She Can Hide (She Can #4)(57)

“Oh, look at the time.” With an exaggerated glance at the clock, Ethan pushed back the covers and stepped into a pair of jeans thrown over a chair. He pulled a sweatshirt over his head. Picking up her robe, he handed it to her. “Not that I really want you to put it on, but I know you get cold.”

Laughing, she got out of bed and wrapped the thick fabric around her.

“You can use the shower while I take care of the horses.” Ethan tugged on socks. “There’s an electronic tablet in the nightstand. You can take it with you today in case you get bored.” He kissed her before leaving the room.

Abby grabbed her overnight bag from the dresser. Her body might feel relieved from last night’s emotional purge, but her face looked like a truck had run over it. Then backed up and run over it again.

She splashed cold water on her swollen eyes while the water heated. As the hot spray poured over her shoulders, Abby remembered Ethan’s hands and mouth on her body. Her skin flushed, and she didn’t know whether to be happy or humiliated. He’d seen her at her worst, a rare moment of self-pity. She rarely allowed herself to wallow, but last night she’d wanted to stay in Ethan’s arms. Her terror got the best of her, and she’d fled to the kitchen where she promptly turned on all the lights—which illuminated both the room and her failure in stark reality. The temptation to run and hide had nearly been unbearable.

She hadn’t been there more than ten minutes when he found her. And what he gave her was so much more than sex. More than comfort and compassion, he refused to let her retreat into herself. He made it clear that whatever her issues, he wasn’t letting go. She didn’t have to go back to being alone. But could she do it? Her entire life had taught her that all relationships eventually ended in disappointment or betrayal. Or both. Even her mother had let her down in the end, abandoning her daughter through suicide. Could she let Ethan in? The thought of losing him created a hollow space behind her breastbone.

Abby dressed in fresh jeans and a turtleneck. She opened Ethan’s nightstand and took out the tablet. Thin and light, it fit easily into her purse. Abby went to the kitchen. Pale light washed the room in shades of gray. No Zeus, but an empty bowl sat on the floor. Ethan must have fed him and taken the dog out with him. He’d also made coffee. Shouldn’t he be back? She went to the window. An overcast sky hung low over the barn. The forecast was for a couple of inches of snow later in the day.

She grabbed her jacket and borrowed a hat and gloves in the mudroom. One sniff of the morning air verified that a storm was on the way. The barn door was partway open. She went inside, inhaling the comforting smell of hay and dust and large animal bodies. Zeus greeted her with his typical snort and trotted out of the barn to lift his leg on a nearby pine tree.

“Ethan?”

“In here.” His voice carried from the second stall.

Abby gave the pony a pat on the way by. The bay horse was in the middle of its stall. Its blanket had slipped sideways and tangled around its legs. Ethan reached for a strap, but the horse shifted sideways.

“Is everything all right?”

“No. I have to cut these straps, but he won’t hold still.” Ethan went back to the head and shushed the animal until it calmed again. “If I give you the number, can you call my cousin Ronnie?”

“Why don’t I just cut the straps for you?” Abby opened the stall door and eased inside. The horse eyed her but didn’t move.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“He seems to be calm as long as you’re at his head.” Abby moved forward.

Ethan considered. “OK, but come up here by his shoulder and let him sniff you. Watch his ears and his eyes. Rolling eyes, tense posture, or pinned ears means he’s not happy. And no sudden movements.”

But the bay stood while Abby took Ethan’s pocketknife and cut the nylon straps. The blanket dropped to the ground. Ethan moved the horse away. Abby collected the ruined blanket and left the stall.

Ethan joined her. He closed the half door and fastened the sliding bolt. Then he turned and kissed her. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” She nodded toward the bay. “He looks a lot better today.”

“He does. No fever. His appetite is back, and he’s not quite as skittish.” He steered her out of the barn.

“Hold it right there.”

Abby looked up, right into the barrel of a shotgun.




Ethan froze.

Mr. Smith, the old bastard who’d starved his horses.

Ten feet in front of Abby, the wiry old man pointed a shotgun at her head. His arthritic hands were steadier than Ethan would have expected. Behind him, a rickety truck and rusted horse trailer were parked in the barnyard.

Panic scrambled in Ethan’s chest. He’d been worried about Abby’s past. He hadn’t considered his job could put her at risk. He pushed her behind him. His hand clenched in front of his hip, but his gun was in the house. “Put the gun down, Mr. Smith.”

“Those are my horses. I’ve come to take them back.” Mr. Smith jerked the barrel toward the house. “You all get out of the way so no one gets hurt.”

Ethan didn’t budge. “Put the gun down, Mr. Smith.”

Smith peered around him. A mean glint shone from his eyes as he focused on Abby. “Get out of my way, or I’ll hurt her.”