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Chapter1
Melody
“They’re going to love you today, Bomber,” I whisper and my favorite horse lets out a breath like he believes me. “You’re going to do so perfect. They’ll probably change your name, but you don’t mind, do you? And your new owners are going to love you as much as I do. Well, maybe not as much, but close. And I promise, no matter what happens, I won’t forget about you. Maybe I’ll even come visit someday. Would you like that? I’d like that too, yes, I would. Okay, big guy, you’re going to do so great.”
As I finish up and turn from the stall, Kat steps into the barn and gives me a little wave. She’s pretty, curvy, late twenties like me, with brown hair and dark eyes, and she owns the entire farm along with her extremely wealthy husband. But back before they got married, Kat was just another friend from my old job, and now I’m here, working for her instead. Which was a good decision on my part, since this new gig came with a lot more money and basically no oversight. Kat looks good, nice and healthy. She’s wearing black and brown with a little scarf tied around her neck, and she’s grinning as she hurries over. “You finishing up your pep talk?” she asks.
“You can joke all you want but I swear they do better if I chat them up first.” I step out of the stall and lean against the gate. “Is he here yet?”
“Just pulled up and parked. Ford’s out talking to him right now.” Ford’s her husband, a rich guy from a rich family that doesn’tquiteunderstand the horse business, but he loves that it makes his wife happy. And anyway, that’s what I’m here for. I pretty much run the place these days, and Kat’s content helping out where she can and going for long rides when we’re not busy.
“What’s the buyer’s deal?” I ask and brush some hair from my face. “You haven’t told me much about this one.”
Kat slips her arm through mine and leads me toward the far end of the barn. Through the big doors, we’ll parade Bomber out and show the buyer what the racehorse is capable of. Which is a lot, but they’ll see. I’ve been working with Bomber for the last few months and he’s one of the fastest horses I’ve ever seen in my life. If he doesn’t end up winning his fair share of races, I’ll probably retire here and now.
“I don’t know much,” Kat admits. “He got in touch with Ford. I did the usual due diligence and there weren’t any red flags, but there’s not much of anything on him at all. He’s new to horse racing, and I really don’t know what to make of it, but Ford says he’s good people.”
I pause at the entrance and tap my finger against the doorframe. “You sure it’s a good idea, selling to a new owner?”
“He seems legit. He provided all the right references, had proof of stable, all his certifications—” She runs a hand through her hair and her face is clouded with doubt. “Still, I don’t know. If I’m honest with you, something seems off.”
I quell a growing sense of unease. “Let’s meet the guy and get a feel for him, all right? If he seems shady, we’ll just claim Bomber broke an ankle or something.”
“Yeah, all right. It’s just that, he seems too perfect, you know what I mean? He’s a new owner just getting into the racing business but it’s like he’s got everything just right. When I’d expect someone new to seem a little bit…” She trails off, gesturing in the air.
“New?” I offer. “Disorganized? Disheveled?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
I laugh and take her arm as we head into the paddock. “Maybe that’s a good thing. What’s the guy’s name, anyway?”
“Warren Temple. He’s apparently Ford’s distant cousin, which is how he got in touch to begin with, but I don’t really understand the familial connection or whatever. Maybe that’s why I’m so suspicious. Anyone from Ford’s family is a real piece of shit, in my mind.”
I laugh lightly but a bell’s ringing in the back of my mind. That nameWarren Templesounds so familiar, but I can’t quite place it and I don’t know why. It’s possible I know someone related to Ford, considering we grew up in the same general circles, but they would have to be from my long-buried past, and I’ve worked very hard to avoid anyone connected with my old life and my old world. As far as I’m concerned, I was never that girl, and I act like I don’t know anything about people like Ford and his family. I act like I’m just another working-class girl from a rough-and-tumble Midwestern town. More lies, more stories. Layers to keep the real world away from what I was. But it keeps me sane and safe, and it’s hard to let go of the narratives we weave to define who we are.
An unease deepens in my gut and I try to ignore it, try to focus on the cool breeze blowing through the short-clipped grass and the horses grazing in the distance, but I can’t shake this feeling.
Something feels off about thatname.
We reach the far fence and spot Ford coming toward us. Kat’s husband is a big guy, handsome if you’re into the muscles-and-tattoos type, which isn’t exactly my thing, but Ford’s charming and outgoing and treats Kat right, so he’s a good guy in my book. Walking beside him is the new buyer, and a sudden spike of chilled fear runs down my spine and lodges in my feet, my toes tingling with a sudden anxiety.
Warren Temple is around Ford’s height. He has light hair cut short and pushed back, a square jaw, a crooked nose, full lips, and although I can’t see them from where I’m standing, I know his eyes are a strange, piercing blue color, like the ocean in the middle of a solar eclipse. He’s in slim navy-blue slacks and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled at the elbows showing off black tattoos. Where Ford’s blocky and muscular, the buyer is slouchy and slim, athletic but in a toned and easy sort of way, like he spends all day swimming and rowing and playing polo. He walks with confidence, struts and glides like he knows everyone’s staring at him and he doesn’t mind it, and his eyes stare straight ahead—stare straight at me.
The men reach us and stop. The buyer’s smile quirks at the edge of his lips and I take a step back away from the gate. Ford says something and gestures at the man, and Kat introduces herself to him, but my heart’s racing so fast in my ears I feel like I might throw up.
“Hello, Melody,” the buyer says and steps forward, grinning now. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“War?” I blurt out in a sudden fit of confusion. “What thefuckare you doing here?”
Everyone stares at me like I’ve gone insane. Which is fair, considering the situation. Everyone except for War. He only looks amused, that same old smile, the look like he couldn’t care less about anything at all, like the world’s a game and he loves to play, but never bothers to think about winning or losing.
Memories, old and long dead, the sort of memories I’ve worked hard to bury, swirl back to the surface. My days at Jameson Prep, those dark days in that ugly little school, and a boy everyone called War. A boy everyone loved, a boy even the faculty adored. Tall, slouchy, outgoing. A loud, bombastic laugh. The class clown. A troubled boy. A boy surrounded with rumors and problems and excuses and pain. A string of broken hearts. An asshole and a thief and a bully. A boy that was my friend one second and gone the next. Now suddenly back from the mists of my long-past life like he never disappeared.
Last I saw War, he was a gangly fifteen-year-old taking puberty in the face like a hungry tiger. Even with the bad skin and the too-long legs, War was handsome in a boyish way. Now, he’s even more gorgeous, tanned and lean and fit, with clothes that must cost a small mortgage and a smile that suggests he’s at home pretty much anywhere he goes. This is the sort of man that expects the world to get down on its knees and to give him exactly what he wants, and the sort of man that gets it. Even back then, War was magnetic, and everyone claimed him as a friend, but nobody was actually close with him. I can’t remember ever seeing War outside of school as if he didn’t exist after the last bell rang. War was a mystery. But even back then, I was smart enough to keep my distance.
“You know each other?” Kat asks, sounding confused.
“We go way back,” War confirms and glances at Ford. “I didn’t realize she wastheMelody.”
