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“What a dork,” she said, but grinned at the thought of him.
But the rest of her life was garbage.
She rolled off the bed and found her jacket. Though it was getting dark, she’d go riding. That always helped her get out of her lousy mood.
Pulling on warmer socks and boots, she slid into her jacket and headed downstairs, only to find Jeremy and Ivy, laughing and talking, playing with the baby as Mom was on the deck, in the cold, bundled up, cell phone to her ear. Cisco was dancing on the snowy boards beside her and as Pescoli looked up, Bianca waved. Her m
other shook her head and slid open the slider. “Where are you going?”
“Riding.”
“It’s freezing.”
“You’re outside on the phone.” And why was that? Because she didn’t want anyone to hear the conversation.
“It’s dark.”
“It’s a full moon and snow everywhere. Almost like day. I’ll be back soon.” She saw the protest forming on her mother’s lips and held up a hand. “Seriously, Mom. I promise. And I’ll take Sturgis.”
“Half an hour.”
“Sure,” she lied. Didn’t care. She just needed to get out. Away from . . . everything, but especially Jeremy and Ivy. The sight of them together soured her stomach a little and she wondered if she were jealous. It had been a long time since she’d seen a boy look at her the way Jeremy was staring at Ivy.
But they were first cousins, right, so . . . She gave an inward shudder, found her gloves in the pocket of her jacket, and with a sharp whistle to Sturgis, who was curled in a ball on his bed by the fire, said, “Come on, boy. Let’s go.”
The black lab pushed himself to his feet and stretched, yawning, then with his tail wagging, followed her outside. Mom hadn’t lied; twilight was long past descending and it was cold enough that her breath fogged. The dog didn’t seem to mind and trotted after her to the stable. She’d adopted Sturgis, who had come to live here when his owner, Dan Grayson, the sheriff who had been her mother’s boss, had been killed a while back. The big dog had settled in and seemed happy, but, Bianca guessed, he missed the tall, even-tempered man who had raised him.
“Things change, life goes on,” Bianca said to him as she followed a path through the snow that Santana had broken earlier, and wondered at her own philosophical look at the world. That was new. For her. Her younger self had never pondered anything more weighty than the most popular shade of lip gloss.
What a self-involved twit she’d been.
“Come on.” She unlatched the door and as she stepped into the stable, the scents of oiled leather, straw, horses, and a whiff of urine hit her nostrils. Obviously Jeremy, taken with Ivy, hadn’t tended to mucking out the stalls. That wouldn’t fly. Part of Jeremy’s deal was, that for free rent, he helped out around the small ranch, and Santana held him to cleaning the stables, helping mend fences, feeding the stock, oiling the machinery, and whatever else needed to be done to keep things running. Jeremy, to his credit, had stepped up and handled whatever task had been shoved his way.
But then, Ivy Wilde hadn’t been around to distract him.
“Get over it,” she told herself, and saw her favorite horse, a black gelding with a crooked blaze running down his nose. Sinbad was small and feisty, a foal who’d nearly not made it as he’d been born early and struggled for the first few months. Now a three-year-old, his ebony coat was glossy, his eyes bright with intelligence, his head lifting over the edge of the stall as Bianca approached.
“How about a quick one?” Bianca asked, and petted Sinbad’s silky nose. He snorted and tossed his head. “Sounds good, eh? Let’s do it.” Within minutes she’d saddled and bridled Sinbad and was leading him outside, the dog, as ever, a few steps behind.
Once in the fields, she swung into the saddle and then took off, across the unbroken snow and riding the perimeter of the lake. The sky was beginning to clear with the night, clouds high overhead, the moon rising over the frozen landscape. The trees were thin along the shoreline, making the cattle trail easy to follow. Bianca let the quietude of the coming night settle over her, the tranquility of the wintery forest sink into her bones. Why was she so upset about Ivy? She was just here a little while, only until she could get her life back together and find a permanent place to stay, either with her father and his family or one of her other relatives, like Sarina or maybe Collette. No way would she want to camp out long in Montana as she barely knew “Aunt Regan” anyway. And Mom’s life was full. She was talking about going back to work full time at the sheriff’s department, if she could find someone she trusted to care for Tucker.
Ivy, like Bianca, should be planning for the coming year, going off to college. Maybe university wasn’t in the cards for Ivy, especially now. Her life had really turned upside down and inside out.
As they passed beneath a pine tree, Bianca ducked her head to avoid a low-hanging branch. The needles brushed her hat and clumps of snow fell from the limb, startling Sinbad. He tried to bolt, but Bianca reined him in. “It’s okay,” she said, though as the words crossed her lips, she wondered. Would anything ever be okay again? Her eyes were focused on the snowy trail between Sinbad’s ears. A snowshoe hare suddenly appeared and bounded into the brush and Sturgis gave chase. “Sturgis, no! Come,” she yelled from the saddle, but the dog took off in a flurry of white powder. “Great.” She let the horse continue on the path, her thoughts drifting as deep as the snow, and when she finally focused again, she saw the old ranch house where Brady Long had once lived. Nestled in the trees, the huge cedar and glass home stood empty, had been for years, and yet . . . was there a light in one of the windows? She clucked to the gelding, urging Sinbad into a trot so she could have a different view of the house, and sure enough, between the branches and trunks of the surrounding trees she spied a glow from within the structure, a soft light emanating from under the eaves, barely visible behind drawn shades.
No one should be there, right? Isn’t that what Santana had said? The place was completely empty, or at least devoid of life other than rodents, insects, and birds that may have nested in the abandoned property. No one had lived here for years. It was Santana’s responsibility to keep the place up.
A little niggle of apprehension skittered along the back of her neck, like a spider running across her skin. Her flesh prickled in warning, but she rode closer still, skirting the house and surveying the windows. There it was again. Another bit of lamplight through a window over the back porch. The rest of the building was dark as death.
She pulled back on the reins.
Paused and listened.
Heard the horse’s breathing and in the distance a dog’s deep bark.
Sturgis.
God, she hoped he hadn’t caught the hare.
