Ty Borden returns from his first call with a bleached face and haunted eyes. Grandpa emerges from the house and makes a beeline for Scott, who sits in the driver's seat of his vehicle. Dropping her pitchfork, Amy moves automatically, rushing into Ty's welcoming arms and holding him close. He left only this morning, but seeing him after a whole day reminds her just how much she misses him when he's gone.

How Much Amy Fleming Missed Ty Borden :

A lot more than she's willing to admit.

She breathes him in, expecting the familiar scent of soap and hay and horses. Instead, she smells something chemical and metallic and . . . horse. There were horses involved. This ominous combination makes her gut twist with apprehension.

Pulling away from his embrace, Amy studies him carefully. She notes the nervous energy thrumming through him, like that of a skittish, under-exercised horse, overlaid by a shroud of exhaustion that goes beyond the physical. "I missed you," she ventures sweetly, smiling despite her concern.

"Me too," he says. But he's absent-minded, distant, like a wild horse forced into a corral.

"Your first day as veterinary assistant," Amy says, proudly smoothing his coat. "How'd it go?"

How It Went:

"Fine. It went Fine. It was great."

"You okay?" she asks, peering up at him worriedly. A part of her scolds herself for being such a worrywart. Mallory would roll her eyes and scoff at her mother-henning.

A Fact About Ty Borden :

When he's not comfortable with talking about something,

He lies about it instead.

And that's exactly what he does now. As if Amy can't tell. As if she doesn't know that the little grin he offers is fake and the light in his eyes is mustered up out of sheer force of will. " Of course. 'M fine." Plastic words from a plastic expression. A mask.

"Are you sure?" she tries again. Gives him another chance.

"Yeah, I'm sure." That artificial smile widens. "Just tired, that's all." He turns away from her and pulls his small bag off of the passenger floorboard.

Fine. If Ty's going to be a clam, he can be a clam. Amy will figure it out eventually. "Hey, Scott," she says, peeking into his truck.

He waves. "Hey, Amy," he responds. She can tell he's a little downcast, too. Eager for answers, she walks around the front of the pickup and plants herself in front of the door, ignoring Grandpa's questioning look.

"What happened?" she inquires, glancing up at Ty as she does so. Predictably, he avoids her eye.

"Some wild horses wandered down from the mountains," Scott replies grimly. "Had a run-in with some wolves."

Amy's heart skips a beat. "Oh, no." Scott's mouth is pressed in a thin line.

"Most of the horses were fine, but a couple were injured. A rancher corralled those. They'll be fine, but there was a foal . . . "

The scene unfolds in Amy's mind in all it's bloody carnage. Wolves, ravenous after a long, hard winter, attacking a herd of wild horses also worn out by the cold season. Wolves are inherent predators, born with the ability to pick out prey that will cost them the least time and energy. They'd go after the small or the weak; in this case, that'd be the foals. Amy's stomach rolls. Swallowing hard, she opens her mouth, searching for words that don't want to form. "Scott . . . " She can feel Grandpa's presence behind her, and it comforts her, calms her. "Is there anything we can do?"

"That's life, Amy," Scott says resignedly. "I'm kinda used to it." He flashes a tired, half-hearted smile. His smile fades as he looks past Amy. She follows his gaze to see Ty disappearing through the entrance of the barn.

Grandpa frowns. "Is Ty okay?" He leans against the pickup in his best Concerned Father pose.

Scott shrugs helplessly. "He says he is. Just give him time. He'll talk if he wants to." As Scott pulls out of the drive, Amy offers a goodbye that she barely hears. The image of Ty's green face is burned indelibly in her mind, making a bitter taste rise in her mouth.

That night, when Mallory arrives back from Jake's house, she takes one look at Amy and immediately goes on the offensive. "What's wrong, Amy? Where's Ty? How did his first call with Scott go?"

Amy huffs. "Nothing's wrong with me, Mallory." She flips the page of a textbook she's been staring at for the past twenty minutes without comprehending a single word. "And I don't know where Ty is." A note of displeasure leaks into her voice at this point. Ty's been avoiding her—heck, he's been avoiding everyone—all evening, and it makes Amy prickle with consternation.

Mallory gasps dramatically. "Is he okay?" Then, more suspiciously: "Did you and Ty get in a fight?"

"What? No!" Amy twists around in her chair to pin Mallory with her best annoyed-older-sibling scowl. "Mallory, don't you have better things to do?"

"Yeah, like find Ty. If he's eaten the last of my special bagels I'm going on a killing spree." Her immunity to Amy's glower is a phenomenon not understood by virtually anyone at Heartland. Amy grits her teeth as Mallory walks past her to grab something from the fridge. That's when a devious idea pops into Amy's head.

A Devious Idea :

Two can play the Irritating Interrogation Game.

Amy makes her move. "Did you have fun at Jake's?"

A hesitant pause. "Yeah."

Victory. Amy presses her advantage. "So . . . what'd you do?"

Mallory shrugs—which is quite a feat when one's entire upper torso is crammed into the refrigerator. "The usual."

The Usual :

A little bit of video game-playing,

A lot of good-natured bantering that Mallory pretends to hate but actually relishes.

Jake, he just wants to be with Mallory.

Then she gives a groan of frustration. "Ty! You know I was saving those!"

Amy looks down at her textbook, a small grin on her face.

That's when Lou bursts into the room, her usually pristine appearance frazzled and panicked.

Amy stands, the chair scraping across the floor. "What's wrong?"

"One of my clients fell into the lake," Lou says breathlessly. "I've gotta make sure he's okay."

"I'll come with you," Amy and Mallory chorus simultaneously. Lou doesn't have time to argue. She relents with barely a word of protest as they grab their coats from two of the many hooks lining the wall and follow Lou out to the truck. By the time they pull up to the cabins, the client—who happens to be the snobbish little boy Amy was coerced into leading around the corral on a horse the day before—is buried in blankets and stuffed into a chair next to the fireplace. He is shaking like a leaf on a stiff breeze, but that's nothing compared to his mother.

"You!" she hisses, her hair frizzy and eyes wild in the firelight. She points a quivering finger at Lou, who has the grace to look concerned. "How could you put a child in danger like that? He could have died!"

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry," Lou says apologetically. "Do you need me to call a doctor?"

"I've already done it, no thanks to you," the mother—what's her name: Sanderson? Sanders?—spits. Her expression softens marginally as she glances over at her son, who peers out at them from beneath a veritable mountain of blankets that, after a quick inspection of the cabin, appear to have been pulled from the beds and cabinets.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Lou questions, her hospitable, diplomatic mask pulled into place. "I can get more blankets from the house." There is a pregnant pause in which the boy's chattering can be heard by everyone in the room. Amy tries not to look at the kid because she knows she'll pity him, but it's hard not to. Curled into a ball, he's shivering so hard the entire mass of blankets is shuddering.

"Not now, there isn't," the woman grumbles. "It's a good thing that I was watching or it could've been a lot worse. You're lucky I'm not pressing charges."

Lou's eyes widen. "Yes, Mrs. Saunders. Thank you." She dips her head in acquiescence—a very not-Lou thing to do. "I'm willing to give you a discount for your trouble—"

"Don't bother," Mrs. Saunders says crisply. "We're scheduled to leave in the morning anyway." Mallory's eyes narrow with distaste. She opens her mouth, undoubtedly about to give Mrs. Saunders a piece of her mind, but Amy shoots her a cautionary glance.

"We're going to go back to the house now, Mrs. Saunders," Lou says formally, her expression tight with repressed emotion. "Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"Quite," comes the succinct reply.

"Don't be afraid to call if you need anything else," Lou says. Mrs. Saunders merely grunts in acknowledgement, her attention already recaptured by her child. Crouching by his side, she murmurs to him and gently strokes his hair.

Amy grabs Mallory and propels her from the cabin before she could make the situation worse.

The instant the truck door slams shut, Mallory huffs, "She was so rude!"

"Her son did fall in a lake," Amy reminds her. But she doesn't disagree.

"We need to put up a signs or something," Lou says, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Gosh, I hope this doesn't get around. I can't afford to lose clients."

"People should know that it's dangerous to play around the lake during this time of year," Amy says. "They tell us that stuff in schools all the time: Don't go onto ice unless you're with someone, there's no snow on it, and it's been cold for a steady period of time. None of those criteria were met when that boy walked out onto the lake." Dumb city-slickers.

"She said he fell in . . . " Lou says dubiously.

"Baloney!" Mallory chimes in. "He was playing on the lake and we know it."

Amy nods in agreement. "I bet that lady just said he fell in to make it look like our fault," she added. "Besides, Ty . . . tested it just yesterday. I doubt that it's changed much since then."

Translation of "Tested" :

Ty had the brilliantly foolish idea that consisted mainly of scaring Mallory out of her wits.

It backfired.

Mallory pushed Ty onto the edge of the lake.

The ice didn't break,

But he was definitely more careful after that.

"Tell that to the people who might think Heartland is an unsafe environment for their kids," Lou says churlishly. "I'm having Ty put warning signs up all around the lake the first thing in the morning." A thoughtful pause. "And I'm going back to the Saunders' cabin to wait for the doctor."

The next morning, Amy wakes to a dreary gray dawn illuminating a dirty-slush earth. After breakfast, she asks Grandpa if he thinks it's safe to take the horses out for exercise.

Grandpa's Answer :

"Yes, but don't get carried away. I have a feeling winter's not over just yet."

Perfect. By the time Amy walks into the barn, Ty's already pouring feed into the horses' respective troughs. The sight of his tousled hair and shadowed eyes reminds Amy of his perturbed quiet upon his return from his first call. "Grandpa said we can go riding," she suggests. He turns to face her fully, and Amy can't help but gape at how . . . frankly, how bad he looks. "Ty, you look awful. Did you get any sleep?"

The Truth :

Not a wink.

What he says :

"Yeah, Course I did."

He turns away. Amy frowns. "Okay. So . . . do you want to go riding with me later?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." He dumps a bucket of feed into the last stall and walks past her without even glancing her way.

Amy's starting to think that Ty's speaking ability has suddenly been pared down to a maximum of four words. She wants to ask him about it, but Scott's advice stays her tongue. He'll talk when he's ready, she assures herself. Last night, a thousand gruesome visions involving mutilated foals and wolves with bloodstained muzzles dominated her thoughts before she finally fell asleep. She wonders if these same nightmares haunted Ty's sleep as well.

"Ty!" Lou bustles into the barn, her appearance as immaculate as usual. "I need you to run into town to find some signs for me."

Amy takes off before Lou can rope her into it as well. When she walks back into the house, Jack greets her from his place at the table.

"Somethin's botherin' you. You wanna tell me what it is?"

Amy huffs. "Why don't you ask Ty? There's definitely something bothering him. Maybe he'll actually tell you something." She slaps her hands down on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary.

"Ty'll talk if he wants to," Grandpa says absently, flipping a page of his newspaper. "Maybe he just isn't ready yet."

"Maybe he'll never be ready," Amy declares, throwing up her hands in exasperation.

"Scott said it was quite the first call." Grandpa never looks up from his newspaper, but Amy knows he's listening as surely as she knows that Spartan loves jumping.

"Hungry pack of wolves got to some wild horses," Amy informs him grimly. "Sounds pretty nasty."

"Like I said: If he wants to talk about it, he will. Oh, and I wouldn't get too excited about spring quite yet. I heard that there's another snowstorm headin' our way."

"Great," Amy sighs. "That's just what we need—more snow."

"And that's exactly why we need to do something." Mallory rushes into the kitchen with the determination of a woman on a mission.

"Do what, exactly?" Grandpa asks cautiously, peering at her from over his newspaper.

"Read up on ice safety," Mallory replies emphatically. She slaps down a stack of papers that must be three inches thick. "Mrs. Saunders son got me thinking: How much do we really know about safety on the ice? It could happen to any of us."

"Mallory!" Amy exclaims, staring at the papers incredulously. "How much printer ink did you use?"

"How can you be thinking about printer ink when lives could be at stake?" Mallory asks indignantly. "Reading this could save your life. Or someone else's." She's so serious that Amy would laugh if not for the fact that Lou will probably read her the riot act for allowing Mallory to use the printer without permission. Lou's riot acts tend to be exhausting and tedious—not to mention boring.

"Your concern is touching, Mallory," Grandpa says. "But I think next time you'd better ask before using Lou's printer."

Mallory just squints at him disbelievingly. "Unbelievable," she mutters, and stalks away with her head held high.

"So, are you going to tell me what's up with you?" Amy questions, pulling on Spartan's reins.

Jaw clenched and gaze downcast, Ty brings his horse to a stop. "Nothing's up with me, Amy." His horse stomps the slushy ground, sensing Ty's unease.

"And how does 'nothing' explain why you're avoiding me?" Amy counters. "And the fact that you looked green when you got home yesterday."

Another Fact About Ty Borden :

He is not very good at explaining anything that has to do with his emotions.

Ty scoffs and glances around, purposefully avoiding Amy's gaze. "Amy, it's nothing, okay? It was just—I can't . . . "

A Fact About Amy Fleming :

She can be patient.

Noting his obvious unease, Amy decides to back off a little. Over the course of her relationship with Ty Borden, she's learned that pushing usually just clams him up even more. "Ty, it's okay." She directs her horse closer to his and places a comforting hand on his arm. Silence. Ty looks up at the sky, which is a brighter shade of the somber gray Amy woke up to. Amy counts—one, two, three, four, five—before he musters up the courage to speak.

"I threw up." Ty hangs his head, as if he's just told her that he murdered a kitten. "There was a foal at the ranch, a young colt that the rancher rescued. It was . . . " He fades into silence, letting Amy's imagination construct an image in the place of words.

The Result :

Not a pretty picture.

"Scott tried to save him," he says flatly, his gaze hard and distant. "It was too late. Had to put it down."

Ty's one of the few people Amy can read in a way that's akin to the way she understands a horse. She can see past his nonchalant, sometimes insolent exterior to the playful, caring soul underneath. "Oh, Ty." Her heart nearly bursts with affection for Ty Borden, her sometimes-awkward, hotheaded, compassionate, kind-hearted boyfriend. "That's nothing to be ashamed of." Moving her hand from his arm, she places her gloved hand on top of his in what she hopes is a consoling gesture.

"I'm training for veterinary school, Amy." He looks at her with those captivating eyes of his, and for a moment, she's struck speechless. "How can I ever even hope to be a vet if I can't deal with stuff like this . . . and worse?"

"Ty, that was your first time," Amy reminds him gently. "This is gonna sound kinda . . . unsympathetic, but you'll get used to it. Scott said you did really well for your first time."

He stares at her with raised eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Amy promises. Then she offers a warm, uplifting smile. "He didn't tell you about his first time helping with a veterinary surgery?"

Ty looks down, a small smile flitting across his face. "Actually, yeah, he did. Said he passed out."

Amy's smile becomes positively sun-shiny. "See? You didn't do so bad." She leans over and gives him reassuring hug. Ty folds her in his warm embrace, and for a single, rapturous moment, everything seems right with the world. Then he sees it.

"It" :

The Truck.

"You know that Truck?" Ty questions, pointing in the direction of a spot beyond Amy's current line of vision.

Pulling reluctantly away from Ty, Amy squints: it's too far away for her to see much, but she can tell that it's a nice flatbed, a newer model, by the looks of it, and painted a deep red colour. It's resting on the crest of a faraway hill like a giant crimson bird nested in the snow. Just sitting. Watching.

"I don't think so," Amy replies uncertainly. "Who do you think it is?"

"Dunno," Ty responds, his eyes narrowed. "Wanna go check it out?"

It is a testament to his growing maturity that he looks to her for approval. Amy looks down at Spartan. He's spotted the flatbed, and, like Amy, doesn't seem to know what to think of it. "I don't think we should," she decides.

"Why not?" Ty, Ty, Ty. So reckless. So bold.

"The horses don't seem to care either way. We'll wait til Grandpa gets back and we can ask him to take us out to see if it's still here." She doesn't tell him of the unidentifiable force tugging at her, warning her against getting any closer to the strange vehicle. Amy guides her horse back down the hill, and to his credit Ty follows without a word of complaint.

But by the time they return later in Grandpa's pickup, the Truck is gone.

A Bit of Dialogue Featuring :

The Owner of the Truck, And a faceless man with a voice like Ice, Who will stop at nothing to get What he wants.

"You're sure you saw him?" Ice rasps.

"I'm sure," the Owner affirmed.

"I couldn't get close enough to take a picture. But it's Borden, all right. I seen 'im with my binoculars."

"Then you know what to do," Ice says. His voice is a frigid winter wind. Bitterly cold and unpredictable.

"Yeah," the Owner replies. "I know what t'do. I'll call ya when I find somethin'." The line goes dead. The Owner sits in his Truck in silence. Tucking his cell into his pocket, the Owner represses a shudder. The cold created by the Ice's voice lingers.

"Mallory!"

Ty's shouting. And when Ty's shouting that means one of two things.

The Two Things :

1) Something has gone tragically, horribly wrong

2) Mallory has done something drastic.

Mallory peeks into the kitchen, her expression the quintessence of youthful innocence. "You called?"

"You ate the last of the crunchy peanut butter?" Ty folds his arms, wearing an annoyed-older-sibling face that is uncannily similar to the one Amy gave her yesterday.

Mallory shrugs. "There's a little bit left in the bottom," she offers lamely, surreptitiously searching the kitchen for an escape route.

Ty rolls his eyes and snatches the nearly-empty container from the cupboard. "Thanks, Mallory. Thanks a lot."

"You're one to talk," Mallory shoots back, putting her hands on her hips. "I know you took my last bagel! Lou's not going into town for another week!"

"Mallory, it would be hard for me to take your precious bagels when I was gone all of the day before yesterday." Grabbing a knife from the drawer, Ty begins his futile attempt to scrounge the last of the peanut butter from the bottom of the container.

"A good excuse, Ty, but not good enough." Mallory folds her arms skeptically, her eyes narrowed.

"A better excuse than yours," he snorts. "You ate my peanut butter out of pure spite." Ty glances up from his hopeless endeavour, emerging with only a pitifully small glob of paste for all of his struggles. "Besides, if you wanted more bagels, you could've asked me to get some. I had to run into town yesterday."

"To get those signs," Mallory recalls, her attention already focusing elsewhere. "That reminds me: Have you read my packet on ice safety yet?"

"I might have already, if someone hadn't come in here ranting about bagels," Ty mutters, staring at the pathetic amount of paste drooping from the knife. Mallory just stares at him expectantly. "No, Mallory," he answers resignedly. "I haven't read your packet about ice safety. Which just so happens to be pretty useless. All of the ice is melting." He gestures toward the window, which successfully causes the remaining bit of peanut butter to fly off of the knife and onto the floor.

"Tough luck," Mallory says sympathetically. It's strange how completely unsympathetic she sounds. Before Ty can say another word, she strides out of the kitchen, a smug little grin on her face.

That night, Lou is in a marginally good mood—which is to say she's in a better mood than she was previously. "All three of my cabins have been booked for the weekend," she announces as she finishes doling out Ty's sizable serving of spaghetti.

"Well that's good," Amy says, her mouth already full of food. She hopes desperately that none of Lou's clients want to be taken horseback riding. Or skiing. Or anything that has to do with her parading them around Heartland property.

"They were some weird guys, though." Lou muses. Sitting down at her place at the table, she fiddles with her fork, absorbed in thought. "Didn't want trail rides or skiing or breakfast, even." She glances worriedly around the table, gauging reactions. "You don't think it's because of my cooking, do you?"

"I doubt it has anything to do with you, Lou," Grandpa assures. Amy nods in agreement, secretly glad that she won't be busy catering a group of clients all weekend. She knows that her grandfather is most certainly grateful that he won't be sharing the breakfast table with a bunch of random strangers.

The next morning Ty sees it: the Truck. It's sitting outside one of the cabins, its deep red color standing out against the bleak grey of the landscape. Its owner isnowhere to be seen—probably inside the cabin, Ty thinks. Then he berates himself for getting so worked up about a vehicle.

"Whatcha looking at?" Mallory asks, glancing up from her place in Copper's stall.

"Nothing," Ty replies absently, leaning against his pitchfork. "It's just . . . me and Amy saw that Truck yesterday on Heartland property. Wonder what they were doing."Is it possible for a vehicle to look . . . dangerous? he wonders, peering at it closely.

The Answer :

Of course it is.

After Wade,

Ty knows that anything can look,

Can be

Dangerous.

"Dunno," Mallory responds. "What I do know is that these horses aren't going to feed themselves."

"Grandpa, that's the Truck," Amy says. That ominous feeling is back, and she doesn't like it. "It was here yesterday."

"Is that so?" Brushing off his hands, Grandpa squints at the vehicle, his mustache curved down in a frown. "Do I need to have a little chat with the owners of this Truck?" "I-I'm sure it's nothing," Amy says quickly. "They were probably just checking out the ranch, seeing what it's like before they checked in officially." If Grandpa scared away the people at the dude ranch, Lou would most likely kill Amy. Slowly. In the most painful way possible.

Grandpa harrumphs. "They could've checked out the ranch without trespassin' on my property," he grumbles. Amy wholeheartedly agrees.