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wouldn’t be the situation with the horse. She had just bought the old plug to foil Dickenson and his fat buddy’s sadistic plans. In a couple weeks, when the mare had put on a few pounds, Casie would find her a new home. Until then, of course, she’d need somewhere to stay. Luckily, Chip’s old stall near the back of the barn was still reasonably sound.
    Tugging the animal inside the twelve-by-twelve-foot pen, Cassandra latched the door and found a salvageable bucket in a pile of almost indistinguishable rubble. Rinsing it from a hydrant that remained miraculously intact, she filled the pail with fresh water before depositing it on the crusty bedding.
    â€œDon’t eat that stuff,” she warned, but the mare was nothing if not a survivor and had already lowered her head to do so. “Don’t . . .” she began again, then hurried out of the stall and rummaged around until she found a mouse-chewed halter. Lengthening it to its last notch, she slipped it behind the horse’s impressive ears and tied her to an eyebolt in the wall before searching for hay. Twenty grassy bales lay moldering in a dark corner.
    She cracked the nearest one open. It was less than perfect, but certainly better than the mare was accustomed to. After shoving a quarter of it into a hay bag, Casie hung it from the wall.
    In a minute the horse was munching, head cocked a little to the right. The angle suggested dental issues. Cassandra winced. Wonderful. She was going to have to sell her body at the local Whoa and Go in exchange for a loaf of bread, and the horse needed an endodontist.
    But right now, she’d best get that moldy straw cleared away or she’d be dealing with colic and a host of other issues.
    A half hour later, the stall was mucked and bedded. The mare, Bones, as Casie referred to her in her mind, was settled in, looking contented if a little surprised at this sudden change of fortune.
    The sound of her masticating timothy was unexpectedly soothing, sparking a little flame of warmth in Casie’s chest. But it was late and she was exhausted.
    Finally, she trudged up the hill to the old farmhouse. The porch creaked as she crossed it. She stepped through the doorway and refused to let the circle of mold on the ceiling of the tiny foyer depress her as she wandered into the kitchen.
    Come morning she would . . .
    The phone rang, startling her from her plans. Nerves jangled through her. Who would call so late at night?
    â€œHello?”
    â€œCassandra?”
    â€œBradley! What’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing’s wrong,” he said, but she didn’t believe him. She’d been in crisis mode ever since her mother’s lymphoma years before and couldn’t seem to switch tracks.
    â€œWhy are you calling so late?”
    â€œI just wanted to hear your voice.”
    â€œWhy?” Her tone was breathy with worry, but it wasn’t as though she didn’t trust him. Eighteen months was a long time to carry a grudge, and he’d promised never to stray again. The girl meant nothing to him . . . a one-night stand, really, and he and Casie had been at odds for weeks. Not that it had been her fault. But maybe if she had been more attentive . . .
    â€œBecause I miss you,” he said. For a moment his tone was reminiscent of the weeks following his confession, the weeks when he had tried so hard to win her back. Once the battle was won, things had returned to normal . . . but of course they would. That’s why it was called normal. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Where have you been?”
    A sliver of guilt sliced through her both for her lack of trust and her newly acquired mare. She dropped stiffly into the nearest chair. “I took some tack in to sell at the auction.”
    â€œTack?” Bradley was unabashedly city, having spent most of his formative years in Philadelphia.
    â€œA couple old saddles, show halters. That sort of