She Can Hide (She Can #4)(8)

Ugh. Well played, fate.

The truth was that the whole package, as Brooke put it, had thrown her off kilter. Her new normal life demanded she act like the average person, someone without a traumatic past, someone who would give a police officer a statement and trust he’d do the right thing. But something about her accident was setting off her internal alarms and bringing out her natural defense mechanism. Her instincts forced her into turtle mode. Was she just paranoid? Maybe, but God knew those missing hours had her on edge, and she had her reasons for distrusting the legal system.

The cop had taken pity on her and given up for tonight. But that wouldn’t last. Tomorrow he’d be back with his notebook. What if she didn’t have the answers? What if she never remembered?

“What on earth happened today?” Brooke asked.

Good question. Now that the nasty water was out of her stomach, the queasiness was fading. “I don’t know. The last thing I remember is changing in the locker room.”

“Do you remember teaching all day?”

Abby searched her memories again. Pain thumped in her temple. “I do. Right up until the end of school. Then I blank out for two solid hours. Why can’t I remember something as important as driving my car into a creek? And what did I do all afternoon?”

Brooke squeezed Abby’s hand. “You have a concussion, right?”

“That’s what the doctor thinks.” Tears and the details of the interview with the cop spilled out in a messy jumble. “The policeman thinks I was drinking.”

“That’s probably just a routine test these days,” Brooke said. “You don’t have anything to worry about. The only thing you drink on running days is Gatorade. Maybe you stopped at the dry cleaner’s or Walmart. Did you look for receipts?”

“My purse is in my car.” Abby fingered the lump and bandage on her forehead. A dull ache drummed behind her eyes. The accident site was on the route between the school and the park. Was she freaking out about nothing? Did she run some errands after school?

“Give the police some time.” Brooke offered her a breath mint.

Abby popped the peppermint into her mouth. The hole in her memory disturbed her on a primitive level. Two hours didn’t seem like much time, unless they were a total blank that nearly killed her.




Ethan drove his truck behind the house and parked. Lights glowed in the barn windows. He glanced at the house, where a hot shower and a meal waited. Getting out of the car, he walked through the fresh dusting to the barn. Flurries drifted onto his head as he crossed the yard. Once he went in for the night, going out into the cold again would be harder.

He rolled the barn door open and closed it behind him to keep the wind out. It was a small structure, with two stalls on each side capped by a feed room on the left and a small tack room on the right. The aisle was swept clean. A few bales of fresh hay were stacked on a pallet in the aisle. Other than a few cobwebs up high, Cam and Bryce had done a stellar job getting the place together in a rush.

A snort drew his attention to the first stall. He leaned over the half door. Clean straw covered the dirt floor. A full water bucket hung by the door. The roan pony stood in the center, dozing. A navy blanket covered the ribs and bony frame. The pony turned its head toward Ethan and shuffled over.

“Hey. You don’t have to inspect our work, big brother.” Clean-cut Cam came out of the tack room, a green plaid horse blanket in his arms and an annoyed quirk on his lips. Bryce was right behind him. His shoulder-length hair was tied back with a leather thong, and a hoop gleamed from one ear. Like Ethan, they were both just over six feet tall, with the Hale black hair and blue eyes. Ten years his junior, Cam and Bryce were college-student lean, despite the vast quantity of food they packed away every day. His younger brothers were identical twins, but even before Bryce went pirate, Ethan could tell them apart. Cam was born with an up-to-something gleam in his eye. Bryce was the straight man in their duo.

“Where did you get the blankets?” Ethan ignored Cam’s protest and scratched the pony behind its ear. On the large size for a pony, between thirteen and fourteen hands high, the roan had a body that should have been stocky. The fuzzy head just reached over the stall door.

“You know Mom. She keeps everything.” Cam stopped at the stall next door. “The roan is super friendly and doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything, which is amazing considering how he’s been treated. We had a hell of a time with the bay quarter horse. He’s a wild one.”

Ethan gave the roan a final pat and moved on to get a look at the second horse. The body was a muddy brown color, with black legs and a black mane and tail. Nose in the far corner, it turned its head and gave the three men a worried eye roll. “His halter is too small. It’s rubbing his nose raw.”

“Already on it.” Bryce sighed and held up the halter in his hand. He cracked the door and slipped inside.

Ethan watched his brother ease up to the horse. “Easy, Captain.”

“What did you call him?”

“Captain.” The bay showed Bryce the whites of his eyes. “We named them Captain and Morgan.”

“We are not naming horses after booze.” Ethan pointed at Bryce. “In fact, we are not naming them at all. If we name them, we keep them.”

Next to Ethan, Cam snickered. “Who are you kidding? Every animal that has ever set foot on this property has stayed for the duration of its natural life.”