“There wouldn’t be.” He stared at his hands, clawing his way back to the present. They were trembling so hard it was like they were vibrating. “No one knows about Val. Not my manager, not anyone.”
“Val was your…”
“Sister,” he informed her quietly.
“I see,” she said, setting her notebook aside and relaxing into her chair. “How long ago did she—”
“It’ll be ten years this summer. I was sixteen. It was her nineteenth birthday.”
She nodded. “I don’t want to push you. Just tell me as much as you’re comfortable sharing and stop when you need to.”
She was using kid gloves on him. Maybe he should’ve appreciated that, but for some reason, it only added fuel to his already raging fire.
“As much as I’m comfortable sharing?” He glared at her, standing and spreading his arms wide. “Do I fucking look comfortable to you?”
Her eyes widened but she kept her composure. “Fine. Then tell me what makes you uncomfortable. Push yourself until you can’t. You’re safe here.”
He huffed out a harsh breath. “Safe. Right.” He shook his head and turned to the door. “I can’t do this right now. I’ll destroy this whole fucking room. You’ve got a lot of breakable shit in here, Doc.”
People said that the truth would set him free. Those people were wrong. The truth was that he’d failed the one person who’d protected him, who’d saved him. Lost her in the darkness. And no matter what he did, even if he adopted a dozen children from third- world countries, donated all of his money to charity, and lived the rest of his life as a monk, there was no escaping the truth.
She’d never hurt a soul. She’d been good and perfect and kind. The world had been a better place when she was in it. But now she was gone. And he was here, still damaging and destroying. It was the most fucked-up injustice he knew of.
“Van,” a female voice said so softly he barely heard it. He didn’t know if it was the doctor who’d spoken or the ghost in his head, but he didn’t stop either way. He walked out of her office and right out of the building.
Chapter Eleven
Her first day off since starting her new job and Stella Jo found herself working anyway. She suspected this would be hard to avoid since she lived where she worked.
She’d made a trip to the local bath and bed store and bought a few things for her small place and taken a three-mile jog around the property before giving in and checking on the horses. Well, mostly on Shadowdancer. Van had spooked him the night before, and she wanted to make sure she hadn’t completely lost his trust.
The hollow chill she’d tried to shake off the night before still remained. She hoped some time with the big warm bodies and beating hearts in the stables would help.
Surprisingly, Shadowdancer’s dark, oblong head was poking out of his stall as if he was waiting for her.
“Well hello there, handsome. You still mad at me?” She scooped up a handful of sweet feed from the barrel and offered it to him. He took it readily, keeping his eyes on her as he did.
After she’d loved on him and checked on the others, she wiped her dusty hands on her shorts. Shadowdancer’s saddle sat on the ledge between his stall and the empty one that separated him and Mother Maybelle. Running her hand along the rich, worn leather, she let herself remember for just a little while. What it was like to ride, that moment in the final stretch when it felt like they were one, like she and Angel’s Breath were flying. It was the only time she’d felt truly alive.
“What did you mean when you said you’d never felt wanted before?”
His voice startled her and her hand jerked, knocking the saddle onto the floor. Shadowdancer huffed and snorted beside her.
“God. You scared me. You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me—”
“Tell me what you meant, Stella Jo.”
Her blood warmed from the heat in his tone, purging the bone-chilling cold and making her body feel as if flames were consuming it. She swallowed hard as she righted the saddle and turned to face him. Her breath caught when she saw him. The shirt and jeans he was wearing accented his ample muscles perfectly, but that wasn’t what left her breathless.
His eyes were practically glowing, his fists clenched at his sides, and barely contained rage radiated from where he stood.
“What’s wrong?” She took a tentative step in his direction. “What happened?”
Her words were gasoline on his embers. Sparks flew as they both stepped into the charged space between them.
“She left. She fucking left me. That’s what happened.”
Stella Jo had absolutely no idea what or who he was talking about. But his confession seemed to break him. His head fell forward and a sob racked his broad shoulders. His pain bled into her, pulled her closer to him and she gave him everything she had to give.
“Who left you, Van?” Reaching out gently, just as she had done with Shadowdancer, she allowed her fingertips to stroke the short, dark stubble on his jaw. He was rough where she was smooth, and touching him that way, intimately on his face, sent a shiver through her.
His intense gaze met hers, and they were connected in that moment in a way she’d only ever felt with horses. She didn’t see Van Ransom’s face, his tattoos, or the anger he carried. She looked at him with her heart. And she saw his soul.
It was as dark as the short black hair on his head. Bruised and beautiful.
She had no idea how anyone could ever leave him. She couldn’t have pulled away from him in that moment if her life had depended on it.
Instead of answering her question, he gave a gentle shake of his head.
“Stella.” Her name was a breath, a plea, a confession of a deep-seated need she had no idea if she could fulfill. She was instantly seized with terror. She’d failed her family. Failed to be what they needed. What if she failed him? Couldn’t give him what he needed and made everything worse?
“I don’t know how to do this.” She pulled her hand away, but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her roughly to him.
“What do you know how to do, Stella Jo? Hide down here with the livestock? How’s that working for you?”
Her eyes narrowed. He made her angry. Made her feel things she had no idea how to feel or process. But with his pain still so close to the surface, she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. So she did the only thing she could do. She told him the truth.
“Horses can be broken. You can’t.”
“Can’t I?” He released his hold on her wrist, but neither of them moved. “Feels like I can. Feels like you break me a little more every time I come near you.”
She shook her head. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know.” Mercifully, he backed up a step and gave her some space to breathe. The reprieve gave her a second to think logically. “But I do know that five minutes ago I was sitting in a room with a stranger spilling my guts and the only person I actually wanted to talk to was you.”
Logic flew right out of Stella’s grasp. He needed her. It was a heady and addicting sensation. This powerful man with the world at his fingertips needed her. And she didn’t know why or how or what it meant, but she needed him right back.
The ground gave way beneath her as she made her way toward him. “The first step in breaking a horse is gaining its trust,” she whispered. “Can you trust, Van? Could you ever trust me?”
Pulling her in his arms, he rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. She took advantage of the moment to admire his long, thick lashes and his raw beauty up close.
“I could try,” he rasped.