He stalked the rest of the way to Dream’s stall, pleased to see his filly’s eyes bright and devoid of pain. “Hello, beautiful girl.”
Dream nuzzled his hand, her soft movements full of the trusting bond they shared. Ethan spent several long minutes stroking the horse’s neck before turning toward Lizzie. “This is Dream.”
“She’s gorgeous.”
Lizzie stepped up, her hand already extended before Ethan stilled the movement. “Why don’t you sweeten the deal a bit?”
He dug an ever-present sugar cube from his coat pocket and handed it over. “It’s always nice to bring a gift for a brand-new introduction.”
Something warm raced up his arm as their fingers touched, the simple gesture of handing over the sugar cube suddenly fraught with electricity and meaning. Her green siren’s eyes widened before something needy and deeply primitive flashed there.
Attraction. Want. Desire.
The force of it nearly took him to his knees, and he ran his index finger over her open palm, the flesh soft and pliant.
“Thanks for the sugar.” Her gaze dropped to where their hands were still tentatively joined, and he sensed the deepest regret when she pulled her palm away. “I hope she likes me.”
He couldn’t quite find his voice, the thick croak when he did finally speak gruff and hoarse. “She’ll like you fine.”
“We’ll see.” Without hesitation, Lizzie stuck her hand out, her reach steady. “Hello again, sweet girl. How are you?”
The sugar cube vanished in an instant, but it was enough to break the ice. Dream lightly pressed her nose to Lizzie’s palm before bending her head slightly. They spent several moments like that, Lizzie running her hands over Dream’s nose, cheeks and neck and Dream accepting the simple gestures of affection.
Ethan stood back to give them a moment, struck by the odd awareness they were both pregnant. He knew it wasn’t the same—a woman and a horse—yet he couldn’t deny there was something both deeply present and mysteriously ancient about their mutual situation.
Lizzie turned from her ministrations, her hand still lingering on the mane of her new friend. “What was wrong this morning? She seems absolutely fine. She’s such a sweet thing.”
“Her foal needed to be turned around.”
“She’s pregnant?”
“Yep. If things stay on track, we’ll have a new foal next month.”
* * *
Lizzie wasn’t sure why the fact Ethan had spent the night in the barn with a pregnant horse struck her with such force, but the symbolism lanced through her with all the finesse of a battering ram.
A sign.
She couldn’t deny the sweet joy and relief that swept through her at the silly acknowledgment.
Although she considered herself far too practical to engage in things beyond her control, she’d spent her life paying attention to the small signs that seemed like a direction, pointing the way. A small patch of pink tulips that bloomed the day she received her college acceptance letter. The same colored blooms planted around the entrance to her office the day she interviewed for her job.
Those and so many others made up a series of memories that told her she was pushing in the proper direction.
Finding out Ethan Colton’s prize horse was pregnant, too, felt like that patch of tulips.
Important.
The hum of voices echoed from the far end of the barn. Lizzie had nearly turned, ready to let Ethan know she’d leave him to his work for a while, when a comment by one of his ranch hands had her going still.
“They say it’s another serial killer, right here in Blackthorn County. Being steered from prison by Matthew Colton.”
“No way, Gus. Colton’s locked up good and tight. It’s a copycat out for attention.”
The two men came to a halt when they realized there were others in the barn, and both quickly doffed their hats. “Good morning, ma’am. Mr. Colton.”
Ethan had gone so still he could have been carved in glass, and Lizzie didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath until he spoke.
“Morning, Gus. Trey. Bill will be in a bit late. We had some midnight excitement with Dream here.”
She waited while Ethan talked to his men, their attention focused on the list of tasks as he described them. Both nodded their heads and seemed eager to get to work.
Lizzie waited until the men went off to their tasks before turning toward Ethan. She wanted to cringe at her overly bright voice but pressed on. “Why don’t I let you get back to things? It sounds like a busy morning. I can take care of our breakfast dishes and get out of your hair for a bit.”
“You’re not in my hair.” He tugged at a few strands of his short sandy-brown hair. “See. Empty.”
“Ethan—”
It was a silly joke, and she almost laughed, solely to keep that delicate balance of normal, when he moved up into her space, a short curse spilling from his lips. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“I’m not. I read the paper. Watch the news. I know what’s been going on in Blackthorn County.”
And she did know. A series of copycat killings were happening in their backyard, all of them leaving the victims with the distinctive red bull’s-eye that had been Matthew Colton’s trademark.
The Alphabet Killer, as the press had dubbed the perpetrator, was increasingly gaining national coverage. With both the bull’s-eye marking and a penchant for killing women in alphabetical order, the murderer’s notoriety was building. The murders had been all her coworkers could talk about, and now that the killer was up to D, it was all the nation could talk about, too.
“My father is in prison. He’s not making an outreach to anyone. He can’t be behind this again. We’ve all made sure of that.”
His use of the word again tore at something deep within her, but she kept her attention firm. Unyielding. His younger sister, Josie, had been her best friend, and after their initial days getting to know each other, they’d become confidantes.
She could still remember Josie’s frustration when talking about her father.
People look at you with such pity, as if they can somehow wish it all away. It’s like if they don’t mention him or all he’s done, he’s not some deranged psychotic killer.
But he is.
“People do some terrible things for attention. There are those who look to convicted criminals as inspiration.”
“My father’s a monster.”
“Yet to some, he’s a hero.”
Although she was aware of the crimes, the story had taken a backseat to her own problems. Now that she was here, Lizzie finally understood the problem wasn’t so distant to Ethan.
“Your brother Sam’s a cop, right? What does he think about it?”
Ethan glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his stable hands before taking her arm once more. “Let’s go back in the house.”
“Of course.”
In a matter of minutes, she was once again seated on his couch, a fire blazing to chase away the cold. Ethan sat beside her, but even with the fire so close,