Rein In (Willow Bay Stables #3)(4)

Owen grunted but the rest of the table remained silent.

“You listen to me now, Aurora Jane.” Daddy fixed his eyes on me. “That Grant Chancey is a good man, but anythin’ happens to you on that farm of his and he’ll meet the business end of my Remington, understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.” I smiled and wiped a tear from my cheek.

“That’s settled then.” He folded back into his chair and nodded toward Rayne. “How ‘bout you pass the old man some of that garlic bread you been slavin’ over, Miss Ray?”

And later that night, after dinner, I called Grant and accepted his offer.





Edmonton, Alberta – Edmonton Remand Center





“PERSONAL BELONGINGS. ONE PAIR OF motorcycle boots, one pair of ripped jeans, one Metallica T-shirt, one pair of aviators.”

I yanked the jeans up over my bare ass and pulled the shirt over my head.

He watched, and I didn’t rush. Let him look. You lose your humility in prison in the first year and after eight, you don’t even remember what it was.

“One wallet, fifty three cents, one lighter, and one leather jacket.”

The guard slid the envelope across the desk as I shoved my feet into the boots. My toes flexed and the arches of my feet ached. It had been nearly a decade since I’d worn real shoes, and the leather felt unforgiving of the time since they’d been abandoned.

I slid the aviators onto the bridge of my nose and tucked the envelope under my left arm.

“Sign here.” He pointed to a line on the clipboard.

The blue ink bled onto the white page as I scrawled my name. It was the first time I’d written with anything that wasn’t pencil since I was a teenager.

Pens are contraband in prison.

We passed through the secure doors; the familiar sound of radio commands followed by the clicking of locks was like a sick lullaby.

The guard turned left into an office where a man with gray hair sat next to the Warden.

“Rhys, this is Grant Chancey.” Warden Marissa Ortega nodded in the direction of the man. “Grant, this is Rhys White.”

Even from across the room, his suit smelt expensive.

I cocked my head to the side.

“You understand that you are being released to the custody of Mr. Chancey as per the terms of your parole?” she asked.

I nodded.

“You understand that any violation or failure to meet the terms of your parole will result in arrest, and you will be required to serve the rest of your sentence in prison?”

I nodded again.

“Very well.” She stood, and the man did, too. He was larger than I expected him to be, and something haunting seemed to pull at the edges of his eyes.

“We are hoping for the best of success with this program, Grant.”

He shook her hand and smiled. “As am I, Marissa. Thank you.”

“Well then, he’s all yours.” The warden looked at me. “Good luck, Rhys.”

Behind the mirrored lens of my aviators, I winced. She had misplaced her faith in me.

“You comin’, son?” the man asked, and I only then realized he’d made his way to the frame of the door beside me. “Unless of course you’d rather stay here, in which case, by all means, keep that cement in your boots.”

I swung the leather jacket over my right shoulder and followed him outside.

The sun felt bright, too bright. Like somehow outside these walls, it was stronger than it had been the last eight years. My soul was scorched; maybe that’s why I’d always preferred the dark.

The man, Chancey, walked to a large, white pickup with an emblem in the center of the door and hauled himself inside, slamming the door behind him.

I stood there, rooted in the gravel parking lot. The emblem was the silhouette of a horse, and the circle surrounding it was made of chain. It was elegant, sure, but it too seemed haunting.

Chancey knocked on the glass window as he turned over the engine, and I rolled my eyes behind my lenses.

Rounding the hood, I yanked open the door and stuffed myself into the passenger seat.

“Never met a man so determined on stayin’ in prison.” He laughed as I buckled in. “You don’t talk much, eh?”

I shrugged.

“Well, that’s fine. Means you ought to be real good at listenin’ then.” He steered the truck out of the parking lot. “So best you listen now.”

Positioning the envelope between my legs, I folded my arms over my chest.

“I’ve read your file. Two counts of assault with a deadly weapon and one count of attempted murder at seventeen years old.” The barbed wire surrounding my heart got tighter, and I rolled my shoulders to ease the pain. “I don’t much care who you were back then, so long as you aren’t still that kid. Got it?”

I ran a hand through my black hair and nodded.

“You’re under parole contract with me for the next twelve months, with a potential to serve out the rest of your time at Equine for Hearts if you keep your shit together, and I like you.” His voice was deep and authoritative. He didn’t want to braid my hair and be best friends, but he didn’t treat me like I was lower than the dirt on his shoe, either.

“The terms of your parole with Warden Ortega are simple. No drinking. No fighting. No visiting establishments where alcohol is served, and no associating with known felons outside of the facility where, of course, you’ll be livin’ with ‘em.”