Page 45 of Savage Heart

The moon is high tonight—I don’t even need the light from my phone to get to the barn. Lucky nickers when I get to the corral, excited to see me. I rub his nose and saddle him up as fast as I can.

We head out the gate, then cut through the trees, staying off the main road as we ride to the back of Little Lark. When I see Iris standing in the distance, hoodie pulled up and her arms wrapped around herself, I go faster. When she sees me, her shoulders drop.

“You came,” she whispers.

“Always,” I say.

She climbs up behind me, her hands gripping my jacket. She puts her forehead between my shoulder blades and takes a few deep breaths. Sometimes I think everything inside her is wound too tight and it takes her a while to catch her breath. When she’s steadier, I nudge Lucky, and we go back the way we came.

We don’t talk until we’re far enough away that no one can hear us. Sometimes we don’t talk at all. We go to the farthest part of the ranch, where nobody ever comes at night. Lucky loves it out here.

We ride.

Sometimes it’s ten minutes. Tonight, it’s hours.

We race Lucky across the open stretch like we’re flying. Until Iris has long stopped sniffling and wiping tears from her face and is throwing her head back, laughing. Just us and the stars.

Eventually, we get off and let Lucky rest, while we lie on our backs in the grass, staring up at the sky.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Better now,” she says.

She points at the sky.

“Look, there’s a horse.”

I grin. “That one’s a cowboy who fell off.”

She snorts. “I see it.”

For a while, we don’t say anything.

“You ever think about leaving?” she asks suddenly.

I turn my head toward her. “Leaving Ironwood?”

“Yeah,” she says softly.

“No. Never. Do you?”

“All the time. But I would miss you and Lincoln too much.”

I don’t like thinking about her leaving.

“You should stay,” I say eventually.

She yawns, and I stand up, holding out my hand to help her up.

“Are you sleepy now?”

She nods. “I think so.”

We’re walking Lucky back toward the barn when Lincoln steps out from behind the tack shed, arms crossed, face scrunched up.

“Where have you been?” He glares at us. “It’s the middle of the night!”

Iris freezes. “Hey, Lincoln.”