“I am.”

“Then why was she over the other night?”

“Because I wanted to get laid on my birthday.” Angie folded herself into the corner of the couch. “Is there a problem with that?”

“She’s not good for you.”

Angie’s hazel eyes were unreadable. “Also not your call.”

“Children,” Lillian said warningly.

“I just don’t get it. You’re kind, beautiful, funny, and smart. You deserve someone who appreciates that, not someone who . . .” She gestured vaguely, unwilling to put into words what women like Lana did to Angie.

“If that’s what I wanted, I’d date you, Donovan.” Angie stood abruptly, clutching a spitting James to her chest, and stalked out of the room.

Lillian sighed.

“What? Everyone gets a say in my private life, but I can’t say anything about hers?” said Morgan.

“You’re . . .” Lillian paused. “You and Ange are different.”

“Lana is a dick.”

“Lana isn’t the problem, Morgan.”

Lillian’s quiet words deflated her anger. “I should go apologize.”

“Later. Stay off that foot. I’ll talk to her and make sure she’s okay.”

Okay, and not hurting herself. Morgan leaned her head against the back of the chair. Today had been an unmitigated disaster. First the cow, which should have been avoidable, then Emilia, and now Angie. Tomorrow promised more trouble. One of the local riding stables had purchased a new group of school horses, pending veterinary examination, which meant long hours on her feet on concrete. Then there would be the inevitable emergency, followed by an appointment with a bad-tempered horse with laminitis whose hoof never seemed to bother her enough to prevent a kick. Danielle needed to hire someone soon, even if it was just on a temporary basis. Maybe they could snag a new grad who hadn’t found work yet, not that she relished that idea. What Morgan really needed was a day on the water, no pager, no cell phone—just her, her dog, and the ocean.

Angie came back downstairs an ice pack change later.

“Ange,” Morgan said, sitting up. Angie’s large hazel eyes gave her a soulful look. “Come here.”

Angie approached cautiously, reminding Morgan of a feral kitten. She patted the armrest, and Angie perched on the edge.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I pushed the Emilia thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. You doing okay?”

Angie slid into Morgan’s lap. The vulnerability in the gesture brought a lump to Morgan’s throat, and she wrapped her arms around her friend. Angie curled her head under Morgan’s chin.

“No,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Angie shook her head and burrowed deeper—a five-foot, seven-inch-tall puppy looking for comfort. Morgan stroked her hair and met Lillian’s questioning gaze with a mouthed, “I don’t know.”

She’d met Angie through the clinic. Angie had been Stevie’s friend first and had kept her distance until Morgan realized her reserve stemmed from fear. Once she’d started treating Angie like a skittish filly, things changed. There had never been anything besides platonic affection between the two of them. Morgan held no threat for Angie, which she suspected had more to do with this current embrace than anything else. She might not understand Angie’s love life, but she understood wounded animals.