It’s six a.m. on a dismal Saturday, and I’m standing in awe of a memo sheet jumping across Alec Zavos’s desk blotter in his freezing barn office. My breath forms vapor from the cold as I reason out what’s underneath. Carefully lifting one corner of the paper, I spot a pair of antennae belonging to a silent cricket taking refuge.

“Sorry, cricket guy, you need new lodgings.” I slide a manila folder beneath the memo sheet to capture the critter, then place the bug in the spacious barn breezeway. “It’s safer out here. In the mood I’m in, you’re bound to wind up as my next victim, smashed under my coffee cup.”

While Alec answers email inside the estate, I plan to spend time with Harriet, my thoroughbred mare, a gift from Alec. In the presence of animals, my insights come alive, and I’m able to see his point of view before I take actions that can’t be undone. Alec and I have been on the outs since my thirtieth birthday party in December, and I’m desperate for a new beginning with him. We’re in big trouble; he’s adulting, while I’m being extra—and always—over the top.

“Annalisse, you’re my next breath, my next day, my forever. I love you.”

Weeks have flown by, and Alec’s magical proposal speech during the party skips through my thoughts, reminding me of how close I came to finally accepting his ring. The sapphire-and-diamond engagement ring he’s tried to give me twice, or was it three times? I’ve lost count. At some point, he’s going to stop asking me to marry him. Waiting for the perfect moment to tell him yes will never arrive if I keep bouncing away from commitment.

I sit and pour the last few ounces of orange-and-clove tea into my mug. Cinnamon hits my tongue, then the tart singe of clove as the stable’s office chair teeters on its springs, breaking the silence in a high-frequency squeal. The sound sets off guttural noises from Harriet, who’s waiting for me in the adjacent stall. Glancing at the paneling, there’s something in motion that shouldn’t be. Angel food cake with whipped cream and peanut brittle icing slithers down the dark wood, pooling on the floor. Put there by me. Alec’s wall suffered the brunt of my frustrations over another woman. An ex-girlfriend of his who could change lives permanently with a nine-year-old boy that she says is Alec’s son. That’s Virena’s birthday present to me when she interrupted Alec’s proposal in such an ugly way.

I don’t believe her story.

She’s an intruder messing with our future, and I don’t like it one bit.

Harriet whinnies again to be sure she gets my attention.

“Okay, girl. Give me a second to grab the curry and brush.”

The last of the tea slams the back of my throat. I get up and set my cup on the blotter and snug the drawstring of my sweatshirt hood tight against my head, sorry for leaving the heavy coat on a hook in Alec’s mudroom. We have the entire weekend together―a quiet two days. Time alone we desperately need to sort out our problems, he says.

“Brr.” A shiver rattles my teeth. “Darn it, I brought the wrong gloves too. That’s what I get for hurrying out of the house.”

Winter in upstate New York is stimulating but cold when there’s a foot of snow on the ground and typical because of the blizzard kicking up from the south, as it often does in January. The toasty fireplace in the drawing room and Helga’s pastry platter on the counter are luring me there, but those comforts have to wait. Harriet needs my attention, and I need her today more than ever.

My breaths are forming a cloudbank at the front of the desk, and my knuckles stiffen beneath the equestrian gloves. Hopefully, having my hands on Harriet’s hundred-degree body will circulate heat and oil my joints.

The mare does her side-to-side hoof dance when she catches me standing in the breezeway with her halter in one hand and comb in the other. It’s a ritual for her that makes me grin. Animals have their habits like people do.

Entering her stall, the aromas of horse hide, copper pennies, and clean pine shavings bombard me, notching down the strain from another disagreement with Alec about Virena’s boy, Noah. His sudden appearance at my party is a constant reminder of Alec’s short fling almost a decade ago.

Harriet’s more antsy than usual, bobbing her head at the halter.

“Easy. Stay still, girl. I can’t buckle it while you’re moving.”

Harriet complies as if she understands what I’m asking and follows me through the door to the breezeway tie-out. We’ve done this routine many times; I’m surprised she’s so agitated with me. She might feel the storm’s bite like I do, or she senses Noah’s imaginary shackles on my ankles, making it hard to move forward.

“That’s right; you miss your girl in the other stable, don’t you, Harriet?”

Alec weaned the foals from the mares last week, including Harriet’s filly. She doesn’t have a name yet because Alec doesn’t care for my ideas so far. The Jockey Club has strict rules requiring all registered horse names go through the association prior to approval. For now, she’s merely “Harriet’s foal.”

Harriet flinches, showing me her gums when the curry comb’s teeth rake her skin, removing the flyaway undercoat, leaving a path of shiny, chestnut hair behind.

“Sorry, girl. We haven’t done this in a while.” I gentle the pressure and slow the comb on her skin.

With each pass, a movie plays out in my head where Alec and I hurt each other unnecessarily because of outside forces pushing in on us. My relationship with Alec grows more fragile in favor of strangers appearing and disappearing from the scene using mind games to destroy us. A cute kid enters out of nowhere to weaken and threaten our bond as Alec moves toward him and farther away from me.

I shake the images away and change grooming tools, starting at her mane between the ears, then traveling down her back to her hindquarters, using the stiff palmyra brush. Who could blame her preference to bristles over sharp curry comb teeth?

“Let’s stick with the brush, shall we? I like it better too.” Sweeping her powerful muscles, my arm thaws out somewhat. “What should I do, Harriet? We can’t blame the boy for this. Alec has to figure it out, but he’s ignoring the obvious.” I gaze into Harriet’s soft, twinkling eye. “The more we talk, the more he pulls away from me.”

Harriet exhales as if she empathizes, and I go back to brushing her flank.

My pocket vibrates from a text message.

I draw out my phone and find a few words from Chase asking me to call him at the gallery when I get time.

I do and set it for speakerphone.

Chase picks up on the first ring. “You’re up early, Anna.”

“A lot on my mind. It’s Saturday; why come into the shop so soon?”

“I couldn’t sleep. A package came in yesterday’s mail for you. Gen stuck it on her credenza. It’s addressed to Personal, Annalisse Drury—not the gallery.”

“Hmm. Is it from Kate? Read back the return address for me.”

Paper rustles in my ear.

“No one’s heard from her since she and Ethan left last summer. Please let it be Kate.” I drop the brush and work a hand into my sweatshirt pocket. Ethan Fawdray, who came from New Zealand, used to manage Walker Farm, the family farm belonging to Kate and Ted Walker. I was told that these two people were relatives from my mother’s family line. Well, almost.

“Hang on. The print’s hard to read. It’s an international envelope from New Zealand. Yeah. Someone by the name of… Fawdray.”

Ethan. We assumed he’d left with Kate, telling none of us their final destination. It’s possible that Kate went to New Zealand with him, and it gives me hope of finding her, now that Ethan’s made contact.

As a child, Kate raised me to believe she was my aunt, but the letter she left behind said that she was my true birth mother, not her sister Amy Drury, whom I’ve always known as my mother.

The farm in Goshen, New York, is where I spent my teen years to adulthood, once “Uncle Ted and Aunt Kate” took me in after the death of the Drurys, including my sister, Ariel. They were made-up parents who’d played a scripted part to cover for Kate’s affair with another man while she was still married to Ted.

In her letter, Kate told me that I’m the result of her short fling. A hurtful letter was a cruel way to drop that bombshell after keeping it under wraps for thirty years. Kate and I have always been close, and now it’s easy to understand why. There’s no excuse to slam me on the way out like she did. Her running instincts must be where I get my urges…

The terms aunt and uncle are turned upside down, especially after Kate and Ethan’s departure from Goshen. Kate added one more thing in her handwritten note; I shouldn’t try to find my birth father because he doesn’t know that I exist. Kate withheld the salty truth from me since my birth and asked me not to dredge up my past. Her past, mostly. Amazing. Does she care what I want? Demanding answers to the many questions I have are on hold until my mother decides when we can talk about it. Whenever she decides to return.

When Kate and Ethan left the farm after the corpse was found in the Walker barn—a man killed by Ted Walker—Kate’s son, Jeremy, decided to sell the farm. Kate went to Jeremy Walker for a loan when the crops failed, and unfortunately, he owns the farm now. Jeremy has listed the farm on the market, and I haven’t kept up with the sale because Jeremy selling a farm Kate wanted me to have hurts too much.

“Huh. It’s a small three-by-three box wrapped in newsprint.” Chase interrupts my daydreaming with his report.

“Is there a note inside from Ethan or Kate?” I pat Harriet’s cheek and lean into her musky muzzle. “Forget looking for a note, just open it. I’m dying to know what’s inside.” My lungs swell with relief. Finally we’re confirming Ethan’s whereabouts, and he’ll know where Kate is.

“No note that I can see. It’s tied in twine. I’m gonna put the phone down.”

I stroke Harriet’s long neck with a gloved hand.

“Maybe we’ll get some good news for a change, Harriet. I could sure use some,” I whisper.

“A weird gift.” Chase has a lilt to his voice. “There’s something else in the box. A note. Want me to read the note first?”

“Just tell me about the box. I’m standing in the middle of a freezing barn with a horse—turning into a Popsicle.”

“Oh, got it. There’s a skeleton key inside. The note says you’re invited to Wool… comb Station. It’s signed Ethan. Isn’t that who worked at the farm for you guys?”

“Yep. That’s him.” I’m jazzed about staying on a sheep station, ready to do my own happy dance. “Did he leave a telephone number?”

“Skipped a part. He said it’s the station cottage. No phone number, but there’s an address for the cottage.”

“Is there an email address?”

“Aren’t you and Alec going on your birthday trip to New Zealand soon?” Chase asks. “You can stop in and visit Ethan then.”

“Does he mention Kate? She has to be with him.”

“No.”

I untie Harriet’s lead rope and walk beside her to the stall. A hundred questions flood my mind while unclipping the rope from her leather halter. “I’m going to sign off now and put Harriet away. Would you give the box to Gen and ask her to bring it when she comes? She always stops into the gallery before she leaves for the estate. Alec said his mom was dropping by Brookehaven today.”

“To see the kid?” Chase utters a disgusted sigh. “Did Noah’s mom drop him at Alec’s again?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re it!” The words jar my ears from behind. Little knuckles barrel into my frigid thigh.

Harriet bounds into the corner, whinnying; her ears flatten to her head.

In the cold, a fist punch stings my skin, a surprise attack from a healthy boy.

“Noah, step out of the horse stall. She doesn’t know you.” Or like you. Clenching my teeth with one eye on the kid, I calm Harriet. “Shh. Easy, girl.”

The blond hellion in jeans and cowboy boots sticks his tongue out and stomps into Alec’s office.

“Chase, I’ve gotta go. Talk soon.” Stowing the phone, I limp to the doorway, rubbing my leg, and slide Harriet’s door shut with a glance at the latch. “We’ll finish brushing later, Harriet.” I turn to Noah. “The highway is dangerous to cross alone in the dark. Where’re your snow boots?”

Noah sinks into the chair in front of the desk, gathering a notepad and pen. He happily ignores me when there aren’t any witnesses.

“Did Alec come with you?” The vacant breezeway howls in a gust of wind. “Never, ever go into a horse stall when someone has their back turned. Horses are big animals, and they can hurt you.”

“Duh. I’m not stupid.” He scribbles while making faces at the page.

“Look, it’s too cold to play tag in here, and it makes the horses nervous. If you want to, we can play a game inside before breakfast. Any board game you want.”

“Board games are lame.”

“How about making peanut butter buckeyes with Miss Rissman later? It’s candy. Wanna learn how to make them?”

All kids like sweets, but I have no experience with little brothers or babysitting boys.

“Hellie’s fat and talks funny. Hard pass, Bi—”

“Stop. Her name’s Miss Rissman.” I hold my breath in another jaw clench and talk myself out of dragging his disrespectful bones outside by the jacket collar. He uses gutter language to get attention, except around Gen. Noah knows when to sugarcoat words for the most gain. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?”

“It’s what Mom calls you.” Noah giggles aloud, coloring inside his horse drawing.

There it is. I’m sure he’s referring to the B word, not the weight comment, or maybe the weight too. Nothing would surprise me about her gall. His mother, Virena whatever her last name is, nudges Noah’s opinions. Her knowledge of the dangling marriage proposal might be what’s driving her to push Noah on Alec and against me. The possibility of Alec’s child with this person who’s dropped in from the past keeps me from accepting a marriage proposal until we know for certain that Noah is his.

I tolerate a lot from this boy, but now’s not the time to stand aside and allow Noah’s smart mouth to go unanswered. Trickery is needed.

“I’m going back to the estate to play Xbox with Alec. Wanna check it out?”

“He has Xbox?” His eyes widen at my lie, and he drops his pen.

“Yeah, I saw it in one of the guest rooms. We can hook it up and play; it’s up to you. The fort game is the bomb.” My brows bump for effect.

“Really? Awesomacious. Let’s go.”

“Stick close to me and wait until it’s safe to cross the highway.”

In a shocking move, Noah takes my hand, walking quietly from the horse barn to the road and looking both ways as he’s been taught. He crosses the frozen asphalt, with a layer of ice glistening crystalline in the sunrise, without words, tightly holding my hand.

I act on my plan as we approach the house, but Alec won’t like my deceit in the mood he’s in. Navigating around Alec’s past with Virena from his college days is wearing me down more than I’m ready to admit. Either Noah is his son, or he isn’t. A paternity test is the only way to confirm for certain.

Alec’s wearing a dazzling smile and a turtleneck sweater when he greets us at the estate door. His gaze holds mine for the longest time, where I detect a mixture of curiosity and pride. Noah and I hand in hand must look like an unconvincing team, me in my tea-stained sweatshirt and double-layer sweatpants and the kid in his new puff jacket and fancy boots, thanks to Gen.

“I spotted you guys at the barn. You must be freezing, Anna. Where’s your barn coat?”

“It’s colder than I expected. Excuse me, Alec. I’m going to stand in front of the fire.” Sliding past him to the entry, I hear Noah mention the Xbox. My grin is unseen and as wide as Alec’s was earlier, and fireworks are sure to begin after I thaw. The peaceful warmth of Brookehaven Estate doesn’t stop my shudder.