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  For Lea and Peter—My inspiration

  For Philippe—My motivation

  For Alex—My heart

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As a writer, one of my favorite parts of a novel is the acknowledgments page. I always fantasized about writing one for my own novel and here I am. Dream come true! I will say, however, that it’s so much more daunting to write the acknowledgments page than writing the actual novel. This story may have been born in my over-caffeinated brain, but it came to life with the support and encouragement of so many amazing people. A huge, blanket thanks and hug to everyone who supported and encouraged me along the way.

  But there are a few people I do need to call out by name.

  First, my agent, Marlene Stringer. Since that first babbling pitch session at a writers’ event, you’ve been a supportive online friend. So perfect then that, three years later, you’d become my champion. Your enthusiasm, guidance, and friendship are the best gifts an author could ask for.

  Dream editor Kristin Sevick. I’m so lucky that you fell in love with Emma, Jack, and Jukebox. Thank you for knowing what I wanted to say and showing me the way to actually say it. Big thanks to Bess Cozby and everyone at Forge, for taking such great care of me and my book baby.

  I’m privileged to have met so many fabulous authors on this journey and am continuously awed at the generosity of the writing community. Forever thanks to Erika Marks, Amy Sue Nathan, Lori Nelson Spielman, Julie Lawson Timmer, and Barbara Claypole White, for answering newbie questions and cheering me on. This story would never have made it out of the messy first-draft phase without kick-ass crit partner and friend Laura Drake. Awesome readers Kerry Lonsdale, Jamie Raintree, Jessica Strawser, Kimberley Troutte, and Vicki Wilson—thank you! This manuscript wouldn’t be what it is without you. The support of the Badasses, writing pals at Writers in the Storm, Tall Poppy Writers, and last but dear in my heart, the Women’s Fiction Writers Association, has meant the world to me.

  To dear friends Vicky Gresham, Kim and Scott McWilliams, and Barbie Underwood, who asked enthusiastic questions about my story and the writing process, poured wine when it was needed (and more wine when doubly needed), and never doubted that this would someday happen—thank you.

  My husband, Philippe, who so wisely suggested I try a new creative outlet such as, oh, maybe writing, before committing to a Ph.D. program, and then supported me every step of this crazy journey. Thank you for giving me the time and opportunity to pursue my dream.

  To my parents, Lea and Peter, for the sacrifices you made so I could ride all those many years ago (including walking my horses at horse shows despite being deathly afraid of the beasts) and giving me the confidence to pursue anything I wanted. For reading early and revised and re-revised drafts and never wavering in your belief that my story would one day become a published novel, thank you for being the best role models a girl could hope for!

  And finally, to my number-one fan, the guy who cheered loudest when this book sold, and whose unconditional love fuels everything I do—my son, Alex.

  The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.

  —PROUST

  1

  JUMPING FROG FARM

  The first time I saw that sign I was eight, and believed, with the certainty that allows reindeer to fly and little girls to heal, that this place would save me.

  And for eight years it did.

  For eight years, I spent most of my waking and many of my sleeping hours at the farm, thankful for the friendship from the horses and grateful for the escape from my home.

  Until the accident. Until I was sent away.

  Now here I am, thirty-two years old, staring at the same sign, praying that the eight-year-old who once believed isn’t completely lost. Praying that the horrific tangle of deceit and heartbreak that kept me away is mostly forgiven.

  But reindeer don’t fly.

  And time hasn’t healed me.

  A horse whinnies, setting off a chorus from the barn. A tractor rumbles to life, sputtering and groaning at the call to duty. A dog barks, letting loose a stampede of dogs and cats.

  The sounds of my past life are muffled by the heavy air. It’s mid-September and as hot today as any stifling Maryland summer day.

  “Toad.” A gravely voice skids across the gravel parking lot. “Is that really you? No bloody way.”

  I turn and I’m face-to-chest with the man I adopted to be my grandfather.

  “Simon.” I look up into the brown eyes that had given a timid girl the confidence to conquer her fears.

  And in that heartbeat of a moment, I’m lost. Will the Emma he knew hug him? Or will the Emma standing in front of him shake his hand?

  “Put that damn hand down, girl.” Simon pulls me into a bear hug. With a final squeeze that knocks a gasp out of me, he pushes me to arm’s length. “Let me look at you. Well. Well. Emma Metz.”

  My nerves crackle like a sputtering fire and my face flames. Each day of the past sixteen years settles between us. I’m no longer that shy girl who desperately wanted to fit in.

  “You’re not dressed for riding.” He smirks at my maxi dress, the hem grazing the top of overpriced, custom-designed red-and-white-striped Converses.

  “True.” The word sounds more apologetic then acknowledgment. I run the fingers of my left hand over the sign’s green lettering. “Actually, I didn’t even realize I was coming out here until I found myself staring at this.”

  The corners of Simon’s eyes pinch and his head juts forward to peer closer at my face. “But you are here.”

  I nod. “But I am here.”

  Simon squeezes my shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Toad.”

  Toad. The first time Simon saw me, eight years old and all arms and legs, he’d called me that. Tears swell my throat and all I can do is force a wobbly smile.

  “Later. Right now, I’m just happy you’re here. Come, Rena will be tickled to see you. And there’s another old man in the barn you need to say hello to.” Simon grabs my hand and pulls me forward.

  Jack. He’s still alive. My heart stutters.

  Then clenches. “Jillian?”

  “She’s not here today. Come.”

  I take a step to follow but the bottom of my sneakers feel like they’ve melted into the hot gravel of the driveway, each step a slogging effort obvious even to Simon, because he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  I close my eyes and breathe in the tingle of freshly mowed fields, the tickle of sawdust, and the sweet smell of horses. “I’ve missed this.”

  “You didn’t have to stay away.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Another squeeze
. I allow him to lead me to the barn with a gentle tug. We’re greeted with nickers and whinnies as heads pop over the top of stall doors along the outside wall of the barn. Big brown eyes blink into the sun. Simon releases my hand and reaches into a pocket of his baggy jeans, pulling out a handful of treats. He walks to the large black head with the lightning-bolt blaze poking out of the stall closest to the barn door and offers the palm of his hand. The horse’s pink muzzle twitches along Simon’s palm and the treats that were there a blink ago are gone. The horse crunches his snack and pushes his head into an old friend’s chest.

  Simon rubs behind the horse’s right ear and braces his legs as the horse pushes deeper into his chest. I feel the pressure against my body and rub at my breastbone.

  Why did I come? What’s the point of looking back?

  There’s a clang of wood on metal as someone adjusts a jump. “One more time, Laura. This time, dammit, wait for the distance. Don’t let him dictate the speed. You’re in charge. You. Not him.”

  A smile cracks through my apprehension. “Has she changed at all?”

  Simon chuckles. “Nope. Still scaring the shit out of little kids and big horses.”

  He walks through the large double doors into the barn, tossing a “Go say hi to her” over his shoulder. He disappears into the dark of the barn, leaving me rooted in indecision.

  I walk the perimeter of the barn toward the outdoor arena. A few curious faces stick their noses toward me, hoping for a walk-by snack. I stay just out of their reach. At the edge of the barn, I stop and suck in a deep gulp of dusty air.

  Am I about to make a horrible mistake?

  Or was the mistake my slinking away in shame all those years ago? Shame for something I didn’t do.

  But what choice did I have? We were best friends, “horse-and-heart sisters,” we called ourselves. Without Jillian, I was no one.

  Turns out I was no one even with Jillian.

  I make the turn and stop when the outdoor arena comes into view. I inch closer to the aluminum siding and lean into the corner. One step back and I’ll be hidden from view. One step forward and I’m committed.

  “One. Two. Three. Better. Leg. LEG,” Rena bellows. “Don’t let him slow down. You know he hates going away from the in-gate. Kick him.” The horse scoots forward as his rider gives him a solid kick.

  My head bobs as horse and rider canter around the ring and pop over another jump.

  “Well, well.”

  The butterflies in my stomach freeze. She’s staring at me.

  It’s impossible to read her expression under the shadow of her straw hat, suspiciously similar to the hat she wore all those years ago. She crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight to the right. I remember that stance. I’m expected to move and say something or turn and run. I don’t do either.

  My gut flops and I fight the bubbling urge to throw up. I shouldn’t be here.

  And yet, here you are.

  My right arm starts a slow ascent, pulled upward by a force stronger than my weakening resolve. Rena’s head tilts in a semi-acknowledgment of my pathetic hello.

  Behind me I hear the clomp of horseshoes on gravel. A tall man with a disheveled shock of black hair leads a huge gray to the arena. He smiles and nods as they walk by. His arrival releases me from the grip of Rena’s attention. She asks the man, towering over her by at least a foot, a question and they both squat to look at the horse’s left front leg.

  The flopping in my stomach wins and I slink back, away from the reunion I’m obviously not ready for.

  There’s only one head hanging over the outside stall doors this time. I stop a few feet from the big black horse, just out of his reach. If I were able to unlock my arm from my side, open my palm, and lift my hand, I’d feel his warm breath and soft muzzle. The same soft muzzle that eased my fears so many times over the years. I clench my fist, digging fingernails into my palm. I don’t deserve his comfort.

  “Hi, Jack.”

  The horse tosses his head and snorts a hello. The afternoon sun casts a spastic shadow dance with each movement.

  “Remember the day he was born?” Simon wraps his arm around my shoulder, barricading my escape route.

  My head bobs. Jillian and I had persuaded Simon and Rena to let us sleep in the stable and keep an eye on Cassie, who, we were convinced, would go into labor that night. At three twenty-three in the morning, Jack Flash was born. It was the day before my tenth birthday, one day after Jilli’s eleventh birthday. The best birthday present any horse-crazy girl could ask for. He was going to be ours. Together we’d train him, show him. Together we’d make the Olympic team.

  Together, we almost killed him.

  The truth of that memory lodges in my throat like a jagged chicken bone.

  “I shouldn’t be here.” I stiffen, and Simon tightens his hold on me.

  “But you are. And it’s not just because you missed my charming sense of humor or Rena’s bubbly personality.”

  My lips curl to a sad smile. “I did miss you guys. Every day.”

  Hands accustomed to maneuvering large animals and farm equipment grab my shoulders and turn me around. “It’s been long enough, Emma.”

  The words carry a punch to my gut. My body caves in and I wrench free of Simon’s hold.

  Only to find my way blocked by Rena. Solid and daunting, all five feet two inches of her.

  Her gray eyes spear through what self-assurance I’ve gained in the years since college. You’re an adult, a professional. That pep talk works with the board of directors, with presidents of international companies. It doesn’t work against Rena Winn.

  “You finally decided to show up again. Why now?” Her tone is soft, not welcoming, not accusing, not any of the greetings I’d run through my head over the years.

  “I was feeling restless at the inn. The meeting with my father’s lawyer isn’t until tomorrow. Next thing I know, I’m here.” I’m rambling. I shrug and my shoulders get stuck by my ears.

  Rena scans my spotless shoes, my out-of-place dress, my fancy salon highlights. So drastically different from the girl she used to know. “I’m sorry for your loss. It appears you’ve done well for yourself. Your father must have been proud.”

  Before I can respond, she turns and marches to the lounge, the screen door slapping shut behind her.

  “I’m sorry,” Simon says, the words falling flat in the aftershock.

  Jack nickers and tosses his head, his long black forelock flopping in a come-on-you-can-do-it encouragement. I look into his soft eyes and will myself back sixteen years. Would I have done it differently?

  Where would I be now if I had?

  “What will you do now?”

  “Keep going.” Two simple words, words I’ve been saying to myself for as long as I can remember.

  Simon releases a sigh and Jack snorts a horse’s equivalent.

  “Sometimes, Toad, you have to change direction.”

  The rumbling of the tractor unsettles a few birds from the trees along the front of the stable. The gears grind as the driver makes his way to the fields where the manure is spread every morning and afternoon. How many summers did I spend cleaning stalls and riding that godforsaken old tractor as it bounced and jolted along the fields? Or cleaning tack for the riding school and borders who were too busy to take care of their own equipment? Or leading horses for the therapeutic riding program?

  Simon studies my face. “We visited you at the hospital, you know. Your dad wouldn’t allow anyone to see you. Maybe he thought we’d press charges. Ridiculous.”

  I swallow hard, not sure if I’m making room for the words to come out or trying to push them back down. “Did Jilli come?”

  Simon releases a growling sigh. “No.”

  I nod.

  Had I expected her to come? Yes. We were H&H sisters. We looked out for each other.

  No, you looked out for her. She left you twisting in the blame.

  “Does she ever mention me?” My voice is no more than a sh
iver of a breeze, almost overpowered by the chatter of an agitated squirrel and the fading rumble of the tractor.

  Simon’s brown eyes darken and he slaps his thigh, dislodging a puff of sawdust. “No.”

  The squirrel shakes his bushy tail at us.

  “Rena didn’t seem very happy to see me.”

  He chews the inside of his lip, his eyes looking for an answer in the shimmering reflection from the lounge windows.

  “You know Rena, she’s a tough one. Doesn’t let go of things easily. She’ll come around.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be here long enough for that.”

  Our eyes meet in the reflection of the window. “Give her a chance.”

  “I need to go.” I take a hesitant step backward, then, when Simon doesn’t react, another.

  “Emma?” My name feels familiar in his deep voice, the slightest hint of his childhood in England giving it a soft elegance, and foreign in the scratched pitch that comes with age, a painful reminder of the years stretched between us. “I don’t know exactly what happened. Only that it was awful. It tore our hearts to pieces seeing the two of you broken.”

  My left hand fidgets with the car keys. The jingle triggers a glare from Simon and I squeeze my hand into a fist, hiding my nails. Instinct. He used to fuss at me for chewing the skin at the edge of my nail to the point where I’d draw blood. I haven’t done that in years, but under his knowing eyes, I feel the sting of ripping skin.

  At what point does a past mistake become so ingrained in who you’ve become that there’s no going back? For sixteen years I’ve lived in the shadow of this mistake. I’ve let it take my dreams and stain my self-worth. I’ve replayed the day in my mind, wondering if I could have done something different. Replayed the following days in the hospital, tumbling the words I should have said until they were smooth in my mind. Yet each replay only sharpened the pain. I learned to shut my brain against those thoughts. With each success—school, job, promotions—I shuttered that pain deeper into the past.