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Soften and Bend
They sayhorses know the way back home.
Which I’m hoping is the case because when Butterscotch starts trotting down the trail, which intersects with several others, I realize I wasn’t completely paying attention on the way here.
When she breaks into the open field, I see the red barn in the distance and I’m able to breathe a little, but that’s when everything comes closing in, and my eyes well up with tears.
I’m such a stupid, stupid girl.
Butterscotch must feel the shift in my energy, so she slows to a gentler walk.
I briefly press my good hand over my eyes to gather myself together, the other struggling to hold the reins through the throbbing. I can analyze all of this and fall apart later. I just need to get away from the Mitchells, from Jake, incriminating evidence or not.
Claudia will just have to understand.
By the time I’m back at the stables there’s no stable guy in sight, so I somehow manage to dismount on my own and lead Butterscotch into her stall.
As I head through the barn to Jake’s car, I realize I don’t have the keys, so I guess that means I’m walking to the main house.
A noise makes me bristle—hooves frantically pounding against earth.
Jake.
I pause. He’s coming for me. Though it’s hard to tell exactly how close he is.
My feet start forward again.
Jake is my kryptonite. My Achilles heel. My dirty little weakness with a country boy swagger and a killer smile. And if I don’t get out of this place and away from him, I know he’ll also be my undoing.
I emerge from the other side of the barn and pass his ridiculous foreign car. His horse comes blazing up beside me, hooves skidding, but I don’t flinch.
Keep walking…
“Scarlett,” Jake says, voice tattered. The dirt he kicked up is pluming into the air. “What happened?”
I pretend I don’t hear him.
Just keep walking…
“Are you okay?”
He already knows the answer to that.
“Scarlett.” This time, it’s more of a plea. His horse trots forward and blocks my path.
I pause. Try and go around the front.
He blocks my path again. “Talk to me,” he says, then dismounts, and I back away.
I don’t look him in the eyes, and I don’t know if it’s because I can’t or won’t. Or shouldn’t. But I say, “Get out of my way, Jake.” My voice is shakier than I’d like.
He scans around us, I guess to see if anyone’s watching. “What happened?” he asks again. “Did I do something?”
“I need to go home,” I say.
That derails him. “Why? I thought—”
“Because I can’t be here anymore. My head isn’t clear around you,” I say, trying to adopt more of an edge to my voice.
