Author: Tiffany Reisz

Nora stammered and shook her head. “—I don’t know, Wes. I mean, are you asking what I think—”

“Dammit, Nora. You always have to make things harder than they are. Will you marry me? That’s what I’m asking. Yes? No? Maybe?”

Nora pulled her hand away from his, but took the ring. He waited, praying she’d put it on her finger. Instead, she only stared at it.

“It was my great-great-grandmother’s on my mom’s side. It would have been my sister’s had I had one. Lucky me—only child.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“They said my great-great-grandmother was the most beautiful woman in all of Georgia in her day. She had men fighting duels over her. I thought that was the craziest thing—two guys killing each other over a girl. Then I met you and I swear the thought of seeing Søren’s body being dragged through the streets behind Farewell to Charms made me smile like nothing else.”

“I’ve had the same thought a few times,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But, Wesley—”

“No buts. You don’t have to answer. You can think about it if you need to. I hope you don’t need to, but if you do…then you do. Actually, don’t answer. Don’t say anything about it. Just think about it. You can tell me yes, no or maybe when we get back to the barn. Okay?”

Nora took a shallow breath as she studied the ring in her palm. Wesley didn’t know much about it other than his mom had once said something about ten carats and two million dollars.

“Okay…” Nora wrapped her hand tightly around the ring and held it close to her chest.

“We’ll head back. We shouldn’t talk on the way down, anyway. It’s pretty steep.”

“Lips are sealed.”

Wesley watched as Nora slipped the ring onto her thumb—close enough to her ring finger to give him hope—before taking up her reins again. They started back down the hill, the only words spoken between them the occasional “watch out there—big rock” and an “I see it.”

A half hour later they made it back to the stables. The return trip had been torturous with waiting, and yet Wesley loved Nora enough not to panic her or push her.

He forced himself to go slow with the horses, to take his time. He unsaddled them carefully and brushed them both down—actions that calmed his racing, waiting heart. He wanted to rush, to get it over with and find out Nora’s answer. But he feared the answer as much as he wanted it, and so went as slowly as he could, delaying what he feared was the inevitable.

“Good girl,” Wesley said to Nickity as he put her back in her stall and offered her a fistful of oats.

“Nice to have such a pretty girl eating out of the palm of your hand, isn’t it?” Nora asked as he ran his hand down the horse’s long nose.

“She’s really not the girl I’ve got my heart set on.”

“Too bad. I hear she’s kinky.”

“Let me guess—she likes riding crops and pony play?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Nora…”

Nora sighed and raised her hand to Wesley’s face.

“Goddammit, I missed you while we were apart. I wish you knew how much.”

“I know how much I missed you, and never want to feel that way again. And I know we never have to. Just say yes. You know he can’t give you the life I can. You know he can’t…Nora?”

Nora’s eyes had left his face and now looked over his shoulder. Wesley glanced back and saw nothing but shadows in the corner of the stable.

“Nora?”

She said nothing, but Wesley saw fear in her eyes. Fear? Of who? Of what? They were alone apart from the horses. Did the thought of marrying him scare her that much?

“Nora, please. What—”

“Yes.” She looked up at him as she wrenched the diamond off her thumb and shoved it onto her ring finger. “Yes, I love you. I’ll marry you. Let’s go tell your parents so they can start the freaking out immediately.”

Wesley nearly collapsed into the straw. His relief trumped even his happiness.

“Thank God.” He started to drag her into his arms, but Nora pulled away.

“Now. Let’s go tell the fam. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and started to yank him forward.

“I don’t even get to kiss you—”

And the world went black and stayed black for a long time. A few minutes, a few hours, he didn’t know and couldn’t tell. When he woke up, all he knew was pain.

Pain, such pain…he’d never known pain like this before. Wesley slowly forced his eyes open and found himself facedown in the straw, still in the stall. Everything hurt…maybe. His head ached so violently he couldn’t even be certain the rest of his body still existed.

“Nora?” Her name came out with the force of a cough. Wesley heard no answer. Pulling himself to his hands and knees, he looked around and found the usually flat, trampled down straw a mess, as though someone had wrestled in it.

He called Nora’s name again as he lifted his hand to the back of his head. His fingers came away red and sticky with blood.

“Oh, shit…” Wesley nearly vomited at the sight of his own blood. Someone…someone had hit him in the head. But where was Nora?

Two parallel lines in the straw led from Nickity’s stall to the stable door. Someone had been dragged, the heels of their boots cutting through the bedding.

Dragged…blood…the fear in Nora’s eyes…

Wesley half ran, half stumbled toward the door. He had to get out, get his parents, call the police...

He had to find Nora.

But he stopped before he touched the door. In the wood someone had carved five words—the five most terrible words Wesley had ever read, even though he couldn’t read them. And he knew he couldn’t tell his parents, couldn’t call the police, could do nothing but pull his cell phone out of his pocket and dial a number he wished he didn’t know. His instincts, however, told him this was the only number he should call.

The phone answered on the first ring.

“Søren…it’s Wesley.” He choked on the words. He’d throw up any minute now. But he had to get it out. He stared at the words carved on the stall door.

“Wesley? What is it? Where’s Eleanor?”

“Je vais tuer la salope. What does that mean?”

“It’s French,” Søren said, sounding both furious and deadly. “It means ‘I will kill the bitch.’ Wesley…where is Eleanor?”

“I don’t know. Someone has her.”

“What do you mean, someone has Eleanor?”

As a small child Wesley had heard the phrase “the wrath of God” in church, and sat and wondered what that meant, what that sounded like.

Now he knew.

“Søren…she’s gone.”