Chapters (43)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Readers Guide
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
He ground his teeth, striding down the dark barn aisle. He’d forgotten to hit the lights, and the sun was barely up. She was right; he was wasting time. He almost left it, but no. “It’s my saddle,” he muttered. He never went anywhere without it. Even the thought felt wrong.
Andra stopped. “LJ, if you want to leave, just say it, okay? You don’t have to lie.”
He came back out of the tack room, and the betrayal in her face nearly sent him to his knees. He dumped the saddle on the nearest bale of hay and crossed to her, pulling her into his arms. He was too desperate to be gentle, and his chest ached as he squeezed her as tight as he’d allow himself.
“Not lying,” he said gruffly. He wished to God he were. “Listen, I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?” He bent to look her in the face, searching those gorgeous green eyes. Jesus, no wonder she thought he was a liar, running out on her right in the middle of everything that had happened last night. “I’m sorry, Andra. So damn sorry, and I wish I could tell you when I’ll be back, but I never know how long her spells will last. One way or another, I’ll come back and we’ll talk all this out—I promise.”
Now he felt like a liar.
All last night, he’d been awake, wondering if she’d be better off without him, and it wasn’t until this morning that he knew his mama needed him. Besides, there was always the chance this would be the flare-up that never released its grip. He hadn’t been there for months, and there was no way to know if Mama had been eating right, or remembering her meds when she was working long shifts. The woman would probably drop dead before she’d call and pull him away from the job she’d been so proud of.
Andra’s eyes started to shine with tears, and he turned away and grabbed his saddle. If he made her cry, he couldn’t take it. Not right now. And every minute he stood here was a mile closer he could have been to New Orleans.
When he made it to his truck, he turned back to say goodbye, and she wasn’t there. He stood, shifting his weight from boot to boot. But he didn’t have enough words to fix everything he’d done wrong, and there was no time to make it up to her, either.