I rub my eyes before I follow Laura, my feet dragging. I need some time alone to think.

I know she saw me with Hannah—that she saw me fucking her, hard, rough. The way she looked at me, cautious and completely closed off, only confirms it.

There’s nothing I can do about it, except to gain some self control. Something tells me, though, that it might not be difficult to do as long as I get to see Laura every day. Now, I know I will, and that fills me with hope.

Even if I can’t touch her, taste her, or play with her, at least I can work on getting to know her.

The real Laura.

It’s funny. My heart got trampled on by a woman a lot younger than Laura, but they have the same shadows in their eyes. I must be a glutton for punishment, only finding damaged women interesting enough to make an effort for.

I grimace at the thought as I step out into the sunshine, blinking against the afternoon sun.

Damaged is the wrong word.

Complicated is better.

And, so far, Laura has definitely proven that she’s exactly what she says she is.

Complicated.

Still, I can feel that she’s opening up to me in some ways. That’s something, at least.

I can’t help but grin as I watch Ailith and Laura walking hand in hand towards the other stable. Ailith looks so carefree as she’s chattering a mile a minute. Even though it sends a twinge through my heart, pushing memories to the forefront of my mind, it also brings me a semblance of peace. I have to catch my breath as Laura’s carefree laughter fills the air, riding in waves towards me and cloaking me in its joy.

Damn, that woman intrigues me.

As the sun beats down on her brown hair flying in the wind, sending off rays of golds and reds, I vow that I won’t allow her to keep me chained in the friend zone.

I won’t let her.

I will have her. I know she feels the chemistry between us, even if she’s determined to keep me at arm’s length, but I see it in the way she looks at me. I can feel the sexual tension humming in the air whenever we touch, and, fuck, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

I don’t even think that Emma made my blood run as hot as Laura does.

The realisation that my heart doesn’t start to bleed as I think about her now hits me straight in my gut. I don’t know what to make of it so I do what I usually do.

I bury it deep in my soul where I’ll keep it hidden away, only to be pulled out and examined later.

* * *

From Laura’s journal

Kristian ended up staying for dinner.

Seeing him at our table chatting with Ailith and Mum was both strange and nice.

Strange because it has been so long since a man has been around for dinner.

Nice because his presence made us laugh more than we have done in years.

I don’t know what to make of him. On one hand, he’s a complete and utter womaniser, but on the other, he’s just easy to be around. Fun. Relaxing.

That is, when he doesn’t look at me in that quiet, intense way of his. Whenever his fingers brushed against mine, or when he looked at me, I wanted to give in to the yearning he elicits inside me.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep resisting him.

When he’s near, I forget the darkness. I smile more. I laugh again. I feel warm instead of cold; safe instead of scared; full instead of unfulfilled.

Given the short time I’ve known him, it doesn’t make any sense at all.

I worry that, if I’m not careful, I’ll have revealed all my deepest, darkest, disturbing secrets, and he’ll run, screaming as he goes.

The problem is that now I’ve spent more time with him, I don’t want him to leave.

But…at the same time, I do.

Crap. Even my thoughts don’t make any sense at all.

I look down at my words, almost willing myself to tear the paper out of my journal, crumble it in my hands, and burn it in the fireplace behind me.

Then again…a journal is not necessarily meant to be a work of art. I don’t have to write in neat, orderly script. It’s just a place for me to write whatever comes to mind. A place to bury my secrets. A way to keep sane in the chaos that, most days, fills my mind.

I lean back in bed, closing the journal. It’s only nine p.m., too early for bed, and I’m not tired. I wonder if Kristian meant it when he said he’d start getting his things sorted out and come by tomorrow with the first haul.

I wonder if he’ll bring some of his artwork? I’d like to see more of it.

“Enough.”

Annoyed with myself—and with my journal—I get up and grab a cardigan. I turn off the light and head out of my room. Careful not to make a sound, I take a peek in Ailith’s room next to mine. She’s sprawled all over the bed, teddy bears all around her, and her mouth is open. I smile as I close the door and then tiptoe downstairs. I find Mum in the kitchen, writing something in her own journal.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask her as I sit down next to her.

She smiles at me as she closes the journal.

“Not really. I feel restless, I guess.”

I lean my elbow on the table and rest my head in my palm.

“That doesn’t sound like you. Why?”

She shrugs as she sits back in her seat.

“Just thinking about tonight. Kristian seems nice.”

I nod once, keeping my thoughts to myself.

“He’s young,” she continues as she stands up and goes to the kitchen counter. “Or maybe I only think that because I’m feeling my age tonight.”

“You’re not that old, Mum,” I smile at her.

She pauses and turns a wry look my way.

“Thank you, dear,” she mutters drily, making my smile widen. She plugs the kettle, sitting next to the sink, into its socket and turns it on. “No, I’m not old, but I’m sixty-five now. I’m older than I was.”

As the kettle starts to hiss, I sit up in my seat.

“Is everything okay?”

She leans back on the counter and crosses her arms in front of her.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

I slump, relieved, when her eyes gentle.

“Sometimes, I just miss your dad something fierce, and then I come here.” She jerks her chin at the journal resting only millimetres away from my hand. “I sit down and pretend that he’s on a trip, and then I write him a letter. I tell him about my joys and my sorrows. All the small and big things happening.”

“I miss him, too,” I whisper, my breath hitching.

She smiles gently at me.

“I know. He was taken from us so soon—too soon—and not a day goes by when I don’t wish he was here. But…” She sniffles as she takes a shaky breath. “He’s not. Writing those letters to him help lessen my heartache. Tonight, it was particularly bad, though.”

I dab at the tears falling on my cheeks.

“Where do you find your strength, Mum?”

The kettle switches itself off, and she turns around to grab two mugs before she answers.

“I have you and Ailith. I have the farm, the horses, and Sally.”

At the sound of her name, Sally raises her head from her place next to the Aga stove. I turn my head to smile at the soft expression in Mum’s eyes as she walks towards me. She puts down the mugs before she turns around to fetch some teabags and the kettle.

“Everything on this soil—here where our home is—feeds my strength, Laura,” she sighs as she sits down. “It’s in the air, the earth, the water around us. I know you don’t care much for the legends and myths, but…” She gives me a pointed stare. “I believe in them. I believe that some kind of the old magic still lives here, and every little bit of that magic helps when I’m feeling low.”

I nod, even though I don’t understand her at the same time.

“Don’t you feel the same?”

Her question throws me for a moment.

“I don’t know,” I answer on a small shrug, dunking the teabag to bide my time. “I do know I feel at peace here. As if I belong,” I concede on a small frown. “I’ve always felt that way.”

Mum removes the teabag, a slight frown marring her face.

“I’m glad you feel that way, but…” She blows the steam rising from the mug, and I wait patiently for her to gather her thoughts. “But I wonder if this place is enough for you?”

My eyes widen in surprise.

“Of course it’s enough. I’m happy here. I can’t imagine ever leaving.”

“Are you sure that’s your heart and not your head talking right now?”

I shake my head at her, getting a tad annoyed at her cryptic ways.

“You confuse me, Mum. My heart and my head are one and the same in this matter—they want the same things, but, given the choice, I’ll follow my head. Not wherever my emotions lead me. I did that once before, and look where that got me?”

Mum sighs as she sits back in her seat.

“You’re so stubborn.”

“Takes one to know one,” I counter at once.

“Now, don’t do that, please.”

I blink innocently at her.

“Don’t do what?”

She sighs and shakes her head, clearly aggravated with me.

“Don’t turn this around on me, changing the subject like that.”

Crap.

“All I’m saying is that I’ve followed my heart before, Mum,” I whisper. “It brought me nothing but pain and grief—am I wrong for being cautious? Is it so bad that I want to prevent that from happening again?”

Mum takes my hand and holds it close with both of hers as she leans forward in her seat, a fierce expression in her eyes.

“No, of course not. But remember this—following your heart also brought you your daughter. That bright, shooting star lying in bed upstairs?”

My throat clogs up with suppressed tears. All I can do is nod, unable to form any words for fear of breaking down in front of her.

“Out of all the darkness and chaos, you were given her—the most precious gift on earth. That should remind you that something genuinely good came from the unlikeliest of places.”

I inhale deeply.

“What are you trying to say, Mum?” I whisper.

She releases my hands only to frame my face. She tucks some loose strands of my hair behind my ear and presses our foreheads close together.

“Don’t lock away your heart forever,” she whispers.

I can’t stop the tears anymore and close my eyes as I let them fall.

“I don’t know where the key is, Mum,” I cry.

“You’ll find it. Probably when you least expect it. The young man I saw tonight?”

I nod, still unable to meet her gaze.

“He. Is. Good,” she stresses. “I know it. I can feel it in my heart. You will too, eventually.”

I clench my teeth, doing everything in my power to keep my silence. I’m afraid I’ll say something scathing or hurtful if I speak now.

That Turley stubbornness is a hard habit to break.

“Now, drink your tea, sweetheart,” Mum says before she places a soft kiss on my cheek. She caresses my cheek once, and I open my eyes. The knowing smile on her lips surprises me while it scares me at the same time.

Silently, Mum gets up, walks to the sink, and pours away her forgotten tea. I take a shaky breath as she grabs her journal and pen from the table, and she pats my shoulder once as she walks past me.

“Goodnight, Laura,” she murmurs.

I unclench my teeth and gulp in a deep lungful of air as I hear the click of the door shutting behind me.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, but it’s too late.

A sense of claustrophobia fills me from within, and I start gasping for breath. Desperation to get away, to get out, takes a firm hold of me, and I lunge up and run to the backdoor. I wrench it open, ignoring the bark from Sally as I, with wheezing breaths, sprint out into the courtyard.

I try to run from my mind, which is screaming at me to stop.

But I can’t stop. I just can’t.

Panic leads me to the paddock at the far end of our grounds, and when the soft whinnying from the horses reaches my ears, I finally start to slow down. Breath heaving, I stop in front of the fence closest to me, leaning on it as I cry into the night.

It’s been a long time since the past has been able to hold me in its grasp like it’s doing right now.

I put my head on my arms, trying to pull myself together. I feel something nudging my shoulder and sniffle as I raise my head.

Thunder’s watchful eyes meet mine, and my breath hitches as I take in that he’s the one who nudged me.

“Hey, b-boy,” I stutter. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

I’m scared he’ll get spooked if I move, but in my heart, I wish I could lean on him. The fence separating our bodies makes it difficult, so, instead, I keep gazing into his brown eyes.

“I’ll be okay,” I whisper as he raises his head, blowing his warm breath over my cheek. The trust he’s showing me at this very moment makes me forget the past a little, and slowly, the dark memories fade away. My shattered heart heals a little.

Finally, as Thunder settles his head on my shoulder, I dare to raise my arms to place them around his neck. He lets out a long breath, settling in, and then the floodgates open again.

“Thank you,” I sob into his long mane, burrowing into his comfort.

It must be my imagination, or maybe I’m even dreaming, because, for a second, I think I hear a soft whisper in my ear, floating in the wind, and then it’s gone. But…it’s not possible.

I don’t recognise the words. I only know they sounded like Gaelic.

“We’ll be okay,” I murmur as my tears dry on my cheeks. “We’re survivors, aren’t we, Thunder? Whatever happens, we’ll make it. It’s not a choice. It’s who we are.”

Thunder leans into my arms, and, despite the havoc inside my head, I smile and breathe in the familiar scent. Horses don’t smell bad.

Instead, they always remind me of home.

“Yes. We’ll be okay,” I repeat.