Cowboy Take Me Away

Chapter 2


Shannon watched through the window as Luke drove away, averting her eyes only when his truck had disappeared from sight. Without thinking, she picked up her menu again, only to realize her hands were sweating. It was as if time had circled around and they were back in high school again, and memories that had faded with time suddenly came into sharp focus.

Even as a teenager, Luke had been tall and imposing, looking older than his years, but now he seemed to command a room just by walking through the door. His swagger had settled into the measured steps of a man who had ceased to live every moment as if he had something to prove. And eleven more years on his already-handsome face only made him that much more attractive. But what was between her and Luke had always been about more than simple attraction.

So much more.

She’d had a connection with him unlike anything she’d felt before, and she trembled with the thought of it now. She tried to tell herself in the years that followed that they’d only been kids, so realistically it couldn’t have meant that much. But no man since had made her feel the way Luke had, as if the sun rose and set only because she lived and breathed. He accepted everything she was and asked for nothing more, and for a few precious weeks during that long, hot summer, he’d made her feel warm and cherished in a way she never had before.

Then came the night that changed everything—the night that drove Luke from Rainbow Valley and left Shannon with a feeling of guilt and regret she’d never been able to shake.

Rita hobbled to the booth and sat down across from her. Shannon picked up her menu again, trying to get a grip.

“Storm came on fast, didn’t it?” Shannon said, still having a hard time breathing. And her heart—good Lord, how fast could it beat before she passed out?

“Sure did.”

“But the heavy rain didn’t last more than a few minutes. It’s going to take more than that to break this drought.”

“Yeah. It will.”

“A drought in Rainbow Valley,” Shannon said, hoping her voice wasn’t quavering. “When’s the last time that happened?”

“I don’t remember.”

“The back pasture is dry as dust. If we don’t get more rain soon—”

“Are you actually going to act as if you didn’t just see Luke Dawson?”

Shannon closed the menu, letting out a deep breath of resignation. Just seeing him had stunned her. She couldn’t imagine what she would have done if he’d come over. Would she have been able to stop herself from reaching out to touch him, just to convince herself it really was Luke?

And what would he have done if she had?

“I conveyed your condolences,” Rita said. “He wondered why you didn’t offer them in person.”

Luke hadn’t announced the service, but everybody in town knew when it was going to be anyway, including her. She’d fought with herself for days, trying to decide whether to go or not. But after what had happened between them, she just couldn’t bear the thought of facing him again.

“I just thought it was best if I didn’t,” Shannon said. “Who else showed up?”

“It was just me and Father Andrews.”

Shannon closed her eyes, an unexpected tremor of sadness passing through her. No matter what had happened between them, she still hated the idea of Luke standing at his father’s graveside, feeling as alone now as he had back then. But would it have helped for her to be there? Or would it have just dredged up feelings that were better off staying where they were?

“So where is he heading now?” Shannon asked.

“To a rodeo in Phoenix. Did you know he’s going to be competing in the World Championship bull riding competition in November?”

Shannon blinked. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“Yep. And he swears he’s going to win.”

Shannon couldn’t believe it. Luke Dawson? A bull riding champion? Then again, what did that take? Just a tremendous amount of physical ability, and Luke had never been lacking in that.

Shannon sighed. “Maybe I should have gone to the funeral.”

Rita thought about that for a moment. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s best just to let sleeping dogs lie.” She peered under the table at Goliath, who was still trembling. “Speaking of dogs, how’s this one doing?”

“Better. He can finally look at his own shadow without quivering, but thunder still scares him.”

Somebody had found him and dropped him off at the shelter several months ago, shivering and starving. Shannon didn’t know exactly what he’d been through, but his fear of sudden movements and loud noises gave her a pretty good idea. But if he’d been healthy and well-adjusted, he wouldn’t have landed on her doorstep in the first place.

“I thought if I called him Goliath, maybe he’d live up to the name,” Shannon said. “But so far, no. He’s such a sweet dog, though. He’ll come around.”

Bobbie came around to take their order. Rita went for her usual BLT, but Shannon decided to try Rosie’s new avocado and bacon burger. In Rainbow Valley, change came around about as often as Halley’s Comet, so she embraced it whenever she could.

“So how are things going with you and Russell?” Rita said. “I see you around town together every once in a while.”

“Good. We’re taking things slow.”

“Slow? Whose choice was that?”

“It’s mutual.”

“Mutual?” Rita made a scoffing noise. “I saw you having coffee a week ago. You might be taking it slow, but Russell wishes he already had a ring on your finger.”

Shannon slumped with frustration. “What in the world makes you say that?”

“Well, let’s just say you spent the whole time admiring the pretty foam pattern in your latte, and he spent the whole time admiring you.”

That was probably true. Sometimes she didn’t get why Russell was so interested in her when he could have just about any woman in town. As soon as he’d moved to Rainbow Valley and set up his dental practice, every woman of marriageable age had suddenly decided they’d put off that filling or crown long enough and it was time to get it fixed. But Russell had looked past all of them. Instead, he came to the shelter to adopt a cat and ended up asking Shannon out. They’d dated on and off since, though it was clear to Shannon that Russell would prefer it to be more on than off.

Shannon sighed. “I’m just not ready for the kind of relationship he is.”

“Then for God’s sake, stick to your guns. Don’t get roped into marriage if it’s not what you want.”

And if there was ever an expert on not getting married, it was Rita. She’d had three proposals over the years, and every time she’d made a list of pros and cons. When the cons won by a landslide, she’d continued to embrace single womanhood. Shannon had the feeling sometimes that she was destined to be like Rita in more ways than one.

“So how are things at the shelter?” Rita asked. “It’s been a little while since I’ve been out there.”

“About the same. It always feels as if we’re one minor disaster away from closing the doors.”

“Sorry. That’s the name of the game when you’re dependent on donations and fund-raisers. That Texas Monthly article about the shelter came out last week. What happened with that?”

“Our phone rang off the hook.”

“Good! Lots of donations?”

“Nope. Lots of people with homeless animals they wanted to bring us.”

Rita sighed. “That’s the problem with PR. Sometimes you get the wrong result.”

“They tell us how wonderful we are, and that’s really nice, but it doesn’t put food in bowls and buckets.”

“Sometimes you have to say no.”

“I have a hard time doing that.”

“If you don’t, the place will eventually go under. And then you won’t be able to help any of them.”

Shannon knew Rita was right. But if she didn’t take some of these animals in, nobody else was going to. Every time somebody came in looking for an animal to adopt, she was tempted to say, Great! I have a dog with three legs, two bad-tempered cats, and a llama with a spitting issue. Which one would you like?

“How’s the hunt going for a new caretaker?” Rita asked.

Shannon sighed. “Not good. I hired a guy last week I thought was going to work out. Unfortunately, he didn’t bother to mention his drug problem.”

“Any other candidates?”

“Not for the salary I can pay.”

“But it includes living accommodations.”

“A room with a twin bed, a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a tiny bathroom. Not exactly the Ritz-Carlton.” She sighed. “It makes me really nervous if I don’t have somebody there around the clock. We always have animals recovering from all kinds of things. They need more attention than they’re getting.”

“Which means you’re staying late and working yourself silly. Why don’t you hire a couple more high school kids? At least they can take up the slack with the routine stuff.”

“I tried that. Except for Angela, most of the part-time kids I’ve hired just want to pet the puppies. Freddie Jo is helping out, but it’s not her job to clean out dog kennels. I need her in the front office. The volunteers help, but they come and go.”

“Somebody will come along.”

Shannon hoped so. As much as she loved the shelter, the twelve-hour days were about to finish her off.

Rita eyed her carefully. “Are you sorry you came back to Rainbow Valley?”

“What? Sorry?” Shannon shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You had a good career. Sometimes I feel guilty luring you back here.”

“Luring me at the salary I’m making?” Shannon smiled. “Sorry, Rita. But that wasn’t much of a lure.”

“I know. You don’t give a damn about the money. The lure was telling you the animals needed you. Because of that, you gave up a career you worked really hard to have.”

“If I hadn’t wanted to come back here, wild horses couldn’t have dragged me. Even crazy, dysfunctional, unadoptable ones.” She smiled. “And don’t worry. I’m going to keep that place running if it kills me.”

“You and Luke,” Rita said. “You’re more alike than you realize.”

Shannon’s heart jumped when Rita mentioned his name again. “Come on, Rita. You know there are no two people on the planet more different from each other than Luke and I.”

“I used to think maybe that was true. Not so much anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once you get your teeth into something, you don’t let go till it thunders.”

“And how does Luke fit that description?”

“He’s on the verge of winning the World Championship bull riding competition. You don’t get there by showing up only when you feel like it. You get there by wanting it so badly there’s nothing you won’t do to get it.”

Shannon hadn’t considered that. Maybe it was more than physical ability that got a man to the top of the rodeo world, which meant that maybe there was more these days to Luke Dawson than she ever could have imagined.

It didn’t matter, though. Now that his father was gone, Luke’s last tie to Rainbow Valley had been severed, so she couldn’t imagine him ever coming back. A few minutes ago, they’d looked right at each other, and still he’d turned around and walked out the door. That told her everything she needed to know. No matter what they’d meant to each other all those years ago, some hurts were just too great to overcome. He’d once held her heart in the palm of his hand, and when he left, he took a piece of it with him—a piece she’d never gotten back. Now she knew for sure she never would.



Thirty minutes later, Luke left the real estate office, wishing he’d gotten better news about selling his father’s property. The agent told him the market was depressed everywhere, not to mention the fact that the remnants of a sixty-year-old gas station were on the property. In order to sell it, Luke would have to pay a hefty sum to have the old underground gas storage tanks removed so the area could be environmentally certified. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford the tens of thousands of dollars that would cost, so for now, he was stuck with the property.

The real estate agent suggested he take out a short-term loan to have the work done. As much as Luke wanted to say good-bye to that property for good, he had no intention of taking out a loan for anything. The day he’d left town, he’d made a promise to himself that he would never owe another man money. Never get so swallowed by debt that he had no options in life. Never put himself in a position where he had to avoid answering his phone because there were creditors on the other end who knew he was a deadbeat.

In other words, he was going to be a better man than his father.

He thanked the agent for his time and left the office. As he crossed the square to return to his truck, he passed the brass statue of Mildred Danforth, the founder of Rainbow Valley, which stood next to a large fountain. Beside it, printed on embossed paper beneath waterproof glass, was the Legend of the Rainbow Bridge. When Luke had lived there before, he remembered thinking the legend was just about the biggest bunch of crap he’d ever heard. As he read it again now, he didn’t find his opinion changing any:

In 1952, Mildred Danforth deeded hundreds of acres on which to build the town of Rainbow Valley, with one provision: the town could be built on the hillside, but the valley portion of the acreage would be preserved in an untouched state forever. An animal lover with pets of all kinds, Mildred believed the valley was a spirit world tied to earth, inhabited by beloved pets that had passed to the other side. With all earthly age and disease erased, they wait in this transitional paradise for their human companions to join them. After a joyful reunion, together they cross the Rainbow Bridge to heaven.

Mildred really had donated the land for Rainbow Valley. And she really did believe the valley was a spirit world full of pets that had passed on. The only thing left out of the legend was that Mildred Danforth was clearly nuts.

Luke shook his head. Was there anybody else who actually bought that nonsense?

Yes. They were called tourists. And they flocked to Rainbow Valley every year, particularly for the Festival of the Animals, which came complete with an animal costume contest, a blessing of the animals, and a trip to the Rainbow Valley Lookout, a stunning view of the valley where the spirits of all the pets that had passed on were supposedly waiting to cross the Rainbow Bridge. Then those tourists came back to town, bought a bulldog T-shirt and a Puppy Power tote bag, and called it a day.

Hey, anything for a buck.

Luke got back into his truck, and as he drove, a light sprinkling of rain intermittently pattered his windshield. But by the time he approached the city limits, it had stopped completely. He drove along the ribbon of highway carved into the hillside, surprised at how much he remembered about this place he’d wanted so much to forget. The memory of every curve unfolded in his mind seconds before he reached it, like a song he would never have remembered unless it started to play. When he’d driven this road as a teenager, he’d been behind the wheel of a rust and blue 1986 Mustang he’d held together with sweat and duct tape, smoking a Marlboro and dreaming of the day he’d never have to return there again.

He checked his watch. It was nearly noon. If he pushed hard, he could make it to Las Cruces tonight and drive the rest of the way to Phoenix tomorrow. That would put him in a day ahead so he could rest up before competing.

He swung his truck around a gentle curve, and the Pic ’N Go came into view. It was the same beige brick building trimmed in green and red with two gas pumps out front. Signs in the window included an ad for foot-long hot dogs and a multicolored poster advertising the Festival of the Animals.

He drove on, and soon he saw the entrance to the Rainbow Valley Animal Shelter. Animals lucky enough to end up there got a whole new life. When he was younger, he’d fantasized about a place where a kid like him could go for a second chance, too. Then he got older and realized that second chances for people like him came only with their own blood and sweat.

Forget all that. Past history. Keep on driving.

Then a twinge of foreboding ran along the back of Luke’s neck. If he was passing the shelter, it meant he was only a short distance from the gravel road that led to his father’s house.

Seconds later, he saw the property. The rickety metal gate hung open, and the rusted-out mailbox sat on the same wobbly four-by-four it had over a decade ago. A dilapidated barbed wire fence surrounded the acreage, its posts encircled by tall, thick-bladed Johnson grass.

He found himself pulling to the shoulder of the road. A crumbling concrete pad was the only thing left from the gas station that had been torn down decades ago. He stared down the long gravel road, trying for a distant glimpse of the house, but the overgrown foliage blocked it.

Was it really as bad as he remembered?

He didn’t know. Maybe he’d elevated the wretchedness of it in his memory, letting it run rampant in his nightmares and allowing it to have far more power over him than he ever should have.

He touched the gas pedal and turned onto the property, inching down the gravel drive and rounding the bend. The moment he saw the house, his hands tightened involuntarily on the steering wheel. He swallowed hard, only to realize his mouth had gone dry.

It was even worse than he remembered.

Overgrown shrubs grew halfway up the windows, one of which had a starburst crack, as if somebody had smacked it with a brick. The roof was shot. One side of the iron porch railing leaned at a crazy angle, looking as if a solid gust of wind would knock it down. Sunburned paint peeled away from the trim in irregular chunks. The old live oak tree out front was so dry its limbs had turned a dull, lifeless gray, sending dying leaves to their final resting place on the brittle grass beneath. Only one kind of person lived in a place like that.

The kind who had already died inside.

For a moment, he wondered if the front door would be open. Then he realized he already knew the answer. His old man had never locked it. What was the point when he had nothing anybody would want to steal?

Luke killed the truck’s engine and stepped out. He started toward the house, gravel crunching beneath his boots. The porch decking was shrunken and weathered to ash gray, and as he walked up the steps and across it, the boards moaned and squeaked. No doubt they were chewed halfway through by termites.

He put his hand on the doorknob, only to stop short. He stood motionless for several seconds, his heart hammering in his chest. Just go inside. Have a look around. No big deal.

He closed his eyes, gathering conviction, telling himself that seeing inside this house again would put everything into perspective and drive the memories from his mind once and for all.

But then he remembered other things. Things he didn’t even realize had been lodged in his subconscious. Days of misery. Nights of heartache. Years of despair. All of it as fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday.

He gripped the doorknob. As he turned it, he heard the raspy squeak of old metal, tripping a memory that sent a chill snaking between his shoulders.

Cursing his own weakness, he let go of the doorknob and stepped backward. All at once, one of the rotted boards he stood on gave way beneath his foot. He tried to grab the doorknob to keep himself from falling, but it slipped from his grasp. As he fell, his knee slammed against the jagged opening. Then more of the board broke and his leg slid the rest of the way through, scraping against the shards of wood, twisting as it went.

Then came the pain.

It was as if lightning had struck his knee, sending shockwaves up and down his leg. With a strangled groan, he righted himself, then put a palm on either side of the opening and hoisted himself up until he was sitting on the rickety porch. Slowly he eased his leg back through the rotted boards, gritting his teeth against the pain that rocketed through his knee. He paused for a moment, breathing hard, and then he swung his weight over to his uninjured leg and stood up. But the instant he put weight on his other leg, he almost collapsed all over again.

He leaned against the door, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Walk it off. Just walk it off.

He tried. One step, two. But the pain was so intense that he limped to the porch stairs and lowered himself to sit. He dropped his head to his hands for a few seconds, trying to get a grip on the pain. Then he pulled off his boot. Eased the leg of his jeans up. When he saw his knee, the sickening sense of impending loss he felt almost drowned out the pain. He fell limply to one side against the porch railing, closing his eyes, imagining the worst.

This had been his year, the year everything finally came together and he seemed to be able to do no wrong. After spending his entire adult life getting tossed around like a rag doll by two-thousand-pound animals hell-bent on killing him, he was finally going straight to the top. He’d racked up so much prize money that it would qualify him for the World Championship even if he never rode another bull until then. The championship had been his to lose.

And he had the most gut-wrenching feeling that was exactly what had just happened.

He slowly opened his eyes again and looked at the landscape beyond. The view of the valley had always been perfect from this porch, another irony that had never escaped him. The rainstorm had cleansed the air, sharpening and enhancing the beauty of the valley as if he were looking through a high-definition lens.

And there it was. A rainbow.

A f*cking rainbow.

And he swore he could hear his father laughing.



Shannon pulled her truck to a halt in front of the small farmhouse that served as the office of the Rainbow Valley Animal Shelter. True to its Victorian roots, it was painted a creamy yellow with dark rose trim. Intricate scrollwork framed the front steps, with paired Doric columns supporting the wraparound front porch. Hanging baskets full of pink periwinkles swayed lightly in the breeze.

She thought about the downtown loft she’d owned in Houston, with its soaring ceilings, exposed duct work, and stair railings made of industrial pipe. It had been the height of chic and trendy, a perfect place to entertain clients who were equally chic and trendy. But now it seemed as if the woman who’d lived that life was seeping out of her body one breath at a time, soon to be gone forever.

Shannon got out of her truck, and Goliath leaped out after her. He followed her through the front door, then slinked over to his favorite spot in the corner behind her desk.

Freddie Jo sat at her computer, her fingers flying over her keyboard. She wore a shirt that was working overtime to harness her ample chest, and she’d stuffed the lower half of her plus-size figure into a pair of jeans that hugged every bump and bulge. She said the best day of her life was when they’d started putting Lycra in blue jeans.

“So how was lunch?” she asked, never looking away from her computer screen.

“Good,” Shannon said. “Rosie has a new avocado and bacon burger. Try it next time you’re there.”

“Rita okay?”

“Yeah. She’s going to pop by in a few days to say hi.”

Freddie Jo hit one last button on her keyboard and her printer began to hum. She kept the business end of the shelter running with a smooth efficiency that had always astonished Shannon. But because Freddie Jo wrapped every word she spoke in a heavy backwoods Texas twang, a lot of people were lulled into thinking she couldn’t possibly be as competent as she was. Big mistake. Beneath that pile of Texas big hair was more than just a set of false eyelashes and mammoth turquoise earrings. There was also a brain that never slept.

“So what did you decide?” Freddie Jo said.

“About what?”

“The funeral.”

“Oh. That.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “I decided it would be better if I didn’t go. After all, we didn’t really know each other all that well, so…”

Her voice trailed off. She opened her lower desk drawer and deposited her purse inside it.

“I heard he was a real hell raiser when he lived here before,” Freddie Jo said.

“Who did you hear that from?”

“Just about everyone who lived here back then. Soon as his father died, the gossip started.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Shannon said. “He’s gone now.” Thank God.

Shannon turned to find Bridget sitting in her chair, as usual. And, as usual, when she tried to lift the hefty calico tabby, she protested by turning onto her back and transforming herself into a spineless two-ton weight.

“My chair,” Shannon said, grunting with the effort of picking her up and depositing her on the floor. The cat looked back over her shoulder with extreme kitty displeasure, then sauntered away.

“I think she just flipped you the bird,” Freddie Jo said.

“Hey! Do I curl up on her rug? Pee in her litter box? Play with her toys? No, I do not.”

“You’re forgetting cat psychology. What’s hers is hers, but what’s yours is up for grabs.”

Which was why Shannon had once found Bridget sleeping inside her open purse, with nothing but her head, her tail, and one paw hanging out. How she’d managed to cram her colossal feline self in there, Shannon didn’t know. She was still picking cat hair out of her purse.

Shannon had adopted Bridget as a kitten from a shelter in Houston, and she’d been the queen of Shannon’s townhome. But now she knew Bridget would be much happier wearing that crown at the office rather than being home alone all day. Here there were plenty of people coming and going to give her all the attention she was entitled to.

“Anything happen while I was gone?” Shannon asked as she sat down.

“Uh…yeah,” Freddie Jo said. “I opened the mail.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Which do you want first? The good news or the bad news?”

Shannon cringed. “I hate it when you say that.”

“Your choice.”

“Better give me the good news first. That way I can enjoy it for a whole ten seconds before the bad news comes.”

Freddie Jo handed her an envelope. “You remember that grant we applied for from that pet pharmaceutical company? Check this out.”

Shannon took out the letter and scanned it quickly, feeling a rush of pure joy. Times were tough, and grants were competitive. But this one had come through. Five thousand dollars wouldn’t go very far, but every little bit helped.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, putting her hand on her chest. “This gives us a little breathing room.”

“Don’t take that breathing for granted just yet. You haven’t heard the bad news.”

Freddie Jo handed her another letter, and when Shannon saw who it was from, she felt a horrible sense of foreboding.

“No,” Shannon said. “No, no, no. Don’t you dare tell me Henry Stockton is the bad news.”

“Just take a look at it.”

Shannon opened the letter, and as she read, her body grew weak with disbelief. Bad economy…difficult times…maybe next year…

“He’s giving us nothing this year?” Shannon said, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Not a crying dime?”

“The guy is made of gold,” Freddie Jo muttered. “He could singlehandedly keep this place running and never miss the money.”

Shannon closed her eyes, feeling more dejected than she had in months. “It’s my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“I didn’t make a good enough case this year. I didn’t explain how much we needed his contribution. If only—”

“Now, you stop right there,” Freddie Jo said. “You turn yourself inside out going after donations, and that man knows quite well what things are like around here. Stop beating yourself up.”

But it was her responsibility to ensure the financial health of this organization, and she had the most terrible feeling she was falling down on the job.

“Don’t worry,” Freddie Jo said. “The festival’s coming up soon. We always see a bunch of donations then. And a lot of animals get adopted. It’s like this every year.”

No. This was worse. Shannon wanted desperately to be the savior these animals needed, but with every day that passed, she felt less and less certain she was living up to that.

When she’d left her job in Houston as an accounting manager at Marks, Wentworth and Halliday, she’d been on the fast track to a partnership. When she told her boss she was quitting to return to her hometown to take a pitifully low salary at a struggling nonprofit, he had literally questioned her sanity. But she’d been full of hope. Confidence. Audacity, even, thinking that if she could handle the accounts of multimillion-dollar clients, surely she could keep a place like this in the black. But she hadn’t counted on a depressed economy, runaway pet food prices, and an out-of-control population of homeless animals that seemed to expand before her very eyes.

She grabbed an Excel spreadsheet from the corner of her desk, which was Freddie Jo’s weekly report that listed information about every animal on the premises. She flipped through it and shook her head. It was always more painful to see it in black and white.

“Don’t worry,” Freddie Jo said. “We’ll just do what we always do. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

Shannon nodded glumly.

“You need the Wall,” Freddie Jo said. “Go look at the Wall.”

“I don’t need the Wall.”

“The Wall. Now.”

With a heavy sigh, Shannon rose from her chair and went to the wall beside the front door, which was covered with photos of animals that had passed through there and the people who’d adopted them. Sometimes on the hardest days, she’d stand there in front of it, her gaze going from one photo to the next, just to remind herself for the umpteenth time that nothing was impossible. And now, as she looked once again at the down-and-out animals that had gotten their second chances, she felt her conviction coming back.

Failure was not an option.

Shannon heard the back door open, and a few seconds later, Angela Cordero came into the office. She was a seventeen-year-old girl with an unprecedented love of animals and an uncanny ability to identify a problem and solve it, sometimes before Shannon even knew there was one. Angela wore a T-shirt with the shelter’s logo on it and a pair of khaki shorts, which was normal for her. What wasn’t normal was the lead rope and muzzle she held in one hand and the bucket of oats she held in the other.

“Oh, no,” Shannon said. “Don’t tell me—”

“Manny got out again.”

“That’s impossible! I tied a rope around that gate to keep him from flicking the latch with his nose!”

“He chewed through it.”

Shannon couldn’t believe it. Another jailbreak? She didn’t need this today. She just didn’t.

“Did he take anybody with him this time?”

“Nope. Everybody but Manny thinks they have it pretty good around here. You want me to go after him?”

“No,” Shannon said, taking the rope, muzzle, and bucket of oats from Angela. “If somebody’s going to get bitten, I want it to be me.”

Manny was part miniature horse and part escape artist, and hardly a day went by that he didn’t pose some kind of challenge. Fortunately, he was also part pig, so sooner or later she’d be able to lure him with the bucket of oats as long as she didn’t make any sudden moves. Once he had his head stuck in there, she could grab his halter and slip on the muzzle so she could walk him back home without losing a few fingers.

“You guys hold down the fort,” Shannon said. “I’ll be back soon.”

On her way out the door, she glanced at the Wall one last time for a little moral support. How many more tightwad millionaires and tiny runaway horses would she have to deal with before things got easier around there?

She hurried up the drive, knowing if Manny had gotten out of the paddock, he was free to walk right out the open front gate. Last time he’d merely strolled along the highway, stopping now and then to graze. She’d had to follow him for a good quarter mile before he realized she was holding a bucket of oats and turned back. And the entire time she’d held her breath that he wouldn’t suddenly decide to cross the highway and get hit by a car.

She reached the road. Looked left and right. No little horse. He’d been out such a short time that if he was walking the shoulder of the road, she’d see him. So where—

There.

He’d crossed the highway—safely, thank God—and wandered down to Glenn Dawson’s property. Now he was making his way down the gravel road toward the house. Clumps of grass grew up through the gravel, and he stopped now and then to chomp on a few.

Shannon waited for an aging Toyota to speed by, then dashed across the highway and down the shoulder of the road until she reached the rickety gate. Manny saw her coming and went from a walk to a trot, rounding a large stand of trees and disappearing from sight. She hurried after him, hoping he hadn’t ducked into the trees where it might take her forever to find him. She rounded the bend. The decrepit old house came into view, and what she saw there astonished her.

Luke was sitting on the porch steps. Manny was standing fewer than three feet in front of him. The little horse took a step forward and stretched out his neck. Luke put his hand out and Manny sniffed his fingers, his little nostrils flaring. After a moment, he eased closer and sniffed again.

Shannon didn’t know which to be surprised about first—seeing Luke sitting on the steps of his father’s house, or Manny getting that close to someone who didn’t have a bucket of food. Then Manny came closer still and Luke rubbed his nose, telling her disaster was only seconds away.

“Luke!” she shouted. “Don’t!”

In that instant, Manny sank his teeth into Luke’s hand. Luke yanked it back, but the damage was already done.

“Holy shit!” he muttered, holding his hand and grimacing in pain. Manny shied away and trotted to the edge of the house before turning back to watch them warily. Shannon hurried over, praying Luke still had all ten fingers.

He spun around. “Why the hell did you shout like that?”

“Because he bites! I didn’t want you to get bitten!”

“Yeah? Did you notice he didn’t bite until you yelled at me?”

“Oh, all right,” she muttered, dropping the bucket and other stuff to the ground. “Let me see your hand.”

“It’s fine.”

“Luke. Let me see it.”

He held it out. It was already starting to bruise, but at least there was no blood.

“Does it feel broken?”

Luke flexed his hand. “No. It’s fine.”

“Still, I think you should get some ice and—”

Then she saw something that made the bruise on his hand seem about as significant as a paper cut. The leg of his jeans was pulled up, revealing a knee swollen at least twice its normal size. Dark bruising spread from his calf to his thigh, along with a deep, bloody scrape.

“Oh, my God,” she said, her hand sliding to her throat. “Your knee. What happened?”

“I fell through the porch,” he muttered.

She spun around to see a jagged, gaping hole in the porch decking. Good Lord. This place was falling down around his ears. She looked back at his knee, and her stomach twisted at the sight.

“You have to get to a doctor.”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Thinking about it? What would make you take action? Severing a limb?”

“I’ve just been waiting for the swelling to go down a little.”

“You’ve got a long wait for that. How much does it hurt?”

When Luke didn’t respond, she knew the truth. The pain must have been unholy. She wanted to shout at him: You don’t have to suffer in silence!

But that was nothing new. Hadn’t he always held everything inside? Pain equaled weakness, and he never let anybody see him sweat. But there had been a time all those years ago when she could have sat down on that step beside him, held his hand, and he would have told her how much it hurt.

But those days were over.

“You can’t drive with your leg in that condition,” she told him.

“I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

“And what conclusion did you reach?”

“I’m working on it.”

Shannon couldn’t stand this. Exactly how long was he going to sit on the steps of this god-awful house doing nothing because he wouldn’t ask for help? He needed a doctor, and soon. Do something, she told herself. You have to do something about this now.

“Stay put,” she told him. “I’ll catch Manny, take him home, and then come back with my truck.”

“No! That’s not necessary.”

“You need a doctor. There’s no other way.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Luke muttered. He reached for the porch railing—the part that wasn’t falling down—and pulled himself to his feet. He paused after two steps, his hands curling into tight fists. Then he started walking again, limping heavily. Shannon felt the pain of every step like a knife to her heart. He circled his truck, leaning on the hood for support, and finally made it to the driver’s door, where he placed his palms against the glass. He stood there for a long time, his head bowed, breathing heavily. When he lifted his head again, she saw pain written across every inch of his face.

“I’ll get my truck,” she said, and this time he didn’t argue.