promised to never hurt her.
Everything else was nothing.
She would not allow Billy Ray Williams—or anyone else—to steal her happiness.
Bailey heard him arriving home, the crunch of his tires on the gravel drive. She ran
out to meet him, breaking into a smile. “You’re home!”
He caught her in his arms and held her tightly. “You make coming home the highlight
of my day.”
She lifted her face to his. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They stood a moment, staring stupidly into each other’s eyes. Love drunk, she thought.
Completely ridiculous.
But wonderful. Worries over what she did and didn’t know about her husband and small-town
gossip melted away, and she let herself be wrapped in their love and this perfect
moment.
Until even in his arms, she was cold. Bailey shivered and he drew away. “You should
have grabbed a coat.”
“And shoes.”
He looked down at her bare feet. “Crazy wife. What were you thinking?”
Tell him, Bailey. He’ll answer your questions and everything will make sense again.
Instead, she caught his hand and led him inside. “I’ve opened a bottle of your favorite
Pinot.”
“Pour me a glass. I’ll get cleaned up.”
“Don’t go!”
He frowned slightly. “What’s wrong?”
She opened her mouth to tell him, then closed it and smiled. “What could be wrong?”
He kissed her. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Wait!”
He stopped, frown deepening.
“How’d today go?”
Representatives from the North American Danish Warmblood Association had come to a
neighboring breeding farm, Oak Hill Ranch, to inspect the two-year-olds.
“Really well. Paragon scored an eight and Paradox a nine. To give you an idea, a ten
is virtually unheard of. I wish you had been there.”
If only she had . “Too many horses and horse people, all talking about—”
“Horses.”
“Exactly.” She waved him off. “Go. I’ll get the wine.”
The minute he disappeared from view, her doubts returned, flooding her thoughts. Not
doubts, she told herself as she poured them both a glass of wine. Concerns.
That she’d married him too fast, that the things she didn’t know about him outweighed
the things she did.
Stop it, Bailey.
Go to him, let him chase your doubts and fears away.
She picked up the two glasses and hurried upstairs. She entered the bedroom; from
the bathroom came the sound of the shower. She crossed to the dresser and set down
the glasses. Her hands, she realized, trembled.
Bailey stared at the ruby red liquid a moment, then shifted her gaze. It landed on
a photograph of her and her mother. That last birthday they had celebrated together.
It was the only photo in the room. She moved her gaze over the bedroom, taking in
every detail, every surface and wall. No framed photographs, awards or other mementos.
Nothing personal. Like a well-appointed suite at a luxury hotel.
It’s what she had felt the first time she had seen the room, but hadn’t been able
to put into words.
She imagined the rest of the house, searching her memory. The portrait of his mother.
The photographs of her. Her show ribbons; the Olympic medal.
But where were the pictures of them all as children? Of holidays? What of grandparents?
She understood removing any traces of True, considering the circumstances, but what
of everyone else? Her mother had even kept a picture of Bailey’s no-good daddy, just
because he was her father.
What of Logan’s father? He’d mentioned him, that he’d passed … but not how. Not when.
Why were there no photographs of him?
Bailey felt sick to her stomach. Light-headed.
She stepped into the bathroom. He stood in the shower with his back to her. Dark hair
slicked to his head. The water sluiced over his wide shoulders, down to the V of his
waist. He was magnificent, beautiful.
But who was he?
He turned, saw her and smiled. He opened the glass door, poked his head out. “Hi,
babe.”
“I
Everything else was nothing.
She would not allow Billy Ray Williams—or anyone else—to steal her happiness.
Bailey heard him arriving home, the crunch of his tires on the gravel drive. She ran
out to meet him, breaking into a smile. “You’re home!”
He caught her in his arms and held her tightly. “You make coming home the highlight
of my day.”
She lifted her face to his. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They stood a moment, staring stupidly into each other’s eyes. Love drunk, she thought.
Completely ridiculous.
But wonderful. Worries over what she did and didn’t know about her husband and small-town
gossip melted away, and she let herself be wrapped in their love and this perfect
moment.
Until even in his arms, she was cold. Bailey shivered and he drew away. “You should
have grabbed a coat.”
“And shoes.”
He looked down at her bare feet. “Crazy wife. What were you thinking?”
Tell him, Bailey. He’ll answer your questions and everything will make sense again.
Instead, she caught his hand and led him inside. “I’ve opened a bottle of your favorite
Pinot.”
“Pour me a glass. I’ll get cleaned up.”
“Don’t go!”
He frowned slightly. “What’s wrong?”
She opened her mouth to tell him, then closed it and smiled. “What could be wrong?”
He kissed her. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Wait!”
He stopped, frown deepening.
“How’d today go?”
Representatives from the North American Danish Warmblood Association had come to a
neighboring breeding farm, Oak Hill Ranch, to inspect the two-year-olds.
“Really well. Paragon scored an eight and Paradox a nine. To give you an idea, a ten
is virtually unheard of. I wish you had been there.”
If only she had . “Too many horses and horse people, all talking about—”
“Horses.”
“Exactly.” She waved him off. “Go. I’ll get the wine.”
The minute he disappeared from view, her doubts returned, flooding her thoughts. Not
doubts, she told herself as she poured them both a glass of wine. Concerns.
That she’d married him too fast, that the things she didn’t know about him outweighed
the things she did.
Stop it, Bailey.
Go to him, let him chase your doubts and fears away.
She picked up the two glasses and hurried upstairs. She entered the bedroom; from
the bathroom came the sound of the shower. She crossed to the dresser and set down
the glasses. Her hands, she realized, trembled.
Bailey stared at the ruby red liquid a moment, then shifted her gaze. It landed on
a photograph of her and her mother. That last birthday they had celebrated together.
It was the only photo in the room. She moved her gaze over the bedroom, taking in
every detail, every surface and wall. No framed photographs, awards or other mementos.
Nothing personal. Like a well-appointed suite at a luxury hotel.
It’s what she had felt the first time she had seen the room, but hadn’t been able
to put into words.
She imagined the rest of the house, searching her memory. The portrait of his mother.
The photographs of her. Her show ribbons; the Olympic medal.
But where were the pictures of them all as children? Of holidays? What of grandparents?
She understood removing any traces of True, considering the circumstances, but what
of everyone else? Her mother had even kept a picture of Bailey’s no-good daddy, just
because he was her father.
What of Logan’s father? He’d mentioned him, that he’d passed … but not how. Not when.
Why were there no photographs of him?
Bailey felt sick to her stomach. Light-headed.
She stepped into the bathroom. He stood in the shower with his back to her. Dark hair
slicked to his head. The water sluiced over his wide shoulders, down to the V of his
waist. He was magnificent, beautiful.
But who was he?
He turned, saw her and smiled. He opened the glass door, poked his head out. “Hi,
babe.”
“I
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