“Kellan,” I draw out the word as I drop the hayfork. “There’s something wrong with the horse. It looks sick.”

“Which one?” his voice bellows a moment before he storms into the barn.

“That one.” I point my finger to a huge, black animal with the most bloated tummy I’ve ever seen. The poor thing’s so bloated, I wouldn’t be surprised if people could smell it within a five-mile radius.

Kellan’s hand brushes over the horse’s head soothingly. “That’s a she. The mare’s about to give birth.”

I stare at the horse, completely dumbstruck.

“What?” Kellan laughs. “You thought she was overweight, didn’t you?”

“I don’t want to lie, but yes, I thought she was.” Which is a lie. But I’d rather let him think I thought the poor animal lacked physical activity than admit that I thought she was bloated. My hands fly to my throat, suddenly nervous and in fear of the animal’s wellbeing. “Shouldn’t you be calling the vet?”

“We’re in Montana. She’ll be done before he arrives.” Laughing, Kellan shakes his head and plants a kiss on my cheek. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

More like stupid.

“I’m glad you think that because I definitely feel more like a fool,” I say dryly.

“You’re a fool for thinking that.” His gaze shoots to the mare. “We’ll get started soon. I need you to stay here and help.”

My eyes widen. I’ve never been a fan of blood or pain. I want to run and wait this one out, but instead find myself asking faintly, “How?”

“Keep talking to her, sing to her. She likes that. If she can’t manage on her own, I’ll intervene, but that rarely happens.”

I stare at him. “You’re not going to be here?”

“I’ll be outside, finishing up.” He squeezes my hand at my horrified expression. “Don’t worry. Just tell her everything will be fine. Giving life is such a beautiful thing. I want you to be there for her.”

 

***

 

He’s right. It is a beautiful thing. The whole birthing only lasts about fifteen minutes, but it feels like a whole new life experience. I expected it to be gross, but it isn’t. It’s everything but ugly.

The mare doesn’t writhe in agony. As I keep stroking her head, she remains silent, graceful. I laugh as the tiny legs of the foal squeeze out of her, followed by the rest of its body. I’m crying as the baby slides to the floor, wrapped in a gleaming membrane.

I’m crying buckets and I don’t even know why.

Scratch that.

I know exactly why. I’ve never been so happy in my life. I’ve never felt so much in awe. For a long time, I just stand there and watch the tiny creature struggle to get to its feet.

“You okay?” Kellan asks from somewhere behind me. His voice is soft.

I nod and sniff. My hands wipe at my face to get rid of the annoying tears, but let’s face it. What’s the point when I probably look like a puffy fish anyway? “I just had no idea it would be like this.”

“After watching this my whole life, it still surprises me every single time.” His arms wrap around me, hugging my back to his strong chest. “It’s okay to cry. You did great. I’m really proud of you.” He kisses the top of my head, and then spins me around to look at me. His thumb brushes over my cheek to wipe away the moisture. “Come on, we need to celebrate.”

Shaking my head, I peel myself away from him and head for the huge doors.

Kellan follows after me. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” I cringe at the word. What is happening to me? I shouldn’t be taking his attention when two poor animals might be in need of his assistance. “I mean your home.”

“As long as you’re my guest, my home is your home, and you haven’t seen a lot of it.” He points over our heads. “I promised to give you the tour. Well, now’s the right time. You haven’t yet seen my personal space.”

I peer up at the high ceiling. “Your personal space?”

“It’s up there. I hope you’re good at climbing up ladders.”

I suck at climbing up ladders, but that’s irrelevant right now. I’d climb up a ladder to the moon and back for a chance to see his personal space.

Peering back up, I realize I should have known. This place is so huge, there has to be a top floor. I saw the windows outside.

Kellan leads us to a narrow staircase, which I didn’t even notice until now.

He climbs up hastily, his enthusiasm palpable in his swift strides.

I follow him through a trapdoor and let him help me to my feet. As my gaze sweeps over the space, I’m struck speechless.

The top floor is huge. Like an entire apartment huge.

And way more modern than I would have anticipated. There’s a leather couch, a television set, even a small kitchen, with modern appliances.

“Wow,” I say stunned.

“This is my tiny abode,” Kellan explains.

“Tiny?” I laugh. “Kellan, this is huge. And I’m not even thinking by NYC standards.”

“When I was fifteen, my father decided that it was time my brothers and I got our own space. I think he did it to get rid of us. We were quite the noisy bunch.”

 I spin in a slow circle, taking in the guitar and musical instruments set up in a corner. Even I know this isn’t the usual stuff you get in the shops. It’s way too polished and huge, and there’s other stuff, like amplifiers and other black boxes, I think are for recording, but I’m not sure.

“Is one of your brothers a musician?”

“All of us were,” Kellan says. “We had our very own band. We called ourselves The Boyd Brothers, until we grew too old and developed other interests as well.” He winks. “Think girls and panties.”

Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of story I don’t want to hear.

I pick up the guitar. “Is this yours?”

He steps behind me. I expect him to reach out and take it out of my hands, but he doesn’t. “How did you know?”

My fingers travel over the initials engraved on it. “It says K.B.”

“My sister bought it for me. It was my first guitar.” He hesitates. There’s something there. I know it. I can feel his unease, so I put the guitar back and turn to look at him.

“Sounds like she’s great,” I say softly.

He nods. “When we were young, this was our thing. Friends used to hang out here all the time. The place was packed each weekend. There were parties.” He catches my glance. “Not that kind. The kind where you sit outside, in front of a huge fire, and everyone’s singing and having a great time. God, that was such a long time ago.” His voice is melancholic, his eyes distant, focused on a past far away. “Then, life happened. We grew up. Everyone went their separate ways.”

I nod, envying him because at least he had all those experiences.

“And by everyone you mean—” I prompt.

“Ryder, whom you’ve already met, and Cash.”

“And your sister?”

He falls silent, and something flashes across his face.

I cannot bear it anymore.

“Who’s the blond woman in the picture on the fireplace?” I ask, even though I asked the same question before and he’s already given an answer.

He doesn’t blink. “I already told you. That’s my sister. At least…was.” There is a short silence. His face distorts to...something, and then he walks away without another word.

I give him a minute before I follow after him.

I find him sitting outside the barn. I kneel down next to him, making sure not to touch him. His posture is rigid, his shoulders tense.

“I’m sorry I asked,” I start, unsure what else to say.

“It’s okay.” His voice drops to a whisper. He looks up at the sky, his eyes dark and hooded, but, oh my god—the sadness.

“What happened to her?” I ask, fighting the urge to touch him.

There is a short pause, then, “She’s dead, Ava.”

I turn to him, even though I know he probably doesn’t want my presence. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. She died five weeks ago.”

I stare at him, shocked. It makes so much sense. The pain is fresh. He’s struggling to come to terms with such a great loss.

I don’t want to impose, and yet I find myself asking, “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

He takes his time replying. “She died in a bomb blast.”

“She was the best friend you told me about.”

He nods. “She was the best of everything you can have. Clara was…” He sighs, and a soft, sad smile tugs at his lips. “She was a good person. Her heart was in the right place. Ever since I can remember, she wanted to help others. If she set her mind to it, she went all the way. When she told our family she wanted to join the military, no one wanted her to. They were all afraid she’d get hurt.” Another pause. He clears his throat, and I sense something huge is coming. “Except me. I told her to go after her dreams, that I’d be proud of her. Back then, I was so sure she’d be okay, because she was strong and she wasn’t scared to get in a fight.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His eyes are cast downward now, focused on a spot at his feet. “I’ve been regretting that for the last five weeks, day and night, even in my dreams. There’s not a single thing I can do to take those words back. If it weren’t for me, she’d still be here. She’d be alive.”

His eyes are shimmering with moisture. A tear slides down my cheek. His pain radiates from him, every word true and coming from the heart.

“Kellan,” I whisper his name because I don’t know what else to say.

He shakes his head. “Don’t. You have no idea what my family went through.” He looks up at me, meeting my glance. “My mother died when I was young. It was my sister who took care of all of us. She wasn’t just the eldest, she was also the one who made sure that my dad didn’t let himself go. She was amazing. I mean it when I say you would have liked her.”

I can feel his anger. He’s not past that stage in the grieving process yet. Whatever I say won’t help. But I know keeping him talking is good for him.

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Kellan says. “You’re alike. When Sniper saw you, I knew it. It’s the way he reacts, and the way you talk to him.” He sighs. “She was fierce and stubborn. Always had her own mind about things.”

“It must have been nice to grow up with brothers,” I say softly.

“Well, I think it influenced her decision to join the forces.” His eyes go distant again. “I hadn’t seen her in almost a year. Then, out of the blue came, the call she’d be back home the following weekend. I was so happy. I tried to cancel everything, but work came first.” He grimaces, and a nerve begins to pulse beneath his eye. “I told her I couldn’t see her. I didn’t come back home when I had the chance because other things seemed more important. It’s the biggest regret I have. She spent that one last weekend here, and I didn’t come to see her. She told me she was fine, that she’d be back home for Thanksgiving, but she died within a week.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, wiping at the tears gathering in my eyes.

He just nods.

My fingers gingerly reach out to touch his, and he lets me. His fingers intertwine with mine, and I give them a light squeeze in the hope the simple gesture can convey a little bit of just how much my heart is bleeding for him.