HE NEXT DAY—FRIDAY—BEGAN with a females-only breakfast. The men were off fly-fishing, which would’ve made Theo happy. I had to admit, it was nice not to have to deal with Nick. I liked to have at least two cups of coffee before picking relationship scabs, after all.

After the meal, BeverLee, Willa and I went upstairs to the small suite where Willa was staying so the bride could try on her dress, which had obviously been bought in haste. For all my reservations, a lump came to my throat at the sight of her, looking like the proverbial fairy princess in the layers of puffy white. Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “I just know this one will take,” she said.

“Of course it’ll take! Of course it will! Third time’s the charm, just look at your mama, right, sweet knees? Inn’t that right? Jimmy and I, well, we couldn’t be happier!” BeverLee darted a nervous glance at me, then refocused on her only child. “Oh, my! You’re prettier than a spotted pup, bless your heart! I just love weddings!” She rustled in a bag and knelt at Willa’s side, tucking up the hem of the dress and pinning it. The gown was a little long, but BeverLee had always been good with a needle.

“Aside from the obvious, Wills,” I said carefully, “um, what is it that you love about Christopher?”

“Oh, Harper, he’s so dreamy!”

“Okay, maybe something a little more…solid?”

“Nothin’ wrong with dreamy, Harper,” BeverLee chided. “Your young Dennis, he’s pretty easy on the eyes, if you know what I’m sayin’.” She paused in her pinning. “Not to mention how handsome that ole Nick is.”

I resisted hissing. “Right. But BeverLee, we hardly know Chris. I’m just asking about his qualities.”

Willa glanced at me in the mirror. “He’s really smart. And so creative! Did you hear about the Thumbie?”

“I know I’ll use mine all the time,” BeverLee said staunchly around a mouthful of pins. “I’ll buy a whole pack! Willard, hold still, sugar, I need to fix this hem, it’s all catty-whompus.”

“And what else?” I asked mildly. “Has he ever been married before?”

“Nope. Never married.”

“Does he know about your…um…other ventures into matrimony?”

“Sure! Of course! I think we covered that in the first hour,” Willa said happily.

“Is he hardworking?”

“Definitely. But you know, most of his work goes on up here.” Willa tapped her temple. Super.

“Will he be working at a job where he gets paid?” I asked sweetly. “You know, financial disagreements are a leading cause of—”

“Harper! Darlin’! You just don’t know how to let go and let God!” BeverLee cried, shooting me a sharp look. “Now Willard, go and change, honey. I’ll get that hem up lickety-split. Brought my Singer for just this reason.” Willa slid out of her dress, then gathered her clothes and went into the bathroom. “Harper Elizabeth, don’t you rain on your sister’s parade!” my stepmother hissed. “Did anyone lecture you on your wedding day? Huh?”

“Well, no, Bev, but looking back, maybe someone should have. Given how things turned out, remember? And today’s not the actual wedding day. We still have till tomorrow to talk some sense into her.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “BeverLee, I’m not saying that Christopher isn’t a good guy. I’m just saying they should take some time.”

“How much time? Two and a half years, honey? I don’t see no ring on your finger.” She shoved her fists into her ample hips and raised a painted eyebrow.

Touché. A pity, because the ring I’d bought myself was bleeping beautiful.

“Willard can make her own choices,” my stepmother said more gently. “Besides, I want grandchildren, and I’m not fixin’ on waitin’ if I don’t have to, and since there’s no bun in your oven, I figure she’s my best bet. Some things are just meant to be, and there’s no point in wastin’ time.” She finished pinning the dress and stood up. “Now turn that frown upside down, missy. We got horses to ride.”

AN HOUR LATER, I WAS eyeballing my horse, who was not named Seabiscuit and certainly did not look like he could come from behind to win a race or, in fact, make it out of the corral, as he was too busy dying.

“Is this horse really okay for me to ride?” I asked the person in charge. Alas, the person in charge wasn’t a rugged cowboy with gentle laugh lines and dusky blue eyes, as I had imagined…nope. She was maybe eighteen years old, tattooed and pierced, full of eye-rolls and exasperated sighs.

“Yeah,” she said, stretching it into two syllables of clearly hard-won patience. “The horse is fine.” She had a slight lisp from the stud in her tongue. “So like, okay? Can you, like, get on, or do you, like, need help?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just…Bob…” And that was another thing. Bob? Bob the horse? “Bob here doesn’t look so good.”

“He’s fine. Does this all the time. Been doing it for eons.”

“Yes, that’s clear,” I muttered, but she was already gone.

Everyone else had already mounted, and only Bever-Lee had required assistance. Dennis, looking wicked good astride a bay horse named Cajun, exuded a Clive-Owen-as-King-Arthur vibe, despite the fact that he was texting someone. Several of Christopher’s park friends apparently did this all the time and sat astride horses that didn’t seem to have one hoof in the grave. Dad, aboard Moondancer, seemed quite comfortable, reins in one hand, leaning on the saddle horn as if he was about to take a thousand head of sheep up to Brokeback Mountain. BeverLee (steed’s name: Cassandra) appeared less comfortable, despite her Texas roots, her pink studded jeans whimpering at the seams, purple leather cowgirl boots at awkward angles in the stirrups, anxiously patting her overpermed cloud of blond hair. Christopher and Willa had claimed Lancelot and Guinevere and maneuvered their horses together so they could make out, which they were doing quite enthusiastically.

And Nick. Apparently his equestrian-enthusiast father had taught him something about horses, because he looked quite at ease on a black horse, ignoring me and talking with Emily, his employee, whose horse’s name was Sweetheart (please). I wondered if she was more than his employee…she was tossing out a lot of doe-eyed looks and dimpled smiles. Good luck, kid, I thought. My condolences. Oh, and by the way, guess what Nick’s horse was named? Satan. I know. You’re telling me.

I turned back to Bob, tried to grab the saddle horn and get my foot into the stirrup. Bob may have been at death’s door, but he was still standing, and he was very tall. And wide. And somewhat swaybacked. After four or five tries, in which one foot was trapped in the stirrup and the rest of me was hopping madly to bridge the gap, I finally managed to crawl up Bob’s side and sling my leg over the other side. By now, Bob’s head was almost touching the ground, as he was fast asleep. I gave the reins a gentle tug, which resulted in absolutely nothing.

“Bob? Time to go, big guy,” I said.

“Okay, people, my name is Brianna and I’m your guide today, welcome to Glacier National Park and thank you for choosing Highland Stables,” Brianna called in a long-suffering, well-practiced monotone. “For those of you who’ve never ridden before—” pointed look at me, still trying to wake my steed “—to make the horse go, give a firm kick to the horse’s side, you will not hurt the horse, to make him stop, pull back gently and firmly on the reins, to go left, lean the reins to the left, to go right, lean the reins to the right.” She heaved a mighty sigh. “Everyone set, okay, let’s go, the horses know the way, just sit back and enjoy nature’s splendor, please stay in line and in case of grizzly sighting, do not panic.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” I said to Dennis’s back. “Don’t bears eat horses?”

“They’re probably hibernating. Don’t worry, hon. I’ll protect you.” My boyfriend turned around and tossed a confident grin my way.

I gave a reluctant smile back. “Thanks, Den.” Such a good guy. And maybe me cutting him off was working, because last night had been full of heavy sighs, tossing and turning from his side of the room. Perhaps a change of heart was coming for young Dennis. One could never rule out the motivation sex provided, after all.

As the other horses left the corral, Bob sleepwalked forward, plodding gloomily and with great effort. Needless to say, I was dead last. The path led into the woods, Lake McDonald glittering in the sunshine on one side, pines and aspen and huge chunks of gray rock sloping upward on the other. Sunlight fell in patches through the forest. The trail was wide and covered in pine needles, the leather of the saddle squeaked, the sounds of the others talking and laughing drifted back to me. The air was so pure here. Even though it was only mid-September, it was cool; someone had said snow was predicted for later in the week, which apparently was par for the course. Clouds scuffed along the mountain on Lake McDonald’s far side, and the woods were rich with birdsong.

My reverie was cut off as Bob veered over to a tree and began eating leaves. “Come on, Bob,” I said, pulling on the reins and trying not to hurt his mouth. “Let’s go, pal. No snacking.” Bob, who may have been deaf, ignored me. The other horses continued on. “Bob, come on! Behave.” I gave another tug. Nothing.

Just then, Brianna cantered down the line of horses. Thank goodness. Or not…she stopped up ahead at Dennis’s side. Perfect.

“Brianna,” I called, “Bob here keeps trying to—”

“Have you, like, ever ridden before?” Brianna said to Dennis. “You’re totally a natural.”

“Thanks,” Dennis said, smiling his I’ll save you, little lady smile. “Nope. This is my maiden voyage. I’m Dennis. I’m a firefighter.”

“Shut up,” she sighed, her face glowing.

“Brianna? Bob keeps eating leaves,” I said as my horse once again swiped a mouthful from a tree, practically yanking my arms from their sockets.

“Have you ever, you know, saved someone’s life?” Brianna asked.

“Oh, sure. It’s just part of the job,” Dennis said. “This must be wicked awesome, though, living out here. Man.”

“It’s cool,” she answered. Or I thought she did…their voices were fading as the distance between us lengthened. Yellow foam dripped from Bob’s muzzle as he continued to chew placidly.

“Bob. Enough,” I said in my lawyer voice. “Giddyup.” That didn’t sound very commanding. “Bob. Move it!” He responded by lifting his tail and fertilizing the trail. I gave the horse a gentle nudge with my heel. He didn’t move. Tried again, more forcefully this time. Nothing. “How’d you like to be castrated, Bob?” I asked. That and another good swift kick got the horse moving, albeit at the speed of an earthworm. But at least we were moving. The sound of Willa’s laughter floated back to me, and I couldn’t help a smile. She was so sincere, so well-meaning, so kindhearted. She’d come a long way from that bed-wetting, pale little ghost I’d first met.

As we got further away from the lake, I could hear the constant shush and gurgle of a stream. Bob plodded along, occasionally favoring me with a grunt or a slight snore. I could see the tail of Dennis’s horse ahead of me, maybe twenty yards or so. He didn’t seem to notice my lag time. I didn’t really mind, to be honest—under the best of circumstances, family gatherings tended to give me hives. Literal hives—I was a redhead, after all. Very sensitive skin. Family events were, in a word, tough. My recalcitrant father, the constant cacophony of BeverLee’s often inane chatter, my endless worry over Willa’s many ill-fated choices. Dennis made things easier…his easygoing nature and ability to see the best in everyone was a good example for a porcupine like myself.

Despite my being far behind the other riders, it still felt as if a line connected Nick and me. That unpleasant buzz of electricity hadn’t stopped humming, and even though I couldn’t see my ex-husband at the moment, I felt as if I knew exactly where he was.

I was good at staying in control; you had to be, if you worked in my profession. You got used to people spewing bile or sobbing or hating you. The worst thing you could do was react. It was just harder than I expected, canceling out Nick. Even Dennis’s good-looking, brawny presence wasn’t helping on that front, and the significance of this wasn’t lost on me.

The beauty of the forest began to seep into my prickly soul. Sunlight cut in golden shafts through the thickening cedars and hemlocks, and the woods took on an otherworldly, greenish hue. Birds flitted and hopped in the branches. Their songs were so different from the throaty cries of the gulls or the rasping calls and clatter of the crows back home. A woodpecker drilled into a dead branch, and in the distance, I heard a strange, flutelike trilling overlaid with what sounded like the bark of a small dog. Too bad Coco had to stay behind at the lodge. She would’ve loved to trot off and investigate. And the smell here! The rich, sharp scent of cedar thickened as we plodded along, and I found myself gulping in great breaths.

God’s country. I was almost glad I was here.

Then Bob did an odd little twirl, nearly unseating me, and faced backward on the trail. “Whoa, big guy!” I said, clutching the saddle horn. Bob made a funny noise—blowing hard through his nostrils—and began backing up, off the trail and into the woods, jerking his head up and down. “Bob! Stop, buddy!” It was as if he was having a seizure or something, shaking and jerking. “Bob? We’re not supposed to—oh, crotch.” All the breath left my lungs in a rush.

About thirty yards behind me, where we’d been just a moment before, right in the middle of the trail, was a bear. A big bear. A grizzly on all fours, looking at his next lunch.

My limbs turned to water. “Oh, no, no, no,” I breathed raggedly, clutching the saddle horn as Bob continued to back further off the trail. “Go away, bear, please, please, please. We’re…um…way too…big…too big to eat…oh, crap.”

Bob came to an abrupt stop. My hair snagged on a branch, pulling hard, and I squeaked in pain, grabbing the lock of hair before it was torn right out. I risked a painful glance behind me…seven or eight tightly knit cedars in a little grove, almost a shelter. Or a trap. Forward was the bear…backward was a wall of cedar.

Swallowing convulsively, I tugged at my hair—damn it! It was really caught. If Bob bolted, I’d be out a fair chunk. Not that I’d mind, of course, it certainly beat being eaten alive. Could I climb the tree? Should I try it? Bears could climb, right? Oh, this day just got suckier and suckier!

Bob seemed to agree. He gave a high-pitched wheeze, then shook violently, as in a death spasm or something, what did I know? “Don’t die on me, Bob! Now is not the time! Calm down! It’s just a…just a grizzly bear.” My voice was tight with panic.

The bear stood there on all fours, shaggy and fricking huge. Even from this distance, I could see its long, gleaming claws. Razor sharp, no doubt. “Not good, not good, not good,” I whispered. My heart pounded so hard and fast I thought I might faint. Which would not advance the case of my survival. I took a breath, trying to think.

Okay. So. What does one do when a grizzly is contemplating your death? Flee? Fleeing sounded good…a horse could probably outrun a grizzly. Right? Or not? Why did I have the oldest horse in America? Why wasn’t Seabiscuit my horse instead? But maybe this was good…after all, maybe I only had to outrun Bob. How about yelling? Should I yell? Yes! I should yell.

“Help!” I peeped, my vocal cords somewhat paralyzed. “Brianna!” Right. Too busy trying to seduce my boyfriend to save me. “Dennis!” Much better—firefighter, big, strong, used to saving people. “Den? Help! Dad? Somebody help me!”

Only the bear seemed to hear. It raised its nose and sniffed. Note to self—shut up. Already, images rolled through my head—my lifeless, torn body dragged off to a den where adorable cubs would gnaw on my carcass. My skull being found by a troop of Boy Scouts, who would deem the discovery wicked cool.

Bob, as if sensing my train of thought, gave a little buck, yanking my hair so hard tears came to my eyes. I clutched the saddle horn. “Stop it!” I hissed. “Don’t you dare dump me!”

Should I get off the horse? No. Or yes? I had no idea! Plus, my hair was still tangled in the branch. I really couldn’t get off Bob. What had Brianna said? In case of grizzly sighting, don’t panic. Great. Thank you so much for the detailed information, Brianna!

And then, blessedly, I heard hoofbeats. Slow hoofbeats, granted…no one was exactly charging to my rescue. The bear turned slightly, sniffing once more, and all the saliva in my mouth dried up. It. Was. Enormous.

“Stop! Grizzly ahead!” I called weakly. “Be careful!”

“Harper, where the hell—holy crap, that thing is fucking huge.”

It was Nick, coming down the path on Satan. And thank God he was here, ex-husband or not! He tugged on the horse’s reins, and the horse froze obediently, Satan’s ears were pricked; he was alert and clearly on edge, but he wasn’t moaning in terror, as was Bob.

“Harper? Where are you, baby?” Nick’s voice was calm, though why he sounded calm, I had no idea. He was a New Yorker, for God’s sake, not exactly a mountain man.

“Nick! We’re over here! My horse is stuck! And my hair is caught.”

Nick tore his eyes off the bear and looked in my direction. “Try not to panic,” he said.

“I’m not panicking. I’m just terrified.”

“Yeah. Me, too. Um…what’s the plan here?”

“I don’t know!” I returned. “I saw my first bear yesterday! You don’t have a gun, do you?”

Somehow, this made Nick laugh. “Well, sorry to say I left my Luger at home. Maybe I should I throw a stick at it or something?”

“No! Cripes, don’t anger it, Nick! You’d think that stupid guide would do more than flirt with my boyfriend.” Bob gave another shudder of fear. One of his front legs buckled, and my hair yanked on the branch. “Oh, great! My horse is about to keel over, Nick.” I swallowed. “I’m really scared.” Bob managed to right himself.

“Okay, I’m coming. Hang in there.” Slowly, without taking his eyes off the bear, Nick leaned the reins against his horse’s neck and gave him a gentle nudge. “Come on, Satan,” he murmured, and the horse, probably defying every natural instinct, obeyed. My heart squeezed. Nick was coming, and God bless him for it. Even if this meant the four of us—Nick, Bob, Satan and yours truly—were a juicier target, maybe there was strength in numbers.

The bear snuffled at the ground but otherwise didn’t move, which was good and bad—on the one hand, it wasn’t leaving, but on the other, it wasn’t chomping on our femurs, either. Bob gave another high-pitched wheeze, and the bear’s head swiveled back at us.

“Oh, crotch. Crotchety crotch crotch,” I said, sucking in a shaking breath.

“Try to stay calm,” Nick said. He was right next to me now.

“Okay, Nick. It’s just a grizzly bear, right? And they never hurt anyone. Those five-inch claws are for show only—”

“Harper, shut it. And hey. Don’t be ungrateful. I didn’t have to come back for you, you know.”

I looked at him. There was something about being around Nick that reduced me to a seventh-grade smart-ass…even with a grizzly bear staring us down. Nick, on the other hand, looked…ironic. One eyebrow was raised, and a little smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “True,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Much better. Here. Let me untangle your hair, at least. If we need to run, we can’t have you stuck.”

“I don’t think Bob’s up for running,” I said.

“Then you’ll take my horse.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay here and whittle a sword and kill the bear or, if that doesn’t work, I’ll just be eaten alive, happily sacrificing my life for yours.” He gave me a look. “Or I’ll just stay on the horse and you can sit behind me. Satan can hold two, I’m sure.”

“Oh, so you’re a cowboy now? I wasn’t aware that architects were also masters of horseflesh. You and Satan BFFs now? Practiced your stunt-riding this morning?”

“My dad gave me a few lessons.”

“When? When you were six?”

“Well, you know, Harper, maybe we should just stay here and bicker until the bear can’t stand it anymore and kills us both. Would that make you happy?”

He moved Satan closer to my shuddering steed, reached over and began working on the task at hand, tugging my hair gently. His body blocked my view of the grizzly, which worried me, as neither of us could see the bear right now, but my options were somewhat limited. I took a shaky breath, inhaling Nick’s familiar, spicy smell. Twelve years, and I bet I could’ve picked him out of a dark room full of men. I’d always loved to burrow under the covers with Nick. Always loved his warmth, his skin, the little scar over his heart where Jason had shot him with an arrow when they were eleven. Nick hadn’t shaved this morning. I could see the pulse in his neck beating fast. So he was scared, too. But he was here.

“There. You’re free.”

His face was very close to mine. Those dark, dark brown eyes…damn. They always held so…much. So much humor, so much disappointment, so much hope. It had always been a devastating combination.

Just then the bear stood on its massive hind legs, and terror, true, blinding terror, blanked out every conscious thought. Nick and I both lurched in our saddles, me pushing him away, him trying to pull me onto his horse, ever at odds with each other.

“Nick, get out of here! Go, go!”

“Get on my horse, hurry up. Shit, being eaten by a bear is not how I saw us ending up.”

“Stop talking! Just go, get out of here. You can make it, your horse is fast, go!”

“I’m not leaving you, but could you hurry up before we’re Smokey’s afternoon snack?”

“I can’t, you’re—”

And then the bear dropped back to all fours, preparing to charge. I clutched Nick’s arms. “I’m so sorry,” I said, surprising myself with the words. Your last words, some quiet part of my brain informed me. We’re going to die. “Nick, I’m so, so sorry.”

He looked at me then. Nick had always been able to stop time somehow. When he’d looked directly into my eyes, when he wasn’t goofing around or snarking or fighting with me, the world seemed to stop as some sort of gypsy magic took root. Even now. Even when we were about to be eaten.

“I never stopped loving you, Harper,” he said gently.

Oh, God. My heart stopped. The bear wouldn’t need to kill me, because those words…they just mowed me down. It’s official. He’d say that only if death were imminent. His face…not a bad last thing to see. My breath caught. “Okay,” I whispered.

A second or two passed. Nick pulled back slightly. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“‘Okay’? That’s all you have to say? We’re about to be mauled, I tell you I love you and all you—”

“Oh, good, it’s leaving,” I said.

Sure enough, the bear…the bear was shambling away, back down the trail. It seemed—dare I say it?—bored.

Nick stared after it. His arms fell away from me. We watched the bear’s large backside sway as it walked away—very calmly—down the horse trail, the distance between us stretching farther…twenty yards, twenty-five, thirty. And then it was gone. We waited. Nothing happened. We waited some more. A long line of drilling came from an unseen woodpecker. Bob dropped his head to the forest floor and began to nibble at some moss. Satan sighed.

“Well,” Nick said, sounding almost surprised. “No harm done, then.”

Delayed fear now put in an appearance, and my arms and legs began to shake. “Should we wait a minute?” I asked.

“I say we should get the hell out of here,” Nick answered. He looked at me, swallowed. “You okay?”

I nodded, looking around. No more bears—not that I could see, anyway. “I’m fine.” I forced myself to look back at my ex-husband. For a long, heart-rolling moment, we just stared at each other.

He came back for you.

“Thank you, Nick.” Then I leaned over and kissed his cheek “Thanks.”

His face flushed, and he looked away. “Whatever. Couldn’t keep hating you if you were tragically killed.”

I smiled. “I thought you never stopped loving me.”

“You can only really hate the ones you love.”

“That’s beautiful. Does Hallmark have a line for that?”

He gave me a look. “Stunted.”

He came back for you. He risked his life for you. My ex-husband put himself between a grizzly bear and my person. He could say whatever he wanted. It just wouldn’t be cool to use those words for any purpose whatsoever.

“Thanks again,” I said.

“We’d better catch up to the others,” Nick said, not looking at me, and without further ado, he nudged Satan back onto the path. Bob followed, back to his leaf-snatching ways, his earlier terror (and cowardice) apparently forgotten.

For a while, we just rode, side by side, not talking. Clearly the others weren’t concerned…my guess was we were a half hour behind them. For now it was just us, and the squeak of the saddles, the noise of the horses, the constant birdsong and the big sky above us.

“So Emily seems nice,” I said.

“She is,” he said. “Very nice girl.”

“You guys dating?”

“Nope.”

I glanced at him, but he was staring ahead. “I think she’s got a crush on the boss.” No answer. “You dating anyone these days?”

“Not at the moment.” He deigned to glance at me. “So. Dennis. An interesting choice for you, Harpy. Not completely unexpected, of course.”

“Why is that?” I asked. “Because he’s a tall, brawny firefighter? I am a woman, you know.”

“So they say. No, it’s just interesting that you picked someone like…that.”

“Like what? Tell me, Nick, since you’re an expert on Dennis, having known him for less than a day,” I said coolly.

“Happy so long as he’s fed and doesn’t think too much. Scratch his itchy spot, and he’s yours forever.” He gave me a mocking look.

I didn’t answer. Nick was wrong, of course. I’d scratched Den’s itchy spot, but I still wasn’t engaged. Not that I’d reveal anything to Nick. The saddle leather squeaked. A rabbit ran across the path, and Nick and I both jumped, then pretended we didn’t. “We’ve been together almost three years,” I said mildly, stretching my time with Dennis just a bit. “Same amount of time you and I were together.”

“I’m well aware of how long we were together.”

“And maybe I love him.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly unimpressed. “What number is Dennis?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just imagine a lot of bodies in your rearview mirror, Harpy.”

Ooh. “Actually, he’s my first serious relationship since you, darling first husband.”

“Took you that long to get over me?”

Actually, yes. “Hardly,” I said. “I’m just pointing out that you like to make assumptions about me so I’ll fit into your world view.”

He sliced a razor blade of a look my way. “Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind, Harper?”

I jerked Bob’s head away from a cluster of bright yellow aspen leaves that jutted out into the path. “You script things a certain way, that’s all,” I said calmly. “When we were married, you were the dedicated young architect who’s heartbroken to find that his commitment-phobic wife was, by your definition, at least, unfaithful. Details and facts are irrelevant—your opinion is the only one that matters. Nick, the noble wounded. Harper, the icy bitch.”

“Oh, so you were completely blameless?”

“I’d admit to, I don’t know…thirty percent of the responsibility for our implosion.”

“Yes. Blame me by all means,” he said, rolling his eyes. “God knows I was such a bastard, working toward our future, supporting us, adoring you—”

“Adoring? Is that what it was? See, I was thinking ignoring. Sounds like adoring, but quite different, in fact.”

From up ahead came the sound of voices. The rest of the gang, no doubt.

“Harper,” Nick said, pulling Satan to a stop, “I want you to do something for me.”

Bob stopped also, his head dropping so precipitously that I almost slid down his neck. “What’s that, Nick?”

“Leave Chris and Willa alone, okay? Don’t…infect them.”

Bull’s-eye. I tried not to flinch, but his words clamped down hard on my heart. I didn’t say anything. “What I mean is,” Nick continued almost gently, “you’re cynical, Harper. You don’t believe in commitment. Your whole job is splitting up couples—”

“See, that’s just ignorant, Nick, not to mention clichéd and unfair,” I answered hotly. “I don’t split anyone up. They’re already apart. I facilitate a legal process, get a fair settlement for my clients and guide them through a difficult time of life. I have absolutely nothing to do with the failure of marriage.”

“Except ours.”

“Yes. Except ours. Takes two to tango, though, Nicholas, dear.”

We stared at each other for a stony minute. This time, Nick was the first to look away. “Whatever,” he grunted. “But listen. Christopher’s had a rough time in the past few years. Willa’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He’s crazy about her, and the feeling seems to be mutual. Can you just leave them alone and let them sink or swim on their own?”

“Rough time how?”

“Let him tell you himself, if he wants to. Or let Willa. But Harper…leave them alone. Okay?”

“It’s just that—”

“Harper,” he said, his voice fast and hot. “I came back for you today. I was willing to let Gentle Ben eat me instead of you. Can you please do me this one favor?”

Those gypsy eyes were angry. And he had a point.

“Okay,” I said grudgingly. “But if Willa asks me for advice, I’m going to tell her what I think.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and with that, he kicked Satan into a canter and left me to wake my dozing horse and join the others.