Chapter 30

When Melanie stepped outside for her Sunday morning run, she found her dress hanging on the outside doorknob of the apartment. Her shoes were nowhere in sight. Neither was Wyatt.

Her insides gave a long, slow squeeze that released in a shudder. Wyatt.

She could still feel him in all the subtle aches and ahhs of her morning-after body. She’d wanted to drive Michael’s touch out of her memory, but what had happened last night was more like an exorcism. At one point, she was pretty sure her head had literally been spinning.

She had assumed Wyatt would be good in bed. Wyatt was good everywhere. But she had expected more…precision, like the way he fought bulls. Smooth, graceful, and always in the right place at the right time, with just enough flair to thrill the audience.

Well, this audience was damn sure thrilled, but he’d shattered a whole lot of her preconceptions. Throw in what he’d done at the Waffle House, and it was gonna take a while to put those pieces together into a new whole—and she could not do it at the scene of the crime. She had to get out of this apartment. Away from that bed.

Even after the jog and another shower, her mind felt muzzy, like she’d survived a natural disaster and was still in a state of detached disbelief, unable to calculate how much damage she’d sustained. Or inflicted.

When she was dressed, she examined her reflection in the mirror and popped the collar on her sleeveless blouse so it covered most of the telltale red patches on her neck…except a tiny love bite under her ear. She combed her hair around to that side and wove it into a braid that fell forward over her shoulder.

She had no doubt she’d left a few marks on him, too.

She shoved her sunglasses on and studied the result. Better. Now to slip out, feed her horses, and hopefully sneak out of town unobserved. Wyatt did give his students Sunday off…respecting the Sabbath even if he no longer observed it.

When she pulled into the driveway, both horses were loitering near the feed buckets she’d hung from the fence, hips cocked and ears lolling as they drowsed in the morning sun. She scooped sweet feed from the bag she’d bought the day after they arrived. Shawnee had sent her a message saying ol’ Roy appreciated a bucket of grain in the mornings. Cole had followed up with photos of the label of their usual brand and the ingredient list, plus exact daily portions.

She leaned on the fence, resting her head against one of the cross braces and breathing the mingled scents of horse, dirt, and molasses as she listened to their rhythmic chomping. It was a gorgeous morning for a ride. Wyatt hadn’t said whether the roadside trail ended at the saddle club arena or went on up the valley toward the mountains. Her boots were in the storage shed, packed up along with the rest of her gear…

Her phone trilled, and her pulse along with it. She fished it out. Not Wyatt. Her heart did a simultaneous clutch and sink, relief warring with disappointment as she frowned at the unfamiliar Oregon number.

“Hel—”

“Melanie?” Grace’s voice cut in. “Thank God. I’ve called everybody I know, and the only one who answered was Wyatt and he’s at the lake. He gave me your number.”

Melanie’s imagination jumped into high gear at the note of panic in Grace’s voice. Car wreck? Appendicitis? Date gone horribly wrong? “What’s the matter?”

Grace’s breath hitched, close to a sob. “I can’t catch this damn horse.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Melanie braced her hands on her hips and glared into Grace’s corral. First the cows, now this. Honestly. It was as if the ghosts of obnoxious animals past had followed her to Oregon.

The horse glared back at her from dead center in the corral, the sun glinting off her silvery-blue roan coat.

“You’re twenty-two years old,” Melanie said. “I thought you might’ve grown up by now.”

The horse gave a derisive snort. As if. This was Betsy—Shawnee’s main mount back in high school—who had once escaped at a rodeo and evaded twenty or so people, freight-training at least four parents in the process, until finally Cole Jacobs had said screw it and roped her like she was one of his bucking horses.

Grace slapped at the dust on her jeans. “I always lock her up in the stall when I feed her the night before, but this morning when I opened the gate, she ran me down and got out.”

Figured. The little wench was evil right to her core. If she hadn’t been such a killer rope horse someone would’ve shot her ornery little ass by now.

The corral was about twenty yards square and had an open-faced lean-to shed off one corner, with steel portable panels forming the stalls and a hay feeder in the middle. One gate led directly out into a small, irrigated pasture, the other to a graveled driveway where Grace’s rig sat, the trailer door open and waiting.

“I’m entered in a rodeo north of the Tri-Cities,” Grace said. “If I don’t get out of here pretty soon…”

Melanie picked up the rope Grace had flung into the dirt and squared her shoulders. They couldn’t lure Betsy into the stalls. Nice horsey, have a bucket of grain didn’t work with the devil bitch. Chasing her would only end in a lot of sweating and swearing.

“Okay,” Melanie said. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

Together they dismantled the portable stalls and packed them out to where, using the hay feeder as a center brace, they strung them across the corral to form an alley across the end. Halfway through, Betsy recognized their intention, wheeled, snorted, and blasted past the panels to the opposite corner.

They hauled the last panel out, secured it, and left it cocked at a forty-five-degree angle, forming an entrance to their makeshift alley. Now for the tricky part. Melanie built a loop in the rope and stalked toward the mare.

“We can do this easy, or we can do it hard.”

Betsy rolled her eyes as if to say, Whatever.

Grace took a couple of practice swings with her loop. Melanie gestured her to the right. “You take that side.”

Together they eased toward the mare, watching every twitch of her nostrils for a sign that she was ready to launch. She let them get within ten feet before exploding out of the corner, aiming for the gap between them. Grace took one swing and threw, the rope bouncing off Betsy’s shoulder. Melanie ran after the horse. The mare started to duck away from the entrance to the alley, saw Melanie’s loop aiming for her, and dodged through the gap. Melanie and Grace grabbed the end of the last panel and swung it around to close the trap…just as Betsy wheeled around at the far end and came roaring back.

For an instant Melanie thought she would mow them both down, panel and all. At the last second the mare threw on the brakes and skidded to a stop, her nose slamming into the gate, which in turn banged into Melanie’s forehead. She let loose a filthy curse, but didn’t weaken. They glared at each other, eye to furious eye.

The mare blew snot in Melanie’s face, then pivoted on her hocks and trotted off to the other end.

From there, it was simply a matter of folding the panels in, one by one, making the alley shorter and shorter until the demon spawn was pinned in a space only sixteen feet square. Betsy huffed out a loud horse raspberry, then dropped her head.

Fine. You win. This time. But she made a point of stepping on Grace’s foot as she tied on the rope halter.

When Grace had latched the trailer door behind the horse, she turned to Melanie with a frazzled smile. “Thank you. I never would’ve got her by myself.” She eyed Melanie’s now dust-smudged clothes. “I hope I didn’t mess up your plans.”

“I didn’t really have any.”

Grace hesitated, then blurted, “Do you want to come with me?”

“To the rodeo?” Melanie narrowed her eyes. Had Wyatt put Grace up to this? Melanie couldn’t imagine why he would, but you never knew with him. Maybe he didn’t want her to be alone after…last night. Or he might think watching other girls rope would light a fire under her. Because honestly, Grace didn’t seem all that crazy about her company most of the time.

“Never mind. I’m sure it’s the last thing you want to do today.” Grace knocked her shoulders back, eliminating the slight droop. Shit. Melanie was getting way too paranoid. Grace had asked because traveling alone sucked, and it’d taken a lot of nerve for her to extend the invitation. It might mean she’d finally decided they could be friends.

“Wait.”

Grace paused, her hand on the pickup door.

“I just…you caught me by surprise.” Melanie conjured up a smile that hopefully looked genuine. “I’d love to come. It’ll be…interesting.”

Fun was pushing it too far.