By Wednesday morning, the major news crews had long given up waiting at the Ngata farm gate, and only a few hardy reporters still cruised Bounty Bay hoping to spot them, according to Sam, Vee, and Owen, who’d become Nat’s eyes on the outside. Olivia had stayed home from school on Monday and Tuesday, with rugby training and practice canceled—leaving Isaac and Olivia as grouchy as two bears with sore heads.

Vee had instructed her not to come into work, but to enjoy her mini vacation with Isaac and the Ngatas. As if three nights spent in Isaac’s old bedroom, tossing and turning in the single bed without Isaac—who’d bunked all three nights on a fold-out couch in the living room since Sam’s bedroom had been turned into Ariana’s hobby central—could be considered a vacation. Olivia had slept in Tui’s old room and was still in the single syllable response stage whenever Nat or Isaac tried to talk to her. Olivia and Ariana, however, had found common ground in their love of gossipy Netflix dramas and had chatted happily about them during the past two days. Which left Nat and Isaac sharing many long, lingering glances but with little privacy to do anything about them.

Until this morning.

With Livvy off to school and no real reason to hide out any longer, Nat could’ve asked Ariana or Pete to drop her off at Bountiful or at home. But Isaac sidled up behind her while she rinsed breakfast bowls. He leaned in, hands resting on her hips, and brushed his lips down the side of her throat. She shivered, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his freshly showered male smell, along with the faint undertone of…horse?

“Wanna play hooky from real life today?” he murmured in her ear. “It’s about time I took you on a date.”

“Does this date involve horses?” While the nine-year-old girl inside her clapped her hands at the idea of a pony ride, the woman with an R-rated imagination sat up and begged at the thought of seeing Isaac astride a horse.

He chuckled and gave her hips a squeeze. “It does. You up for it?”

Save a horse, ride a cowboy. Down girl, she ordered and made herself calmly finish rinsing her plate. “I’m up for anything.”

Up to and including sex on the beach. Since getting sand in her girl bits was still preferable to the alternative of rationally discussing their future with Isaac. Adulting, in other words. Adulting, when she’d much rather give in to her hormones and make out with Isaac instead of confronting the issues of media attention, Olivia’s reaction, and whether this thing between them had gone past its use-by date.

“Good. I’ll saddle up a couple of horses and meet you out front,” he said, and with another swift kiss, left her alone in the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later, Nat swung herself into the saddle and patted the white neck of Storm, a fifteen-year-old mare, who according to Isaac belonged to Tui during her short-lived horsey phase. Beside her, with a backpack on his back, Isaac was mounted on Richie, who pawed a hoof on the lush grass of the back paddock and looked as impatient as a horse could to get going. Isaac hardly seemed to expend any energy controlling the animal. He continued to speak in a low, soothing tone until Richie settled and bent his head to crop grass. Isaac’s top half looked every inch the cowgirl’s fantasy in a tight black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The cargo shorts and running shoes on his lower half caused her pulse to skip a beat. Beneath the inked design on his calf, muscles flexed as he readjusted his feet in the stirrups.

He shot her a sidelong glance as Storm walked past him and bent her head to delicately nibble on a grassy tuft near Richie.

“You do know how to ride, right?” he asked.

Nat gave him her best oh puh-lease stare. “Olivia went through a horsey phase herself when she was ten. I put my foot down on buying her one, but we took riding lessons for a couple of months together.”

“A regular cowgirl, then.”

The grin that lit up Isaac’s face, boyish and sweetly vulnerable, caused Nat’s stomach to take a tumble to her feet lodged firmly in the stirrups. Her hands must’ve tugged on the reins as Storm snorted and lifted her head. The power of that grin, from a man used to keeping his stoic mask in place around people, knocked her knees out from under her. Luckily, she was sitting. Call her egotistical, but she felt deep into the very marrow of her bones that she was the one who’d caused him to start smiling again. And that was both wonderful and as scary as hell.

With a confidence she suddenly didn’t feel, she clicked her tongue at Storm and said, “Cowgirl enough to beat the pants off you in a race.”

“Those are fighting words, tahu.” Isaac laughed and guided Richie through the gate and to the path ahead that led into the bush-covered hills.

They rode in easy silence, Isaac and Richie ahead guiding Storm along narrow tracks encroached on either side by native ferns, spindly manuka trees, and towering over them, stands of kauri, rimu, and totara. Fantails cheeped and darted among the branches, teasing with flashes of their white-feathered tails. As they drew closer to the coast, the track opened up to scrub and wide blue skies. Nat sucked in a deep breath of briny sea breeze and nudged Storm into a trot to catch up with Richie.

“Is this all still your dad’s land?” she asked.

Sunlight glittered off the Tasman Sea in front of them and the long stretch of pale sand stretching into the distance.

“Yeah. All the way to the beach,” he said, “And even though the beach is private property, Dad doesn’t mind local iwi collecting kai moana or fishing. It’s not accessible by vehicles except four-wheeled bikes, unlike other fishing spots around the coastline, so it’s pretty pristine.”

“It looks amazing.”

The horses picked their way down another track leading onto the beach, nickering to each other as if in excitement as their hooves hit the sand.

“Ready?” Isaac said.

Richie fought for his head, angling toward the small waves curling up over the sand. Storm arched her neck forward, straining to follow him.

“Go—” Nat hugged her knees against Storm’s side and leaned forward, the horse responding as if she’d been eagerly anticipating the cue to race.

Isaac whooped and the two horses galloped along the deserted beach, hooves kicking up plumes of sand. It wasn’t a fair race, since Richie was younger and bigger than Storm, but Nat’s mare still put her heart into it. They spent the next hour exploring the coastline and letting the horses wander in and out of the shallow waves as they pleased. By the time Isaac dismounted from Richie and looped his reins around a low overhanging pohutukawa tree branch, everyone was wet, sandy, and tired.

While the horses rested, happy with the patch of grass they’d found in the shade, Isaac unzipped his backpack and spread out a blanket. He then added a small wooden chopping board, a plastic container of a variety of soft cheeses, along with a packet of crackers, and another container of juicy black grapes.

“I’m impressed.” Nat sat next to him on the blanket.

“You should be.” Isaac pulled a wine-bottle shaped protective sleeve from his backpack and reached in again for two plastic wineglasses. “I remembered to grab the chardonnay instead of the champagne—which we both would’ve been wearing after our bumpy ride here.”

She laughed and accepted a wineglass while he uncorked the bottle and poured them both some.

He lifted his glass. “A toast?”

What should she toast to that didn’t involve popping the happy bubble they’d been surrounded by up until Sunday morning, to uncover the stark reality beneath? Drinking to health and happiness seemed trite, and she wasn’t going anywhere near a toast to love and second chances.

She forced her lips into a relaxed, I’m not overthinking this smile. “How about to fun first dates?”

He lightly tapped his glass to hers. “Cheers. And to many more.”

A lifetime of first dates with Isaac. Nat sipped her wine and pretended she didn’t want that life as much as her heart told her it did.

* * *

Two weeks after her and Isaac’s affair had been swept aside in the media eye and replaced with a Hollywood B-list actress’s drunken antics in a Queenstown bar while filming on location, Nat welcomed the peace and tranquility of a laboriously slow bus ride to Whangarei.

If by the definition of peace and tranquility you meant being surrounded by wired-with-excitement teenage girls, some chatting without pausing for breath, others with earbuds plugged into their phones. But she was happy to be with them. Their pride and unbridled enthusiasm at making it to their first semifinal game, which took place tomorrow morning at St. Kilpatrick’s High School, was infectious. And kind of exhausting at the same time since she had to constantly fight the urge to turn around in her seat to watch Isaac sitting in the bus’s back row.

Of course he was—Isaac was a back row kind of guy. While she, the good girl, sat up front near the driver. Nat closed her eyes and relaxed against the headrest. They were in a good place right now, with even Olivia rolling her eyes but smiling at her teammates’ acceptance of Nat and Isaac being an item. Though that wasn’t the term the teens used, Rangi-Marie’s statement to Nat and Isaac before they boarded the bus in Bounty Bay seemed to echo the other girls’ feelings.

“We don’t care that Nat’s your girlfriend, coach,” Rangi-Marie had said with a grin. “So long as we win tomorrow.”

The girls had whooped and hollered, pouring onto the bus ahead of them. Rangi-Marie had leaned in, her face angled close to Nat’s ear.

“But I’m glad it’s you, Auntie,” she whispered. “He’s got his mana back, and he’s not so grumpy now, ay?” Then she climbed onto the bus to join her friends.

Just after nine they reached the motor lodge where they’d booked rooms for the team and supervising adults. They’d spend two nights there, with the girls sharing rooms together and the adults in separate rooms spaced between them. Aside from Isaac and Nat as coach and parent help, Owen would drive down tomorrow before the big game after he’d finished a late-night shift at the hospital. Justine and Mike had also accompanied them on the bus, with Justine instructing Nat to “go put your feet up” in her room while they got the girls checked in, organized, and hopefully to sleep in preparation for the game tomorrow.

An offer Nat couldn’t turn down.

Nat jumped in the shower to wash off the effects of the three-hour drive with the necessary pit stop of a junk food dinner halfway. The thought of texting Isaac to come join her under the hot spray flittered across her mind, leaving a smile on her lips. But sleeping in separate rooms was an unspoken agreement between them, no matter the temptation to act like a rebellious teenage girl and sneak into her boyfriend’s room.

She dressed in comfortable lounge pants and a snuggly sweater instead of her pajamas. Although it was nearly ten, the odds were one of the girls might need something, so she’d preempt that by checking on them all before she got ready for bed. If the girls ever calmed down enough to get to sleep. Outside her room, which was on the very end of the ground level of the motor lodge, came the sounds of girls calling back and forth to each other. She was twisting her still-damp hair into a knot when someone knocked on her door. Nat chuckled to herself and secured her hair with a band.

“Coming,” she called, crossing to the door. “But you girls really need to get to bed.”

She flung open the door. Her blood iced and froze all movement from her closed throat down. Ten minutes in a shower had refreshed Nat’s tired brain a little, but not enough to comprehend why this woman—why Lucy Gilbert—stood outside her room.

Lucy was dressed in black from head to toe, including a black anorak with a fake-fur-trimmed hood that almost but not quite covered her face. Still, even in a ski mask Nat would’ve recognized the woman’s almond-shaped eyes and Angelina Jolie pout.

Lucy subtly shifted her chunky handbag hooked over her shoulder from side to front, as if it were leather armor to protect her from Nat’s wrath.

“Mrs. Fisher?” she said. “I’d like to talk to you for a moment, if that’s okay?”

Nat could only stare, so many questions clambering around her throat that nothing but a soft “ugh” escaped. But she stepped aside so the woman could enter. She shut the door and wrangled her thoughts into order. Start with the obvious question. The OMG, has she been stalking me? obvious.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked.

Apparently not knowing whether to sit on the room’s queen-sized bed or to stand, Lucy stopped in the middle of the room and faced her. “A little bit of snooping with the aid of Google and applied logic.”

Applied logic? There was nothing logical about Lucy wanting to talk to her after all this time. “Let me expand on that—why are you here? Why now?”

Lucy’s dark gaze zipped to the uncomfortable-looking armchair next to the bed. “Can we sit down? I think we should both sit down.”

Without waiting for permission, she crossed to the armchair and lowered herself into it with the expression of a woman expecting her butt to trigger a pressure bomb. She kept her handbag protecting her stomach and crossed her legs.

The first twinges of shock turning into unease spiked down Nat’s spine. She walked stiffly to the side of the bed nearest Lucy and perched on the edge, lacing her fingers tightly together in her lap. “So, Ms. Gilbert?”

“I saw the photos of you and Isaac online and it brought everything up again,” Lucy said. “I got married three years ago—I’m Lucy Johnson now.”

“Congratulations.” Because what was she supposed to say? The media had mentioned Lucy’s fiancé’s name back then—and the man’s last name hadn’t been Johnson.

“Thanks. We have a little girl.” Lucy looked down at her hands. “We’re very happy and we keep out of the public eye.”

Ah…now Nat got it. The publicity surrounding her and Isaac had probably brought the media sharks to Lucy’s door. “I’m sorry if the media is harassing you. Obviously, we never intended this to happen and for you to be dragged into it again.”

The younger woman’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, nobody from the press or TV has been bothering us. Brian’s a cop and he knows how to make his family hard to find. That’s not why I’m here. I want to tell you about that night in London.”

“I know what happened that night. Isaac told me.”

Lucy’s shoulders sagged. “Thank God. After everything you went through, I saw how happy you two looked together. Please believe me, I’m not a bad person and I didn’t want the lies he told to protect me and”—her lips tightened into narrow strips for a moment before she continued in a lower voice—“your husband, to come between you.”

Nat’s pulse hammered in her ears, the sound so loud, so all-consuming that it felt as if her brain bounced around her skull with every beat. Something on her face must’ve startled Lucy, as the woman leaned forward and laid a warm palm over Nat’s icy fingers.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for being such a stupid, starstruck girl back then. I knew Jackson was married and going back to his hotel to hook up wasn’t right, but I wasn’t thinking of the consequences. I wasn’t thinking about his wife and little girl back home.” Tears filled Lucy’s eyes and spilled down her perfectly made-up cheeks. “But now that I’m married and we have Taylor, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d feel if Brian cheated on me—or even nearly cheated on me.”

Lucy’s teary-eyed gaze lifted. “I couldn’t be as strong as you’ve been to forgive Jackson and trust someone else. But Isaac is a great guy and I’m so glad you understand why he did what he did—”

Nat wrenched her hands from Lucy’s grasp and lurched to her feet, emotions like punches thrown by a prize fighter slamming into her. She stumbled away from the bed and stood shaking in front of the wall-mounted TV, her reflection a ghoulish shadow in the dark screen.

Left hook. Jackson was at the center of that terrible night, not Isaac. It was Jackson who’d invited Lucy back to his hotel, not Isaac. And it was Isaac trying to talk his friend out of making a mistake, not the other way around.

Uppercut. Was this the first time Jackson had picked up a girl in a bar? Was their marriage built on lies and infidelity?

Gut punch. Did Isaac know about those infidelities and had been covering for Jackson for years?

Knockout. Isaac had lied. Over and over—to the media, to his friends, and to her face after they’d made love.

Nat pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Please go.”

“Natalie—” Lucy stood, clutching her bag under one arm and reached out with the other as if she was about to head in for a one-armed hug.

No way. Nope. No, no, no to the nth degree.

“You’ve cleared your conscience and said your piece.” Each word took an enormous strength of will to force out of her mouth. “I accept your apology, if that’s what you need to hear, but please leave now.”

Before she went all Exorcist and projectile vomited all over the woman’s shoes.

Lucy left and Nat flung herself into the tiny white-tiled bathroom—only just making it to her knees in front of the toilet bowl before she lost every last bit of her junk food dinner.