Two horses stirred in the paddock. The old gelding came to investigate, but Gracie pushed him aside, vying for her owner’s attention. The palomino nosed at Andra’s pockets, looking for treats, but Andra was wearing her good jeans and didn’t have any.

“Hey, girl,” she whispered, running her hands over the mare’s soft nose, her fuzzy ears. She smoothed a bit of cream-colored mane back to the right side, and her swollen eyes started to sting with fresh tears. “I won’t be gone long, okay?” But that sounded like the same lie LJ had told her. “Actually, I might be gone for a while. But I’ll miss you every day.” Gracie nudged her in the belly, her ears pricking forward. Andra stepped in and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck, laying her cheek against her warm coat. She tried to swallow and her face crumpled, the first tear streaking into her horse’s mane. Gracie had been the only one close to her for years. Silent and knowing, spunky enough to keep her mind busy when she couldn’t bear to think. The mare had grown up with her, in a way.

Gracie tossed her head, whickering softly. Andra stepped back, wiping at her eyes.

“I’ll make Stacia bring you loads of carrots, okay? And Jason will ride you. Give him as hard of a time as you want.”

She walked away fast before she could change her mind, hitch up a trailer, and try to convince LJ to house the horse in his backyard down in New Orleans. Gracie broke into a trot, following her all the way to the fence, then popping her head over the top and whinnying loud enough to be heard at the main house. Andra picked up her suitcases and tried not to look back, even when Gracie’s hoofbeats pounded along the fence, stopped, then galloped back the other way.

Her truck was back at the ranch, so she carried her suitcases all the way over the hill, the sounds of Gracie’s distress following her the whole way.

She loaded her luggage and left Jason a note, then crept past Stacia’s apartment to let herself into LJ’s. All she took was his old half door with the spray-painted marks. Once it was wrapped in a sheet, she propped it in her passenger seat.

She didn’t know whether he wanted to see her, and if he came back here, she didn’t want it to be just for the door.

He’d been understanding at first, and so patient, but the look in his eyes had been the same every time she’d had one of her panic attacks. They made him feel like a villain, and it was no wonder he didn’t want to be with a woman whose trauma stuck him in that role.