The Lawler Ranch sign creaked in the relentless Montana wind as he passed beneath the massive log gate and started down the driveway. The big spread was deserted, just like the first day he’d ever seen the place.

Three days had passed since she’d left New Orleans, so best he could figure, Andra would have been home last night or this morning. She’d want to visit her brother, of course, but by now, she was probably riding. He turned toward the arena where he’d first seen her. As he got closer, the red walls of the barn blocked his view, but he could hear hoofbeats, the drum of them matching the thunder of his own pulse.

He’d lasted two hours after she’d left. He’d gone out back to lift weights and ended up smashing the flimsy little shed into a crooked ruin. Ty had come running up the street and hauled LJ out of the torn wreckage of sheet metal, thrown his shirt over LJ’s bleeding fist. And then LJ had started to cry.

He hadn’t cried in front of anyone since the first time he’d seen his house after Katrina: tipped half off its foundation, with the walls ripped open and the roof broken like an old toy. But now his life felt as unfixable as that old house. Andra wasn’t coming back, and her absence sucked all the oxygen out of his chest until he couldn’t breathe except in huge, shuddering gasps, tears blocking up his throat even worse.

At the sight of him, his friend had stuttered for a second and then gone coward—turned tail and run to get LJ’s mother. LJ had knuckled his eyes dry before Mama came out, which was maybe why he hadn’t gotten an ounce of sympathy from her. She’d raked him over the coals for letting Andra go, ordered Ty to get a tarp to cover the boxes that had been in the shed, and gone back inside. He’d been on a plane to Montana before sunset.

LJ passed into the shade of the barn, the cessation of heat nothing so dramatic as what he was used to. The air here was sharper, drier than in New Orleans. The sunlight cleaner but somehow less powerful. One of the horses whickered in greeting, and he stroked a hand down its nose without noticing which one it was. He didn’t slow down as he strode out the door on the other side of the building.

She was there. Riding a horse that was all uncollected, its hindquarters sloppy and its shoulders tight and fighting her cues. Her hands on the reins looked tense, but her balance was solid, and sweet Lord was she beautiful.