Page 3 of Paper Horses

“Yes, it’s a large farm.” He walked across the office and opened the door, gesturing for me to leave. “I want to take that call with Tori.”

With a huff, I snatched the folder from the desk and stormed past him.

“You forgot your coffee.”

“Stuff it up your⁠—”

“Liv,” he warned. “I’m still your boss.”

“And I’m still your older sister.”

He only laughed and shouted, “Have a good weekend,” as I slammed my office door on him.

Chapter 2

Liv

The car turned onto a gravel driveway lined with trees. A glance at my phone told me it was after eleven Montana time. A five-hour flight followed by a two-hour drive into nowhere. If I hadn’t glanced up from perusing my emails, I would have missed the town small enough to miss, half an hour earlier.

“Great,” I muttered as the driveway continued. I was about to suggest to the driver that we’d made a wrong turn when a white farmhouse appeared up ahead. Quaint with black shutters, it reminded me of something I’d see while scrolling. It was almost like the perfect picture, with a wooden swing on the front porch, two rocking chairs opposite it with a small table between them. Maybe that was where our money had gone—making the house magazine-ready.

The driver stopped the car, exited, and walked around to open the door for me.

“It’s not New York,” I muttered, leaving my purse in the car. “Wait here, please, while I make sure he’s here.”

He? I really didn’t know since I still hadn’t found a name, and I’d been through the folder three times. It was unlike my brother. Careless. But maybe that’s what love did. If so, I was glad I didn’t have to worry about it.

After climbing the steps to the house and crossing the porch, I opened the screen door and knocked. I glanced around, seeing the mountains in the distance and a barn too far away to walk to in heels. When no answer came, I knocked again but turned my head when I heard a trunk closing.

“I said to wait,” I called to the driver.

“Yes, ma’am.” Yet he placed the suitcase next to the steps.

I rolled my eyes, not liking the move or the ma’am. Stepping from the door, I peeked into a window. No one was inside, but I saw a tidy, rustic kitchen with white cabinets and a large island. The room flowed into a breakfast nook, and in the far back was a set of stairs. To my left, I could see an enormous living room with leather couches and a big-screen television. Aged wooden beams flanked the ceiling, and a stone fireplace stood below the television.

Now I was certain they had upgraded the house with our money.

“How long ago did Gabe make this purchase?” I muttered just as the sound of gravel under tires caught my attention.

The car was backing down the driveway. I ran across the porch and down the steps, but my heels limited my speed, and by the time I reached the driveway, he was too far to chase without breaking my ankle on the stones.

“Asshole,” I grumbled.

At least he’d removed my purse with my laptop in it, from the back seat and placed it next to the suitcase.

Hands on my hips, I looked around more, noticing a black pickup truck parked on the side of the house. That told me someone was home. I stomped down the steps, my heels teetering precariously on the gravel, and headed to the barn. My ankles turned with every step, and I cursed whoever thought gravel made a good driveway. When I hit dirt, my heel sank, and every step became a calculated struggle not to lose my shoes. The door to the barn was open, and the closer I came, the distinct sound of music touched my ears.

It was a song I hadn’t heard in years, one that took me back to my college days because only one person I knew had ever liked country music.

My steps faltered at the memory. Pushing it away, I walked on until I stepped into the barn, where my heels sank into more dirt and hay.

“Hello?” I called. “I’m from…” Shoot, what company had Gabe used? It hadn’t been Icinda; that was the only thing I knew for sure. “…Luna Holdings.”

“Shit, is that today? Hold on.”

Goosebumps pebbled my skin, and my steps halted at the gruff baritone. There was something familiar about it. Too gruff, too hard. It couldn’t be. It was just the song, that was all.

A head of messy blond hair popped up from a stall where a horse with black spots on its brown fur stood. Strong, muscular shoulders, a large hand that patted the horse as he walked out of the stall, his head down.