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A rumbling engine caught his attention, and he opened his eyes in time to see a black king cab truck with a silver Redemption Ridge logo stop in front of the facility. The guy behind the wheel wasn’t a chauffeur, but he was there for Kieran just the same. A year ago, he set a plan into motion, and Cash Sweeney’s presence proved it had worked.
Kieran’s good behavior had gained him access to the K9 programs at Arrowhead, where he’d met Cash and his dogs from Redemption Ridge. The front passenger window rolled down, and a familiar black-and-white head poked out. Patsy, a border collie, was the first dog he’d met during the program, and it had been love at first sight for them. It turned out Kieran had a sixth sense when working with animals, especially the shyest ones. His talents had captured Cash’s notice, and he’d offered Kieran employment and housing on his ranch, where he rehabilitated horses and dogs. Kieran’s participation in the program and the subsequent employment opportunity hadn’t been divine intervention or luck; it was all part of his carefully orchestrated plan.
Cash Sweeney’s rags-to-riches story was the stuff that made journalists cream themselves. A former inmate himself, Cash got hired to work at a ranch near Last Chance Creek, Colorado, after leaving lockup. He seized the opportunity and turned his life around, creating a software company and becoming a self-made millionaire and a media darling. Information about Cash wasn’t hard to find, but how much of it was true? Kieran had seen more dogged investigations performed by Taylor Swift fans when analyzing her videos for Easter eggs than from the so-called journalists reporting on Cash’s altruistic endeavors. Kieran knew the leopard hadn’t changed his spots, and he was going to prove it.
Patsy let out three excited barks, urging Kieran to hurry. He picked up the pace as the wind kicked up and the clouds threatened to erupt again, but he paused outside the passenger door instead of reaching for the handle. Patsy wiggled farther out the window to lick his face. Pushing his fingers into her silky fur, Kieran said, “I’ve missed you, pretty girl.”
Cash had recently rotated the dogs in the program, and Kieran hadn’t seen Patsy in a few months except in photos and videos of her visiting sick kids at the hospital or horsing around at the ranch. Kieran knew the smug ranch owner was watching their interaction because he felt the intensity of Cash’s stare. Raising his head, Kieran’s gaze collided with intelligent blue eyes.
“She’s missed you too,” Cash said, his voice deep and gruff.
Kieran held his gaze for a moment before releasing Patsy and sliding over to the rear passenger door. The truck’s interior smelled like leather, cinnamon, and something subtle and woodsy like aftershave. It was a welcome reprieve from the misery that clung to every surface in the prison or the motor oil on the asphalt. The door shut with an audible click, and Kieran reminded himself that he was there of his own free will. Patsy let out a triumphant bark, and Cash chuckled as he rolled up her window.
“You didn’t have to sit back there. She would’ve moved with a simple command.” Kieran knew firsthand how obedient and well trained Patsy was, but he preferred to sit in the back with his thoughts as company. Introspection had been his existence for the past twenty months. What else was a wrongfully convicted man to do but try to figure out what went wrong, who was responsible, and how he could make them pay? Kieran had a brain full of suspicions and questions, but what he needed was answers. Redemption Ridge was a good place to start.
Cash put the truck in drive and pulled forward, and Kieran was grateful he didn’t fill the ride with endless chatter. He played music on the radio with the volume turned low. Kieran kept his gaze on what he could see of the Rocky Mountains through the thick cloud cover. He was just as mesmerized by their splendor as he’d been when he’d stepped off the Greyhound bus when he was twenty-one. Kieran had been California bound with no goal other than to get as far away from Ohio as possible. He’d only meant to hang out in Colorado Springs for a brief layover before catching the next bus, but those craggy mountains and the cerulean sky had held him spellbound. They awakened the artistic side of him he’d locked in the basement of his soul because pretty art was for other people to make and enjoy.
For the first time in Kieran’s life, he’d felt like anything was possible. Even now, when all he had found was more hurt and disappointment, he still couldn’t imagine a view that didn’t include Pike’s Peak. The whoosh of the tires on the rain-slicked roads nearly lulled him to sleep as the truck navigated the winding roads, but Kieran forced himself to sit up straighter. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, not for a minute. No distractions. No attachments. While it wasn’t fair to blame the entirety of his situation on the man behind the wheel, Kieran’s life had taken a sudden downturn the night he learned of his existence.Cash Sweeney. Mackenzie’s Chophouse at 7. One hastily scribbled note in his boyfriend’s handwriting and a clandestine meeting had changed the trajectory of Kieran’s life. He’d relived that moment and everything that transpired afterward for nearly two years. The time for introspection had passed; now was the moment for action. And that started with uncovering the role Cash Sweeney had played in ruining his life.
Bells jingled over the door when Finley Ashe walked into the New Hope Yoga and Wellness Studio. A mishmash of essential oils and flute music assailed his senses, and the combination fueled his frustration instead of soothing it. Finley hadn’t come to the shop to be well or get happy. He sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to bend his body like a pretzel, even if he needed a good stretching session. No, Finley was there to see a woman about a horse.
His mother, Hope Newton, glanced up from refilling a basket with lotions and potions to offer her visitor a welcoming smile. Her mouth turned down when she spotted Finley’s expression, and the ever-present impish twinkle in her dark green eyes dimmed as he approached the counter. Hope reached for the glasses she wore on a chain around her neck and placed them on her nose, inspecting him even closer.
“My, my, my,” she said. Her honeyed Southern drawl usually soothed Finley when he’d worked himself into a snit, but it just ruffled his frayed nerves. “Someone’s hurting. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a thunderous expression on your handsome face. You must not have received the care package I sent back to the ranch with your sister yesterday.”
“I didn’t get it, but I’m not physically hurt, Mama. Just frustrated.”
Hope tsked and shook her head before sweeping her bangs to the side. She’d been letting them grow out for the past few months, and they were in the awkward phase of being too short to tuck behind her ear but too long to rest on her forehead without getting in her eyes. She solved the problem by pushing her eyeglasses onto her head like a headband. Gray-and-white waves framed her face and drew the eye to her impeccable bone structure. Hope continued her perusal and chuckled. “Someone needs to get laid.”
“Mom,” Finley groaned. Truer words had never been spoken, but they didn’t need to come from his mother, and not when a different frustration was riding him hard.
“There are healthier ways to deal with your bad-boy addiction than waging an all-out moratorium on sex.” She released an exaggerated shudder at the mere thought of abstinence. And his addiction wasn’t bad boys per se. Finley was a sucker for broken souls and sad eyes—both the four-legged and two-legged varieties. That bad boys were often a little broken was a mere coincidence. “You could try dating nice guys for once,” Hope continued. “You might even like it. They’re not all boring in bed.”
“Mom.” This time, his voice came out in a low growl.
“Masturbation,” she suggested. “Because celibacy doesn’t look good on you.”
Finley opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He ended up choking on his saliva instead.Christ. Why was he so crazy about this lunatic who’d brought him into the world?
Nonplussed, Hope reached for her reusable water bottle under the counter and handed it to him. Finley uncapped it and took a drink. The water was chilly and infused with real strawberries and kiwi.
“I started a new line of oils that are so much better than the lubricants you can buy at the drugstore,” his mother said. “They’re wonderful for your skin, especially in the most sensitive areas, they provide a much better glide, and they don’t leave a sticky residue. I even customize the fragrance to enhance the experience.”
Finley sprayed a mouthful of water all over her counter and stared at her with a slack-jawed expression. He should’ve been used to her casual attitude toward sex and, well, everything, but she still surprised him. Heat infused his cheeks, and he looked around the store and the attached yoga studio. Luckily, no one else was around to overhear their conversation or to see his reaction, but Finley should’ve known better. Hope never hesitated to say outlandish things but never in a manner that would embarrass him in front of others. She had a filter, but she used it selectively. Today was an unlucky day all around.
Hope gasped in outrage, then reached under the counter and removed a hand towel. She tossed it at Finley, hitting him square in the chest. He caught it before it could fall to the floor. His mom retrieved a spray bottle and blasted the counter with a mixture of water and white vinegar, which according to her was also nature’s cure-all.
“Sorry about the mess,” Finley said as he wiped the counter. The bitterness of the vinegar slashed through the cloying scents in the air, helping him regain his equilibrium and to remember why he came. “I’m not here for sex advice.”
“What sex?” she asked. “You quit cold turkey…” Her voice drifted off as she tried to calculate how long he’d gone without sex.
Finley opened his mouth to tell her it was none of her business but, “Six months,” exited his lips instead. It had been six long, miserable months since his last breakup when he’d initiated his detox from broken men. Finley wasn’t wholly celibate, though. He jerked off in the shower every morning, but it wasn’t the same as sharing sex with another person. Finley loved everything about intimacy, especially the sounds a partner made, the press of eager lips, the slide of seeking hands, and the thrill of penetration—his or theirs. He craved the messiness, the tangled limbs, and a climax turning his muscles to rubber and rendering his bones limp noodles. Damn, he missed fucking.
He tossed the towel onto the counter and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m here to see a woman about a horse.”
Hope arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Have you finally met a beast you can’t tame?”
According to his mother and older sister, Finley’s affinity for horses began before he could walk. His memories didn’t stretch back that far, but what he could remember usually centered on horses. He’d seen hundreds of pictures of him on the majestic animals as a toddler with his maternal grandfather, a world-class horse trainer in Tennessee, where Finley had grown up. Wealthy clients had sought Finnigan Donovan to ensure their thoroughbreds were in superlative condition to win races and crowns. Occasionally, his grandfather would take on the toughest cases because he believed there wasn’t a horse he couldn’t train. Then Pops had met Brutus, a chestnut stallion hell-bent on throwing anyone who dared to ride him, including the invincible trainer.
