Page 24 of Time To Learn

Lise places a hand on my arm and I glance at her again. I hate seeing the hurt in her eyes, and I grit my teeth when I think about that stupid fucker who messed with her for so many years.

“I’m sorry.” She wets her lips before she lets out a long breath. “I know your heart is in the right place, but I’ll be okay. Promise.”

“What heart?” I joke as I look back to the road. “I don’t haveone.”

“Oh, but you do,” she chuckles. “It’s as bruised as mine. But I hope they’ll both begin to healsoon.”

Gritting my teeth, I swallow hard. My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn almost completely white. I force myself to relax.

Fuck, I thought I’d done a better job of hiding my feelings, but Lise has always been very perceptive. Apart from anything that had to do with that fucking sod of an ex-husband, thatis.

“We’re here,” I murmur as I take the turn. The grey sign with the simple, black lettering looks a bit worn, but the old wheelbarrow, filled with pots of flowers in front of it, gives it a cheerful appearance. And a welcomingone.

Lise points at the horses grazing in paddocks on either side of us as I drive slowly up the gravel driveway.

“Ooh, look at them!” she exclaims, bouncing in her seat with excitement. Seeing her so happy makes my gloomy thoughts fade a little.

I count the horses—there are ten—and grin when I see a small, spotted pony roll in the grass. I smile atLise.

“That one would be perfect.”

She snorts. “Eh, no, but look at the grey one next to it? He’s gorgeous.”

I let up on the throttle, making the car slow down almost to a crawl, and look closely at the one she’s pointingat.

“He looks angry,” I mutter as the grey snorts as we pass it, stomping his hooves before he turns and gallops away in the opposite direction. “I don’t know anything about horses,” I admit to Lise, “but I think he’ll be too much for you to handle.”

She cranes her neck and keeps the horses in sight as I push down the pedal again, making us go a little faster.

“Maybe you’re right,” she sighs as she sits back in her seat. “I’m looking forward to meeting Wenn, though. She has a great reputation, and I love the concept of her business.”

I raise my eyes ather.

“Why, what’s so special about it?” I ask as I stop the car in front of the main house.

Lise unbuckles her seatbelt and cranes her head through the windshield to take in the property.

“She takes on horses that can’t compete anymore—whether that be show jumping, racing, or whatever—and tries to rehabilitate them, so to speak, before selling them again. From what I gather, she’s very particular about who she chooses to sellto.”

“Huh,” I muse as I open my door. “That does sound very admirable.”

Lise gives me a quick smile as we leave the car. Rounding the bonnet, she looks up at the house and I place my hands in my jeans pockets as we stand in silence for a while, taking it in. Despite the fact that it looks old, just like the sign back at the wayside, there’s a charm about it. Trellises climb up the red brick on either side of the old, wooden front door, and there are flowers placed in pots on the three steps leading up to it. The thatched roof makes me think back to fairy tales my mother used to read aloud to me—as well as stories I used to read to Rose—but I try to push the memory of my little sister from my mind. The wound is still too fresh and raw, and I just can’t handle thinking abouther.

Turning in a circle, I scan the grounds, waiting for someone to come and greet us, until my eyes stop at a closed paddock a couple of hundred yards away. The sound of female voices is carried on the wind, though I can’t make out what they’re saying, but when a small rider comes into my line of sight, I turn back to Lise next tome.

“Let’s go,” I tell her, jerking my chin in the direction of the paddock. Without waiting for her to follow me, I start to walk, all the while looking at the stables around us. The smell of hay and horses is a comforting combination, even though it’s so unfamiliar tome.

As we get closer to the paddock, I narrow my eyes as the rider comes into focus. My steps falter as she stops the horse in front of a woman, and I jerk to a stop when I take in what I’m seeing.

Flannel shirt, rolled up slender, delicatearms.

Dark-blue riding trousers covering a perkyarse.

Brown hair in a messy bun on the top of herhead.

What thehell?

Vaguely, I register my aunt stopping next to me. My eyes trail up and down the sight before me—I’m almost afraid to breathe.