I crossed my arms, a horrible suspicion filling me. “Wrong. I think you did it for you. So you wouldn’t have to face my tears or put up with my panic.”
Jethro shoved me out of the way, moving down the gangway between the two stalls. I spun around, following him. Two horses’ rumps faced us with food bales secured within grazing distance and hay on the floor.
“Who exactly are you, Jethro Hawk?”
Jethro ran his hand along the horse’s ebony side. My stomach fluttered to witness the sudden softness in him and it turned my heart to mush to see the animal’s reaction to his master.
Its ears swivelled in welcome while its flank twitched for more. A gentle huffing sound came from velvet nostrils—a sigh of contentment.
“I’m the man who does what he needs to, but you already know that.” Giving me a backward glance, he didn’t stop until he passed the two horses and entered the small space at the front of the stalls. In the spacious compartment, there were two seats bolted to the floor facing the horses. Saddles, blankets, and bridles hung from hooks. Every wall and space had been utilised to house horsey paraphernalia.
Windows let natural light in from above, along with a skylight, but they were too high to see.
“Let it go, Ms. Weaver.” Sitting down, he pointed at the identical seat. “Sit down before you fall down. Can never be too careful with that damn vertigo of yours.”
I sneered at him. “Bet it makes you feel stronger knowing I have an ailment that can strike me down at any time.”
He sniffed. “You’re right. It does.” His eyes narrowed. “Now. Sit.”
The truck suddenly rumbled and coughed as the engine turned over. The horses behind me nickered. One stomped its metal hoof on the floor.
I turned around and sat quickly, just before the lumbering vehicle shot into gear.
Fumbling with my seatbelt—hoping it would be strong enough to keep me upright if I happened to suffer a bad spell—I yelped when a long grey nose nudged my leg.
Jethro chuckled. “For someone who says she’s in-tune with the law of right and wrong, you don’t seem to have experience around animals.”
He smiled as the black beast in front of him arched its neck, trying to get at his master.
I had no reply and sat very still as the animal in front of me nudged my leg again. In one demanding move, the horse shoved its way into my heart and I slid straight into love with the beautiful dapple grey. Its huge glossy eyes spoke of ancient worlds and kindness, and I had a vivid recall of my love of unicorns when I was younger.
I’d always wanted a pony—as most girls did. But living in central London and being daughter to a man focused only on textiles meant my dreams were directed into more practical things.
My memory of meeting Jethro with my nanny as chaperone came back.
I reached out to stroke the nose of my newfound love. “Unicorns do exist.”
My heart swelled as the horse snuffled my knee, its forelock flopping over one eye and catching in its thick eyelashes.
Jethro stiffened. “What did you just say?”
I glanced over, never taking my hand from my warm companion. I waited to see if recognition would flare in his eyes. Did he remember that brief meeting, too?
When I didn’t answer, he snapped, “Well?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.” Bringing the conversation back to a subject he obviously adored, I asked, “What’s his name?” I scratched the horse between its eyes, straining against my seatbelt to get closer.
Jethro never took his eyes off me. Something happened…something I couldn’t explain. The harshness, the frost in his mannerisms…they seemed to thaw a little. His head tilted, looking less tense and arctic than normal.
Butterflies spawned in my belly to see yet another side of him. Being around these beasts did something. It did more than relax him—it gave him a place to hide. He seemed to feed off the simplistic animal gentleness.
He took his time answering, but when he did, his voice was soft, beguiling. “Not him, her. Her name is Warriors Don’t Cry. But her nickname is Moth.”
Moth.
Soft-winged and subtly stunning. It was perfect. I wanted to keep her.
“And the other one?”
Jethro sat still, drinking in the black beast before him. “This is Fly Like The Wind. But he’s my wings, as I cannot fly, so I call him that.”
So, that’s Wings.
The one who carried Jethro away when he’d reached all that he could bear. A wash of gratefulness filled me to think that he had something that didn’t judge—didn’t try to control him with family tradition.
Perhaps, I should learn from Wings. Perhaps, I should look past the hatred and despair and look deeper. There was something redeemable inside Jethro.
I know it.
“When will you let me see?”
Jethro’s nostrils flared. “Pardon?”
Silent courage filled me from touching Moth, and for the first time, I laid it out plainly with no anger or resentment. “When will you tell me what the debts mean to your family? What is the point of all of this? How have you gotten away with it for so long—because the Debt Inheritance wouldn’t hold up in any court of law. How did your family go from serving my ancestors to owning…” I waved my arm at the horses, encompassing the world outside the truck and Hawksridge.
I should’ve stopped there, but I had one last question. A burning question that I would give anything to know. “Why can’t I hate you for what you are? Why can’t I stop myself from wanting you? And why am I still here? Playing these games and believing that in the end, it won’t be my head in a basket and you holding an axe, but something entirely different?”
Thick silence fell between us. Only the snuffles of Wings and Moth broke the tension clouding thicker with every breath.
Finally, Jethro murmured, “If I do the job I’m supposed to, you won’t earn a single answer to your questions, nor learn anything about me.”
“You’re not doing a good job then,” I whispered. “Because I already know more about you than you think.”