

The sound of banging interrupts our quiet, and I wince when I hear the loud whinnying from Thunder’s stall at the other end of the stable.

“He doesn’t sound happy today, Mummy,” Ailith says on a small sigh. A frown mars her forehead as she comes closer to me.

I shut Lady’s stall behind her and shake my head. “No, he doesn’t.”

We both turn and start pushing the feeding trolley closer.

“Remember to keep your distance when I feed him, Ailith,” I remind her as we take care of the next horse. “He can’t be trusted—not yet.”

She nods. “I know. I won’t forget. But…” She scrunches her nose as she leans her head back to look at me. “Do you think he’d like it if I sing to him?”

“Hmm.” It’s not a bad idea. “It can’t hurt, I suppose.”

Side by side, we feed the rest of the horses until we stop in front of Thunder’s stall. His ears fall flat when he spots us, and his nostrils flare. I frown when he stomps his front leg, warning me off.

“I wonder if he’s a lost cause,” I murmur, feeling my good mood evaporate.

“Don’t say that.” Ailith takes my hand, squeezing it once. I raise my eyes in question. “Nobody’s a lost cause. Some horses take longer than others—that’s what you always say. We just have to be patient and give him the time he needs to heal.”

The time he needs to heal.

Such a wise child—how did I get so lucky?

My lips tremble when I bend to kiss her cheek.

“Okay, stand back,” I urge her as I pick up a bucket. Keeping my movements slow, deliberate, I attempt to show the jittering horse that I’m not a threat to him. He snorts, tossing his head in warning, so I stop as I’m about to open the door. His long forelock almost covers his eyes, but the mistrust in them is still noticeable.

I glance at Ailith and give her a small nod.

“Start singing, please.”

She nods and begins to sing an old, Gaelic lullaby.

Satisfied with her choice, I turn my head back to Thunder. He’s backed up in the corner farthest away from me, so I croon at him.

“Come on, big boy. It’s time for breakfast. You must be hungry.”

His ears twitch as I open the door slowly. Keeping my eyes on him the whole time, I bring the bucket of food to my front so he can see it. His ears spring forward, and his eyes lose a little of their angry, mistrusting glint for a second. He stretches his long neck, sniffing the air.

I can still hear Ailith’s soft voice singing, but I keep my attention on Thunder completely. It’s the first time he’s shown any curiosity towards me instead of anger, and my belly flips from the small victory this is.

“That’s it,” I whisper, taking a step to the side. I move closer to the feeding trough to my left. “You can trust me, I promise.”

He snorts, tossing his head at me again, so I plant my feet firmly in the hay, waiting for him to settle a bit. The last thing I need right now is a horse’s hoof to hit me because I didn’t give him the time he obviously needs.

His eyes flicker between me, the bucket, and Ailith outside the stall—I glance at her through the bars, satisfied she’s keeping her promise and hasn’t come closer—as he backs further into the corner. It breaks my heart, but at least his ears aren’t lying flat at his neck anymore. Instead, he opens his mouth, yawning wide, and I have to suppress a chuckle as he stretches his neck, eyes half closed.

“Okay, I’m just going to feed you now, Thunder,” I whisper, raising my arm slightly up to my left. Quickly, but as quietly as I can manage, I pour the grain into his trough, before I back slowly away and out of his stall. He takes two steps towards me as I stop, and I gasp softly as his nose touches my arm briefly. Then he shifts, his long, thick mane hanging down his side giving away his breed, and he goes to his trough.

On a long sigh, I close the door, relieved and moved that he actually touched me.

Ailith stops singing and skips towards me, her arms raised in the air.

“You did it, Mummy,” she whisper-shouts.

Grinning at her, I place the bucket on the floor, before I give her a weak high five.

“You were right. He just needs time, and that’s what we’ll keep giving him.”

She nods, putting her fists in her sides. “Do you think he liked me singing to him?”

“Absolutely.”

It’s not a lie. I have no doubt that it helped to have Ailith’s beautiful voice take some of Thunder’s attention away from me.

“Okay,” I say and move back to the feeding trolley, rubbing my hands with glee. “Onto the next, and then we need to get Malik ready.” I glance at the small pocket watch I inherited from Dad that hangs on my flannel shirt. “They should be here in about two hours.”

With joy in my heart at the morning’s success, I push the trolley forward, and I can’t help but look back at Thunder’s stall as we go about our business. His head is up, turned in my direction as he leans up against the door, and I smile at him.

Then I laugh when he snorts and backs away.

“Stubborn,” I murmur.

Then I focus on the rest of the horses before time runs away with me again.

* * *

Three hours later, I watch the trailer with Malik inside, as Mr. and Mrs. Preston drive away. Their daughter—Amanda, a fourteen-year-old girl with a bubbly personality—waves at us from the backseat.

“I promise to ring you and let you know how Malik is in a couple of days,” she calls out before she rolls up the window.

Ailith leans into my side and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

“He’ll be fine,” Mum murmurs from her spot on my other side.

Nodding, I smile at the retreating car.

“Yes, he will. I’m glad Amanda still seems completely besotted with him.”

Mum’s arm comes around my waist and I look at her.

“They’ll go far, those two. And –,” she waves the cheque Mr. Preston handed to her in front of my nose, “this will keep our books in the black for a while, too.”

“Always a plus.”

But for how long?

“Oh, Laura, don’t wrinkle your nose at me,” Mum scolds.

I try to clear the worry from my eyes before I meet her gaze.

“We’ll be fine.” Her eyes don’t waver from mine. “We always will be.”

I wish I had her confidence, but I know the books better than she does. Still, I don’t want to ruin her good mood, so I just smile at her.

“You’re right, of course.”

“Good.” She looks down at Ailith and reaches a hand out to her. “Come, girl, let’s go for a ride.”

“Yay!” Ailith’s happy voice sends a tingle of happiness through my tummy, and I pluck the cheque from Mum’s fingers.

“I’ll head into town, get this in our bank account,” I tell her and lean down to kiss Ailith on her nose. “Be good,” I murmur, and she rolls her eyes at me. As I straighten my back, I wipe some loose strands of hair away from my face. “I’ll do a bit of shopping for dinner as well.” I turn to Mum. “Anything in particular you fancy?”

She shrugs as Ailith starts to drag her back to the stables.

“Surprise us!” she grins back.

“Right.”

Quickly, I head back to the house to wash my hands. I don’t bother changing my clothes, though, and after I’ve grabbed my handbag and the keys to my Beetle, I head into Glasgow.

* * *

“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” Alex, my friend—and boss–asks me when we open the tattoo shop at noon.

Grimacing, I run a hand through my messy hair.

“Just got a headache, that’s all.”

“Whoa. Again?” He squints his eyes at me as he bites his lip, tugging at the bottom one. “Been partying again, have we?”

Gritting my teeth, I ignore him as I walk behind the counter and pick up our calendar. I check the appointments we’ve got lined up for today, a bit disappointed that we only have a few, and the first one isn’t for an hour. I don’t need to hear another lecture from his lips—he’s as bad as me. I keep ignoring him when he places his arms on the counter in front of me.

“Look, Kristian, it’s not my place to say anything, but…”

“Then why are you even talking right now?” I interrupt him. I toss the calendar on the table and move away from him.

“Careful,” he calls out to me. I pause at the sound of his annoyed voice. The jovial look on his bearded face is gone, and the hint of steel in his brown eyes warns me not to push him too far.

“I’m still your boss, and the last thing I need is a young, raucous fucker in my shop, who’s so hung-over, he’ll end up pissing off a client by messing up a design.”

I turn around and stalk right up to him, anger seething in my veins.

“I’ll never bodge a job, and you know it. I can handle it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, mirroring my stance. “Okay, then. But don’t push me, Kristian. You got it?”

I nod curtly and step away from him.

Alex relaxes his stance and clears his throat.

“Why don’t we order lunch and take it easy until your client comes in, yeah?”

I acknowledge his offer of a truce and force my lips into a smile.

“Sounds good. Kebab or pizza?”

He rubs his hands, looking at the ceiling in thought. I suppress a sigh. Alex is even worse than a woman when it concerns picking what kind of takeaway to get. I should’ve known better than to ask him.

“Kebab, I think,” he finally answers.

“Fine. I’ll phone our order through, and you pick it up. Deal?”

“Deal.”

After I’ve ordered our food, I pick up my sketchpad. I don’t draw as much as I used to, but Alex does have a point—it’s time to get my head on straight. Two months is enough time to moon about a woman who’ll never be mine, and burying myself in work might just be the cure for me. Since fucking, or drinking, hasn’t worked yet, I might as well immerse my feelings in my art instead.

Alex has gone to his office—probably to sort out some of his paperwork—so I’m alone in the shop as the bell above the door pings, alerting me to someone walking in. Turning in my chair, I put my sketch pad down before I pay attention to them.

The woman has her back to me as she shuts the door, and I take in her firm, perky arse covered in some sort of strange trousers. My eyes trail up her back and I frown at the flannel shirt. Weird outfit. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, wild strands escaping it, and I can’t help but smile in appreciation of her long, slender neck.

The female body is one hell of a piece of art. One that I, as a red-blooded male, know a heck of a lot about.

When she turns around, my smile falters as I recognise her. Her eyes widen for a nanosecond and her mouth pops open. Without meaning to, my eyes zoom in on the scar on her cheek. Just like yesterday.

“You!” she gasps.

My pencil slips out of my fingers resting on my knee, and I spring from my seat. When the woman winces, I frown for a beat, confused by her reaction. I try to morph my lips into a friendly smile.

“Hello. Nice to see you again,” I greet her, before I bend down to grab the pencil from the floor. I place it on the pad carefully, and walk out from behind the counter. Some wild instinct tells me that I need to keep my movements slow, non-threatening.

“Um, yes. Hi.”

I wait for her to say something else, but when she doesn’t, I run a hand through my scruff. I wrack my brain, trying to come up with something to say, but, for once, I’m struck mute.

Finally, the woman comes unglued from her spot and takes the three steps separating us quickly.

“I’m sorry,” she grimaces. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

I smile at her and shrug.

“No need to apologise. I didn’t think I’d see you again, either, so…”

She tucks a stray hair behind her ear before she reaches out her right hand for me to shake. I take her small hand in mine, almost shocked when it seems to get completely lost in my bigger one.

“I’m Laura,” she says, voice low, soft, husky.

My smile widens.

“Hello, Laura. I’m Kristian.”