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Becca Price’s slowly healing back shouted its discomfort as she heaved the water hose into the horse’s stall to fill the bucket. She ignored the pain and listened to the old barn creak. The feeling of someone watching her spiked the hairs on her neck and she shuddered.
Someone watching, waiting. Not exactly how she wanted to start her Monday morning.
The ominous feeling had just grown stronger over the past few weeks ever since her fall. She glanced around and did her best to shake off the creepiness.
Again.
Unfortunately, she just couldn’t quite manage it. A shiver rippled up her spine and it had nothing to do with the forty-degree temperatures outside.
“Nathan? Is that you?” Nathan Williams, her former best friend and reformed practical joker, was back in town and asking to see her. Maybe he’d come early and was reverting to their teenage days.
Silence echoed back at her. She wished Jack, her five-year-old golden retriever, had followed her into the barn. He’d tell her if someone was out there. But he’d taken off across the backyard and through the pasture.
She shook her head. “Focus on the horses,” she muttered. Owning her own barn had been a dream since childhood. A little pain—and paranoia—wouldn’t stop her from giving her clients what they’d paid for. “One down, eleven more to go.”
She moved to the next stall. The pretty paint nickered and nuzzled up against Becca’s face. Absently, she stroked the animal’s warm neck. She couldn’t help but scan the open area between the stalls once more, even as she took comfort in the horse’s calming presence. He didn’t seem worried. Becca stepped back and her foot caught the edge of the bucket, dumping what she’d just filled.
She sighed and righted the pail to start over. Even with all of the hard work, she wouldn’t do anything else, have any other career—not even use the medical degree she’d been arm-twisted into getting. At least, not right now. Right now, horses were her passion.
No matter the backlash she got.
Becca tightened her jaw. She’d succeed. She would. She’d find the money to keep the barn going. Somehow, someway. And she wouldn’t ask her parents for help—that was for sure. She’d go back to working a full-time job before she’d ask them for help. Which they wouldn’t give her anyway.
Don’t let me give up, please God. Give me strength. The prayer felt weird, and she felt almost guilty for praying it. Her parents had both been born in Wrangler’s Corner and grown up not too far from where Becca now lived. But they’d had bigger dreams than horses and ranching. Not only for themselves, but for her, too. Their only child. So they’d packed her up and moved to Nashville when she was seventeen years old.
She still wasn’t sure she’d forgiven them for that—even though she’d gone along with it without outward argument.
Somehow she’d survived the move, the new school, and the never-ending social engagements she’d been required to attend. She’d excelled at pleasing her parents.
Until she’d had enough.
A
