Chapter 1

Just before sundown, an uneasy stillness crept across the farm and settled like a silent summer mist. Allison sensed it the same time the horses did. They whickered and stamped in their stalls. She paused to brush an arm across her gritty forehead and peer out of the barn to the darkening woods beyond the pasture. Tiny goosebumps prickled the back of her neck. What on earth was out there? Something elusive. Something unseen. Something that had them all definitely spooked. For the third night in a row, she sighed at the prospect of being awake at two a.m.

Reaching to the radio on a shelf near the door, she tuned in a classic country station and cranked the volume up several notches. Willie Nelson crooned a mellow song, and she hummed along. Sometimes music helped soothe the barn inhabitants, but she had a feeling tonight even old Willie would have a hard time calming them.

When she turned to push the wheelbarrow back to the grain bins, she nearly tripped over Pouncer and Priscilla. Tails in the air, the skittish tabbies scrambled away, leaping to their hiding place in the loft.

“Crazy cats,” she muttered to herself. Usually the antics of the animal menagerie that lived here didn’t bother her in the least, but tonight, her cotton shirt stuck to her sweaty body and her feet ached. Hot, tired, and irritable, she couldn’t wait to get into a cool shower.

“Suppose you darlings can let us get some sleep tonight?” She paused at each stall to check the horses one more time. They had gone back to nosing their hay, but a few still swished their tails nervously. “Just let the country music ease you to sleep,” she murmured. “Heaven knows we all can use the rest.”

She parked the wheelbarrow and pulled a bandanna from her jeans pocket to wipe her face and hands, pausing just outside the tack room to peek in at her daughter. “Ready to go, hon?”

In her excitement about the upcoming horse show on Sunday, Lizzie had promised to have her tack ready to go by tomorrow, and she worked earnestly to clean her show bridle, head bent to the task. Dark braids swung past the thin shoulders.

Her daughter glanced up. “I still have to go over my saddle one more time, Mom. But it’s okay. I’ll be up to the house in a little bit.”

Allison hesitated. As a girl, she had spent countless hours in this barn and had always been perfectly safe. But after the occurrences of the last three nights, she had no intention of leaving Lizzie here alone.

“Let it go ‘til tomorrow. I’ll help you finish up. We should get some extra winks tonight anyway. Sunday will be a very early day.”

“But I just wanted to…”

“No,” Allison said firmly. “I’d rather you came up to the house now. Dinner’s in the slow cooker and should be ready. You know you need to eat well before a show.”

Reluctantly, Lizzie put her cleaning supplies back in her tack box and hung the bridle on a hook. She flipped her braids out of the way while she tidied the little room, leaving Allison to chuckle softly. If only her daughter’s bedroom would garner such loving attention. Last time she’d looked, clothes, stuffed animals, and books had been strewn around in disarray.

Before leaving the barn, she called Gypsy to come with them. The Border Collie obeyed, but on the walk up to the house, she, too, glanced anxiously toward the woods, stopping and dropping her head low as they almost reached the front porch. The thick ruff of hair on the neck rose, and a deep growl rumbled in the collie’s throat.

A shiver raced down Allison’s spine.

“What is it, Mom? Why is Gypsy growling?” Lizzie propped her hands on her skinny hips and frowned. “She’s been acting funny all day.”

Once again, Allison searched the edge of the woods. So quiet. Not a leaf moved; not a breath stirred. Not even hers. What was out there?

For Lizzie’s sake, she tamped down the sudden fear churning in the pit of her stomach. “Maybe there’s a storm brewing somewhere. You know animals have a sixth sense that tells them before we ever hear the first roll of thunder. C’mon. Let’s get inside and wash up. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

She ushered her daughter and the reluctant collie into the kitchen and quickly shut and bolted the door. Sagging against the solid oak for a moment, she let out a sigh of relief.

This is crazy.

She’d grown up on this land, her grandparents’ farm, and she and Lizzie had lived here alone for nearly three years. She’d never had cause to be afraid…until these past few nights.

The sturdy walls of the farmhouse were secure around them, and the rich scent of simmering stew wafting from the slow cooker reassured her.

While Lizzie went to wash up, Allison stepped into her tiny home office off the kitchen and noticed the flashing red light on the answering machine. She punched the button and listened to the message from her sister-in-law, sighing at Ronnie’s ramblings.

Just what I need before dinner.

She deleted the message. Calling Ronnie back could wait until she put something in her stomach.

They were just sitting down to eat when the telephone rang, and she reluctantly answered it.

“How’s my single sister-in-law?” Ronnie asked.

“Still single and not looking.” Allison stuck the landline phone between her ear and shoulder while she poured glasses of milk.

“I called earlier and left a message, but I guess you didn’t get it.”

“I had a couple of late lessons today, and we just finished up in the barn.” She motioned for Lizzie to say her grace and start eating without her. “Things have been a little hectic around here lately. We’re getting ready for a show on Sunday.”

“Honestly, Allison, do you still plan on hobbling after horses when you’re ninety? Now you’ve even got Lizzie hooked.”

She didn’t bother to explain to Ronnie—horse-crazy was a condition you were born with, like a defective gene. She didn’t need to teach Lizzie to be a horse-lover. The child had practically been born knowing how to ride. Pony had been her first word.

“There are worse things for her to be hooked on.” She clutched the phone while glancing out the kitchen window facing the barn. Had she heard a whinny? The barn was closed up tight, but still…

“Allison. Allison, are you even listening?” her sister-in-law nearly shouted in her ear.

“Look, Ronnie, I gotta go. Like I said, Lizzie and I—”

“What about dinner?”

“I have it on the table.” What does she think, I never make dinner?

“I mean for Saturday night. Didn’t you hear me ask you over? Jerry’s got this new guy working in his office, and he invited him here. It’ll be casual. We’ll barbecue.”

Allison rolled her eyes. A little paunchy with thinning hair, Jerry Blake was a nice enough guy, but his friends looked too much like him. And Ronnie could be such a pain.

“Does he even like horses? No sense in my meeting him if he doesn’t. You know that.”

“My brother didn’t know a thing about the wretched beasts,” her sister-in-law reminded quietly. “You married him.”

Allison bit her tongue against a sharp retort. The whole Delaney family thought they knew why she’d married Jason. Trouble was, they didn’t even know the half of it.

“Since we have to be up by five a.m. Sunday, Saturday night is out of the question. Now, my dinner’s getting cold. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up before Ronnie could say anymore.

The woman meant well, but her matchmaking efforts drove Allison nuts. Her sister-in-law figured three years of widowhood was enough and for the last six months had proceeded to trot out every eligible male she could come up with in the hopes she’d find one acceptable. There had been other casual dinner invitations, and Allison had even gone out with one guy twice, but when she canceled a date with him to sit up with a colicky horse, he didn’t call again.

Most men just didn’t understand. Her daughter and the horses would always come first. That’s just the way it was. Jason had never seemed to mind, and she’d loved him for it. She doubted she’d ever find another man so tolerant.

A sharp longing for him tugged at her when she ventured back down to the barn later. Flashlight in hand, a prickle of fear teasing the back of her neck, she hurried to investigate the latest commotion. Right before turning in, she’d heard a few hooves whack against the barn walls and several nervous whinnies echo up the drive. Exhaustion tugged at her, but she had to find out what the heck had the horses so riled up.

She slid the door open. Sensing her presence, the horses whickered and pressed soft noses against their stall doors. She spoke quietly to them, as if to restless children, and began again to check each one, pausing at every stall to stroke a velvet nose or scratch a forehead. There were five boarders right now together with horses that could call Allison’s Farm their final home.

In the first stalls stood the black-as-night sisters, Starlight and Stardust, who had come here last summer as a two-year-old and a yearling, neglected, starved, and frightened. Then came Major, a tall sorrel, used up show horse nobody else wanted anymore but who was still a good jumper. Next to him his best buddy Tank, a stocky dun quarter horse, nickered to Melody, a palomino broodmare. Also past her prime, Melody was one of the most gentle of horses for young riders.

I still remember the night I pulled those three from the horse auction.

Duncan, the old gray, had been here for as long as she could remember.

Mystri, her sweet little bay Arab, called softly to her from the stall next to Cayenne, Lizzie’s chestnut and white pinto pony. But the newest addition, Pride, was setting up the most ruckus. When she peered into his stall as he turned, she immediately saw the ugly gash on his left shoulder.

How did that happen? And how had she missed it when they came in from the pasture? Maybe when she’d gone to help old Duncan find his stall, and Pride had just rushed into his, eager for his dinner.

She eased the stall door open to avoid spooking the buckskin even more and spoke in her calmest sing-song voice. “Take it easy, big fella. How’d you manage to get this?”

Allison slid a steady hand along his neck before stopping to examine the wound. It had already started to crust over but must be painful. At about three inches long, the cut appeared a little deeper than she cared to tend herself, but she’d treat it until she could get the vet out in the morning. She hated to call old Doc Brewster this late at night.

In the tack room, she gathered antiseptic and gauze to clean the gash and antibiotic ointment for after. Pride stamped one hoof, not happy about standing still while crosstied, so she had to work quickly. The rest of the horses watched, curiosity keeping them quiet for now.

“Too bad you all can’t tell me what happened.” She glanced down the aisle at the equine faces peering at her from their stalls. “It would help considerably.” When it came to the horses’ welfare, she never took any chances.

When she’d finished, she put the buckskin back in his stall and cleaned up. What could have happened in the pasture to cause Pride’s gash?

First thing in the morning, before turning any of them out, she’d walk the fence line. Right now, she had to get back to the house. She’d left Gypsy with a sleeping Lizzie, but still…

On the path, she darted her gaze to the now pitch-dark woods. Mist crept up the hill, stealing the day’s heat, and it should have been a relief. Instead, a chill rippled through her body at the distinct notion something she could not see could definitely see her.