This time I did crumple to the ground. The enormity of Dee Dee gone in an instant washed over me.

Holly reached my side, sat, and rested her head on my shoulder.

Without a word, Liam turned and started trotting back to Mule Shoe.

Bram reached over and picked up the broken handle of the brake.

The Belgian sniffed my hair, then shuffled restlessly. His enormous feet were inches from my leg. As I started to get to my feet, Bram came over and held out his hand. I gratefully took it. He pulled me up, then into his arms. I clung to him, shivering, feeling his warmth.

We stood there for a long moment. His arms wrapped around me, cradling me, felt so good, so right . . . Just wait until he finds out.

I straightened and shifted away from him. “We . . . need to get back to Mule Shoe and call it in . . . get a recovery team . . . it’s getting late.”

Slowly Bram released me. “Rain check, then.”

I ducked my head so he couldn’t see my expression, afraid it would be one of pathetic longing.

He held out the brake handle for me to see. Part of it was ragged slivers of wood. Half was a neat cut.

“How long ago do you think someone sabotaged the brake handle?” I asked him.

“It’s fresh. Yet another ‘accident.’” He made quote marks in the air.

“And this time someone is dead.”

He nodded, took the reins from me, and pulled me around until I faced the right side of the horse. Like most of his breed, the Belgian towered over me at over eighteen hands—over six feet at the withers. “Use the harness and grab on. I’ll give you a leg up.”

Without thinking, I bent my leg. Bram boosted me up to the equine’s massive back.

I clutched the mane and stared down at him.

He stood motionless, staring at my left leg. Slowly he reached forward and tugged my jeans up, exposing the metal rod of my prosthesis.

A gust of wind hit the ponderosas in the ridge above us, filling the silence with creaking branches and murmuring needles. The dogs, restlessly pacing the road, paused and looked at us.

I took a deep breath and blinked rapidly to clear my vision. “It was only a matter of time before you learned the truth. I’m not ashamed. This is my new reality.”

“When were you going to tell me?” he asked quietly.

“What’s to tell?” I swallowed, grateful my voice remained steady. I wasn’t going to tell him I was a coward as well. My amputation should be enough to kill any interest.