Wild Horses. Claire McEwen

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      “Probably not,” Wade grunted as he tried to heave the chipper out.

      “And who knows if they’re even still alive? All it would take would be cheating the wrong guy, or infringing on someone else’s territory for them to be killed down there.” Nora glanced at her younger brother, worried that she shouldn’t have voiced her fears. Decades of protecting him made the instinct automatic. But he just looked mildly frustrated, untangling a power cord that had wrapped itself around the leg of the chipper. Sometimes she forgot he was all grown up and a veteran, as well. “So I guess that’s the long way of saying no, I don’t think about them very often. Or at least, I try not to.”

      Wade got the cord off and yanked at the chipper again. “Well, that’s probably the best way to handle it, at this point.”

      Nora looked away from the overwhelming mess in the truck, to where the granite peaks of the Sierras rose abruptly from the hills beyond town. “I know I sound harsh, but they weren’t exactly kind to us. Do you think of them?”

      “He’s my dad,” Wade answered simply. “They’re my brothers. Of course I think of them. And I hope they’re okay. But I don’t miss them.”

      Nora pondered that statement for a moment. Wade might be a decorated soldier who’d done two tours of duty in Afghanistan, but in many ways he had a gentler heart than she did. He didn’t hold the same grudges against their dad. Of course, as the youngest, he’d had Nora, three years his senior, to protect him from a lot of their father’s craziness. She turned away from the mountains. “Well, whoever owns this repair shop nowadays is going to love us,” she said. “We’ll probably pay his mortgage for the next year, getting all this stuff fixed.”

      Wade glanced at her. “This is my first time coming into town.”

      She understood the anxiety written on his face. She had it, too. “It’s not that bad. When I went out to get groceries, most people just stared. You know they’re dying to ask about Dad, or Arch and Blake, but they don’t know how.” Grabbing a weed whacker in each hand, she forced an upbeat note into her voice. “Come on, let’s do this.” She started toward the battered garage with Mountain Machinery Repair painted in blue above the door. A couple of tractors were parked alongside the building and a riding mower was just inside, most of its internal parts scattered around it. “Hello?” she called into the cavernous entrance. “Anyone here?”

      “Hang on,” a deep voice echoed from the back of the shed. The clank of something metal made her jump—she was still shaken from her encounter with the mustangs last night. Footsteps approached, a welcome relief from the memory of the stampede.

      A man’s figure emerged from the gloom and Nora could see his frame in the shadows, tall and lanky. Then he stepped into the afternoon light and she gasped, shock paralyzing her lungs for a suffocating second. She reeled backward and crashed into Wade. Her hip bumped the handle of the chain saw he carried. “Ouch!” Tears welled in her eyes, from the pain, or emotion, or both.

      “Jeez, Nora, be careful!” Her brother steadied her against him and then stepped carefully to the side. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine,” she lied, clutching her throbbing hip bone and staring at the proprietor of the machine shop. Todd Williams? How was this possible? He was staring back, but not in shock. Instead, he looked wary. Probably thought she’d smack him with her weed whacker. She’d certainly dreamed of smacking him plenty of times since the day he’d dumped her.

      She’d know that face under the faded John Deere cap anywhere. The high cheekbones, the green eyes, the sandy hair, the wide mouth. Her college boyfriend. The guy who’d broken her heart into a million pieces nine years ago. Pieces she’d never been able to put back together in quite the same way.

      Case in point. Right now she was a mess, while Todd seemed pretty calm. After all this time, it was still easier to be the dumper than the dumped.

      Todd looked at Wade. “Afternoon.”

      “Afternoon,” Wade returned the greeting. “I’m Wade Hoffman. Are you the owner of this shop?”

      “I am,” Todd answered. He paused for a fraction of a second then gave his name. “Todd Williams.”

      Nora felt suddenly nauseous, as if some part of her had been hoping that she’d been mistaken. Though she knew that was impossible.

      “Good to meet you,” Wade said. “This is my sister, Nora. We’re hoping to get some work done on a bunch of equipment.”

      “Hey, Todd.” She tried to make the words sound casual but instead there was an awkward squeak in her voice. Her face felt hot.

      She saw him swallow once before he answered. “Hey, Nora.” His expression was guarded, his jaw tense.

      Nora forced herself to keep her gaze steady. She waited for him to say more, the silence growing awkward in its length. Finally he broke it. “Long time, no see.”

      “Wait, you know him?” Wade turned to look at Nora in surprise.

      “We went to college together.” Todd stepped forward with his hand out. “Good to see you again.”

      It wasn’t good to see him and the last thing she wanted to do was shake his hand. But no other option came to mind, so Nora set down one of her weed whackers and held her hand out. Glancing down, she realized she was still wearing her filthy leather glove. “Hang on,” she muttered, setting down the other tool to pull off her gloves, cursing this awful situation.

      She’d wondered, over the years, what it would be like if she ever saw Todd again. In her imagination she’d always been well dressed, made-up, calm and in control. She’d pictured regret in his eyes when he looked at her and finally realized what he’d given up.

      In reality, she must look pathetic. Sweaty, streaked in grease, staggering into her brother, in possession of stolen property. There certainly wasn’t any regret to be seen in Todd’s expression. Just discomfort while he waited with his hand out, and she wrestled with her glove, which was inexplicably stuck on her knuckles.

      Finally her hand was free and he took it in his own. She should have left the glove on, because the touch of his skin brought it all back in an instant—how much she’d loved holding hands with him, how right it had felt to be linked together like that. All the years between them evaporated in his warm grip. Then his hand was gone and she was back in the present, standing in a machine shop with a stolen weed whacker on either side of her.

      “What are you doing here?” She tried to sound as if she barely cared what his answer would be, but her words came out too abruptly. Wade glanced her way and she saw one of his eyebrows go up. For an instance she regretted how close she was with her brother. Nothing about this bizarre situation would get by him.

      “Working.” He stated the obvious and left her feeling stupid.

      “In Benson?” His presence here made no sense. It was as if she’d found a tropical plant growing out among all the high desert scrub.

      “I came out here to do some environmental work a few years ago. I fell in love with the area. The work dried up, but I stayed.”

      “I never knew you could fix things.” She should stop interrogating him, but how? She had so many questions.

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