Copyright
A SKITTER OF hoofbeats drummed through his subconscious, gradually awakening him. With a start, Sam Larson sat up in bed. No dream, the sound was coming from outside the cabin. A rush of hoofbeats and whinnies and snorts...
He shot out of bed and into his jeans, then hopped across the room while pulling on his boots. The door opened to a Wisconsin night swept by a warm breeze and silvered by moonlight. Before he could step outside, one of his horses whipped by the open doorway.
Sam whistled. “Cloud, whoa, girl.” He whistled again.
The Pinto stopped, the skin along her spine quivering. When he called a second time, she turned and trotted back to him.
“What are you doing out here?”
She snorted in answer.
He threaded calloused fingers through the mare’s black mane and coaxed her back toward the pasture, and from a distance saw that the grassy expanse was empty. The gate was open. Horses scattered, prancing nervously, spooked, one heading for the opening in the property fence that would take him directly onto the highway.
“Tomcat!” Letting go of Cloud, Sam moved toward the gelding, calling him with a sharp series of whistles.
Tomcat slowed and threw his head in Sam’s direction. His eyes rolled and he still moved sideways toward the opening, as if he was trying to make up his mind whether or not to listen.
“C’mon, boy, you don’t want to go out there.” His heart thundered with dread at the idea of the horse getting onto the road where he could be run over...or, rather, run into, a thousand pounds of flesh versus a ton of metal. Sam stalked him. What the heck had gotten into his small herd? “C’mon back here where it’s nice and safe.”
Another sharp whistle convinced the horse. His big head hung low, Tomcat switched direction and lumbered toward Sam.
“Where did you think you were going?” He patted the horse’s neck and looked back to see Cloud directly behind him. “You could have gotten killed out there.”
Grabbing onto their manes, he spoke in a low soothing voice as he walked them to the pasture, saw them inside and closed the gate. A glance around told him the other horses were settling as if already forgetting whatever had riled them in the first place.
He rounded up the horses and got them back in the pasture one at a time: Chief, Acer, Lightning, Marengo, Rain Dancer.
They were calm now, but something—or someone—had spooked them.
That gate didn’t open itself. And those horses didn’t just calmly wander out of the pasture.
Sam ran a shaky hand through his hair. Back in town for less than a month and his new business could have been ruined before it even got revved up. But surely no one had reason to want that. No doubt it was some wild kid playing a trick on him. He’d been wild enough himself as a teenager, had gotten into more trouble than his father would stand.
He looked over to the farmhouse he’d grown up in and thought about the reasons for his return to Sparrow Lake. More trouble, and this time not of his own making. He shook his head and wondered if he’d made a huge mistake in coming home.
Wondered if he should report the incident to the authorities.
Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t. The horses were okay. And he didn’t know how that gate got opened. Not to mention he’d rather deal with the situation himself. Bad run-ins with the authorities in the past meant he didn’t exactly trust them in the present.
Some say the past can come back to haunt you, whether for good or ill.
Sam hoped his luck would finally change for the better.
ENTERING THE ONE-ROOM Sparrow Lake Library to collect her mother who’d given an early morning workshop for new readers, Priscilla Ryan paused just inside the door when a stack of brochures on a counter caught her eye: Larson Dude Ranch, Trail Rides and Riding Lessons.
Priscilla didn’t know of any dude ranches in this part of Wisconsin and wondered if Dwayne Larson had really turned his dairy farm into a ranch. Didn’t make sense. She picked up the brochure but didn’t see anything about the owner. And then another thought occurred to her, but no, surely Sam hadn’t come home after fifteen years.
Sam Larson, one of her big mistakes.
The day after the prom, the town’s bad boy had simply gotten on his motorcycle and had left Sparrow Lake without saying goodbye. Her heart had been broken...but she’d gotten over it.
Why would Sam return now?
An ironic question considering she’d been elsewhere for years herself. First, college in Madison, then a lucrative job in Milwaukee. A year ago, she’d given up that life and had returned to Sparrow Lake to start her own small business, The Main Street Cheese Shoppe. Not long after, her latest boyfriend had decided he didn’t really want to take the next step. Yep, that was her lot in life—always the bridesmaid, seven weddings so far. She’d figured if she was going to live single, she wanted to be closer to her aging parents.
Could Sam have the same idea?
“Oh, darling, I meant to be outside, really.” Appearing frazzled as she’d been for months, her graying red hair frizzing around her plump face, Helen Ryan stopped in front of her daughter and punched her glasses back up her short nose. “I just got caught up with Maddie Hawkins, but I’m ready now.”
“No problem, Mom.” Her mother was always running on borrowed time lately. Priscilla shoved the brochure in her pocket. She didn’t have the energy to think about the past. “Let’s get going.”
Her mother hurried along, looking even more petite in her oversize brown jacket that didn’t quite match her brown pants. It was probably another purchase from a local church’s resale shop. Mom didn’t think clothes were all that important.
“When are they arriving?” her mother asked.
“Their plane is scheduled to land in an hour.”
And while it would only take a half hour or so to get to Milwaukee, they had to navigate the airport, park and get to the gate.
They left the library, her mother practically singing with happiness. “Just think, we’ll have the girls for half the summer!”
“Right.”
Her nieces, sixteen-year-old Alyssa and twelve-year-old Mia, would be staying with Priscilla in her apartment above the cheese store. Aside from her office, she had a second bedroom that was used for guests on occasion. Her older brother Paul, a lawyer for an international firm in New York, was headed to the Middle East for six weeks, and he’d asked her to take his girls. He and his wife felt their daughters would be safer in Wisconsin. Priscilla had gladly agreed and was as excited as her parents. The last time they’d seen the girls had been more than three years
