the Author
No matter how hard Whitney Barstow tried, there was one memory that never seemed to fade or be twisted by time—it was the moment she had nearly died. The smoke had filled her lungs, stealing her oxygen and making her head ache. The acrid smoke was like hands covering her mouth and nose, and however hard she tried to breathe, they only clenched harder. She had torn at the invisible hands, leaving faint scars on her face—a personal reminder of her desperation to survive.
Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the barn. The door was closed, and when the spark had hit the hay, it was like a bomb that had gone off. She could still hear the whoomp as the dry tinder erupted into flames. And the heat. Oh, the heat. Some nights she would wake up in a cold sweat, her body’s reflexes kicking in at the mere thought of being trapped in the inferno once again.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she stared out at the barn that sat at the heart of Dunrovin Ranch, and her thoughts turned to the lives she’d lost. There would be no replacing Runs Like the Wind, her black Thoroughbred. She could still smell the scent of hay on the horse’s breath and feel her smooth gait from high in the saddle. Nothing would ever be the same. There was no going back and stopping evil from entering her life. There was no undoing what had been done.
There was only one thing she could do to keep the memories at bay—she could never ride again.
Even now, almost ten years later, she could barely step foot in a barn. If she was forced, it was only if the door was kept open and the breeze drifted through like a promise of freedom. She couldn’t be trapped again. Not by a person, and never by fire. Never.
“Whit, are you okay, sweetheart?” Mrs. Eloise Fitzgerald called out from the main office.
Whitney angrily wiped away the tear that had escaped. She didn’t have room in her life for weakness—or vulnerability. It was emotional weakness that always got her into trouble. If she just stayed tough and shut the world out—even Mrs. Fitzgerald, the kindly matriarch of the Fitzgerald family—she would never have to worry about getting hurt again.
“I’m fine,” she called back to her boss. “Just wanted a bit of fresh air before the guests started arriving for the weekend.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald walked out onto the porch and wrapped her arms around her body, shielding herself from the bitter December air. “Brr... You are going to catch your death of cold out here if you don’t get your skinny buns inside, little thing.”
Whitney snorted a laugh. It would be ironic, dying by hypothermia after nearly dying by fire. “I don’t mind the cold,” she said with a smile she hoped would calm Eloise’s nerves.
Eloise waved her inside, not letting her get away with such disregard for her well-being. “You know what I always say... You don’t have anything if you don’t have your health.”
Her health was just fine, thank you very much... It was the rest of Whitney that could really have used some work. She hadn’t been on a date in two years, and her best friend was the ranch dog, Milo, that no one else seemed to notice. Some days, when the phones were not ringing and she found herself looking for work to do, it was almost as if she and the dog were really nothing more than apparitions.
She
