36
Shannon
Over time, the gifts stopped coming. Her phone went silent. Shifts at Coffee Kicks dragged on, and riding lost its spark.
A hollowness grew deeper inside her, dimming her world.
The bus pulled away from Belfast, and Shannon huddled in the back seat, her hood pulled up. Her mind circled back to her limited options, but none of them were actual solutions.
What could she say to Harry? Tell him his son had beaten her again, threatened her with a knife, and even threatened to kill Trixie and hurt Jamie’s dad?
Would Harry believe her over Niall? Even if he acknowledged it, the prick was his legacy. Not her.
Blood ran thicker than water.
The only other choice she had meant running away from everything. Leaving the loft, her career, and Trixie. Could she even face that?
Maybe that was Niall’s plan all along. Push her into a corner and drive her away behind Harry's back.
When she finally stepped off the bus, the bitter wind slapped at her cheeks, and her warm breath fogged in the cold air.
A thin layer of frost dusted the wooden fence lining the lane leading toward Meadow Dawn. Her sneakers crunched over the gravel, her fingertips tingling with the cold, but she pulled them deeper into her sleeves.
As she neared the yard, she noticed a glossy purple bespoke horse lorry parked near the entrance, the nameAshfieldscripted along the side.
She walked faster, reaching the car park and knocking on the side door to the living quarters.
“Mitch? You there?” she called, but there was no answer.
A murmur of voices drifted from the yard and as Shannon marched to the paddock, Mitchell Ashfield was there, riding a stunning dappled grey horse around a course of jumps.
The horse’s tail flicked and swooshed with each effortless jump, its powerful hooves striking the dirt.
She moved toward Harry by the fence, crouching to give Jackson’s wiry muzzle a quick snuggle.
“Why’s Mitchell here?” she asked, kissing the dog before standing and waving to the handsome guy, who urged his horse into a gallop along the long side of the paddock.
Harry clapped his hands.
“She’s a beauty, Mitch!” he called, turning to faceShannon with a broad grin. “That’s his new mare. She’s a retired racehorse, in the prime of her life. She’ll make a cracker eventer in Brussels.”
“She certainly knows how to move.” Shannon watched the horse pop over a combination of jumps.
When he’d finished the course, Mitchell walked the horse over to the partition and loosened the reins.
“Hey, Shannon, great to see you again. How’s Venatrix doing?”
“Really well, thanks,” she said, beaming. “I’ve secured my place in the finals, so you’d better watch out.”
“I knew you would, but don’t expect me to back off just because there’s a new kid in town.”
He flashed her a wide, flirty grin. “From now on, expect total war. I know you can handle yourself.”
At twenty-five, Mitchel had won more competitions than she could keep track of. The guy had a rich preppy vibe with a popped collar, clean-shaven jaw, and kind grey eyes.
Despite his wealth, he had an easygoing charm that always surprised her. Rumours about his roguish ways with women never seemed to match the guy she’s spoken to at events.
There had never been a spark between them, only a playful rivalry and mutual respect for each other’s careers.
