Chapter One
“You’re breaking my heart, Buttercup.” Cheyenne McCafferty buried her nose in the gelding’s mane and smiled when she heard him snuffle, even as she tried to blink away the moisture that continued to gather at the corners of her eyes. “Yeah, well, you might think the name is an indignity, big guy.” She straightened and rubbed her palm gently over the horse’s cheek, looking him straight in his weary, lackluster eyes. “But we both know it’s perfect for you.”
His ears flicked forward and Chey had zero doubt that this horse knew exactly who she was, despite the more than decade-long gap since she’d last seen him. Her heart squeezed in a painful knot as she tried, and failed, not to remember, with crystal clarity, the circumstances surrounding that last time.
“Well, I don’t know what son-of-a-bitch let you get in such deplorable condition,” she murmured, working to keep her voice smooth, calm, and the anger tamped down deep. “Although I have my suspicions. Don’t you worry, though. Thanks to Tory, you’re going to be fine now. And for all the rest of your days, too. I’m going to see to that.” She laughed and sniffled at the same time when Buttercup nodded and snorted. “Exactly. I’m only sorry I didn’t find out sooner.” She rubbed his neck. “So sorry,” she added in a whisper.
Chey didn’t want to think about the reasons why she hadn’t known anything about Buttercup’s life once he and his first owner had left the rodeo circuit all those years ago. She’d eventually left it, too, gone her own way. She didn’t want to think about the reason for that, either.
“You two getting reacquainted, I see.”
Chey dashed at the dampness on her cheeks, unconcerned by the streaks of dirt her gloves left behind. She plopped her cowboy hat on her head, pulled the brim down, but kept her palm on Buttercup’s neck as she turned. She wanted the horse to know she wasn’t leaving. Not now, not ever again. A sincere smile on her face, she turned to look at her dear friend. “We most definitely are. Thank you,” she said, those two words never more heartfelt. “For letting me know. I realize I keep saying I’ll do better about staying in touch—”
Tory just laughed outright at that, and Chey knew she deserved it.
“As I may have mentioned in my previous, oh, four thousand e-mails and letters, there are these marvelous inventions you Yanks call cell phones for folks who hate to write,” Tory teased, her British accent always a bit crisper when she was giving Chey a hard time. So, pretty much always. “You don’t even have to actually talk to people, either. You can send these wondrous things called text messages.”
“I’ve heard about people like you.” Chey pretended to grumble, then chuckled along with her.
“I have to say, I was really surprised to hear about your new venture,” Tory said. “You said you were working on a farm now but neglected to mention the part about owning it. And that it’s a lavender farm, not a horse farm.”
“Part horse farm,” Chey corrected. “My part anyway. I didn’t tell you about the lavender?”
“I believe I’d have remembered that bit.”
“I could have sworn—anyway, I’m only part owner. I’m working with rescues, giving lessons, doing some training.” She shrugged. “Pretty much the same thing I’ve been doing since I left the circuit.”
Tory folded her arms and tilted her head to the side, her expression telling Chey she wasn’t buying it. “You mean other than launching a lavender farm complete with pick-your-own lavender, a tearoom with a wonderfully diverse menu, offering classes in making your own lavender products, which you all also sell in your adorable little gift shop.” At Chey’s lifted brows, Tory’s smile merely curved a bit deeper. “They also have these incredible new things called Web sites. You do know your farm has one?”
“Not my wheelhouse,” Chey said wryly. “My guess is my partners had something to do with that.”
“Have you even seen it?” Tory deadpanned.
“Why would I? I live on it.”
Tory laughed, her expression making it clear she thought Chey was a hopeless case where modern communication was involved. She wouldn’t be wrong. “Well, I might have drooled a wee bit whilst scrolling through it. It looks like a slice of mountain heaven.”
Chey’s smile warmed at the thought of home, and she felt her heart fill, just as it did every time she thought of her new place in this world. She missed Blue Hollow Falls. Even being away for just a few days. More than she’d thought she would. Which was saying a lot for a former vagabond. “I like it.”
Tory merely shook her head, her smile rueful. She was the effusive one, not remotely staid or stuffy as one would assume based on the accent. Chey was more of the observational type, not into big displays or chatty exhortations. Not that she was shy. Far from. She simply didn’t feel the need to fill up the space around her with words. She spoke when she needed to, said what she wanted to say. No less, but no more.
“Well, it looks like a wondrous new life adventure to me,” Tory said. “And it looks good on you,” she added, giving her oldest friend a once-over. “I’m happy for you, Chey. I know it hasn’t been easy.”
Chey nodded and was relieved when Tory didn’t go any further. They both knew why Chey had left the circuit, left that life behind. It didn’t need to be dragged out into the open and examined all over again. Chey had made her peace with her older brother’s passing. Owning and running a lavender farm in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, far away from the life she and Tory had led out west, was part of that process.
Chey suspected Tory had figured that out, too, and remembered again why they’d become so close when they’d been kids on the rodeo circuit together. Tory was a champion barrel racer, as was Chey, or they both had been, back in the day. Where Chey was the assertive, in-your-face kind of competitor, Tory had been the darling of the circuit. Pretty, always cheerful, a friend to everyone . . . and a dogged competitor in the ring. Pretty determined outside it, too, as Chey had come to know all too well.
Even as a kid, when Victoria Fuller decided a person was worthy of her friendship, she went about making it happen, and then she stuck by them, through thick and thin. Through years of not exactly being the best pal in return, too, Chey’s inner voice nudged. Of course, Chey hadn’t asked for that friendship then or now. In fact, she’d actively done everything she could to shake the vivacious youngster who’d joined the circuit at age seven when she’d come to the States to live with the American side of her family, all of whom rode the circuit as well. Tory had been to-the-saddle-born in Sussex, England, but had taken to the western style of riding like a fish to a pond and immediately threatened Chey’s title of reigning champion.
Tory had beaten her plenty inside the ring, but outside it, she’d been even more determined, pushing her way past every wall Chey could put up between them. And Chey had been a champion at that, too. Eventually it had just been easier to give in and let Tory have her way. A pattern that had continued ever since. Chey smiled to herself, knowing she was more grateful for her friend’s persistence than Tory could possibly know. Then, and now.
When Chey’s older brother Cody had been killed during a bull-riding competition, Tory had been the only one capable of shoving her way through Chey’s fierce bluster and anger, pushing her to let the pain of her brother’s death in, so she could then let the grief out. Not that Chey had been all that thankful at the time, and she’d let Tory know as much. What Tory didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know, was just how much her persistence and mere presence had meant to Chey. She owed her dear friend more than she could ever repay. Which was why she’d pretty much rearranged her entire life and that of a few others so she could drop everything and drive all the way across the country when Tory had called and told her about finding Buttercup on the auction block.