"Across the sea / The space between / Everything you think you know / The things you keep / And bury deep / Underneath the melting snow / I'll follow." – Audrey Assad

Part 2: In-Between

Chapter 3

March 2006

On the morning of what would have been—should have been—Mom's birthday, Amy lay in bed and stared at her curtains, watching for faint gray light to filter through them. She let her burning eyes flutter shut for half a second before images from her nightmares—a bay horse's terrified rolling eyes, windshield wipers slashing frantically at the flooding rain, and a million green leaves falling toward her—flashed through her mind.

Gasping, she shot up in bed. She got up, her bare feet chilly on the wooden floorboards, and walked to the window. Holding back a curtain with one hand, she folded her other arm and stared out at the yard as a weight settled across her chest.

A year ago today, it had been cold and drizzly, but they'd gone on that trail ride anyway. This morning, the grass was white with frost and the sun peered over the horizon. After letting the curtain fall back into place, Amy got dressed in a t-shirt, sweater, jeans, and thick socks and headed for the coffee pot.

Lou was already in the kitchen, where she leaned against the sink and nursed her own mug. "You look terrible."

Amy heard the concern in Lou's voice but shot her a look anyway as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "Thanks."

Lou huffed and turned the faucet on. "You look like you didn't sleep very well." She scrubbed her mug with a frothy sponge.

"I didn't." Sipping her coffee, Amy lifted her eyes to Lou's face. Seeing a tinge of red in and around Lou's blue eyes, she felt some of her irritation dissolve. "You don't look like you got much sleep, either."

Lou shook her head, messy blonde bob shivering. "I had too much on my mind."

Amy nodded. "Me too." She hadn't had that nightmare for months. Why couldn't she have dreamed about Mom's last birthday instead? Feeling a stab of pain somewhere in her chest, she grimaced into her mug. Mom's birthday last year. That sounded a bit better.

Setting her mug in the drying rack, Lou turned to Amy. "Do you know—I don't think I spent Mom's birthday with her since before you moved here." Lou turned away and walked to the fridge, but not before Amy spotted the glassiness in her eyes.

Amy set her mug on the counter. "Well, until last year, you were in school."

Lou pulled a grapefruit from the bottom drawer. "I know."

"And you did call every year." Amy remembered how, after the annual birthday call a few years ago, Mom had confessed she'd hoped Lou would surprise her and be waiting outside on the farmhouse porch. "But I know that was silly. She's doing so well in school, and I know she can't afford to miss even a few days." She pictured the brightness in Mom's eyes—mostly her usual optimism but partly an undeniable, if momentary, sadness.

"I know." Lou stabbed the grapefruit with her spoon and shot juice all over the counter. Muttering under her breath, she grabbed Windex from under the sink. Amy handed her a paper towel. "Thanks." After wiping up the grapefruit juice and washing her hands, Lou held out the other half of the grapefruit and raised her eyebrows.

"No, thanks." Amy opened the lid to the cracked green jar that was supposed to be used for cookies but tended to be used for any baked goods. "Do we have any of those apple streusel muffins left?"

Lou carried her grapefruit halves to the table. "Check the freezer."

A quick glance into the impeccably organized freezer told Amy all she needed to know. "We're out." The weight on her chest settled itself over her shoulders too, and she found herself blinking back irrational tears as she remembered them all—Grandpa, Ty, Mom, and herself— sitting around the kitchen table last year eating those muffins while Grandpa and Mom cheerfully argued about whether they should still go on a trail ride even though it was disgustingly cold and wet outside. Ever since she could remember, they'd always had those muffins today; they were Mom's favorite—

Lou's voice cut through her memories. "There's cereal. Honey Nut Cheerios, I believe."

Amy shook her head and joined Lou at the table. "No, thanks." Staring down at her mug, she drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.

Lou swallowed a piece of grapefruit and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "What did you do last year for Mom's birthday?"

Amy swallowed some more coffee. "Mom, Grandpa, Ty, and I went on a trail ride once I got home from school, like always." She took a breath. "Actually, Ty and I are planning to go for a trail ride this afternoon. We wanted to . . . kind of celebrate, I guess—continue the tradition. Do you want to come with us? I'm sure I can find a really gentle horse for you to ride." Nothing today would be the same as last year, but maybe if her whole family went on the trail ride, it would help a little.

"Ahh, well." Lou bent to dig more grapefruit from the peel, but Amy could see her face flush. "Scott and I are planning to take flowers to the cemetery. So I don't think so. But thank you."

I screwed that one up, didn't I? "I mean, w—we could do something else. All of us. Together." But at the thought of not going on a trail ride at all today, Amy felt the weight of sadness spread and pull down her eyes and mouth so that it took all her effort to look over at Lou.

With a tight smile, Lou stood to throw away the grapefruit peels. "Don't let me keep you from going. We can do something together tonight. Perhaps go through the photo albums?"

Amy nodded and gave Lou a small smile. "Yeah. That would be good."

After stepping into her boots and shrugging on her coat, she headed outside. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she took a deep breath of the sharply cold air and let it out in a puff. Mom would have stepped onto the porch and grinned at way the yard looked: silvery frost on the bright green grass, brown-gray trees reaching up to the pale blue sky. Pursing her lips and swallowing past the dull ache in her throat, Amy trudged to the barn.

"Morning," Grandpa called, leaving Jasmine's stall.

"Morning, Grandpa." Walking past the stalls, Amy noted how many of the horses were already nose-deep in feed. "Wow, how long have you been out here?"

"Oh, a while. I took a walk and watched the sun rise. Sure is pretty out there." He joined her at the grain bin, where they filled the last two buckets. "Then I figured I'd give you a hand and get started on feeding these horses." He shut the lid to the grain bin and looked at her. "How're you doing?"

Amy shrugged. Looking up at him, she spoke softly. "I couldn't stop having nightmares last night." Her eyes stung, and she tried to swallow the pain in her throat.

"Honey . . . " Grandpa reached out for her, and she leaned in and let the slightly scratchy warmth of his plaid flannel shirt comfort her. "You gonna be all right at school today? You can stay home if you want."

She smiled weakly. "I can't. I have a test." One side of Grandpa's mustache quirked sympathetically, and she sighed and stepped away to carry Sundance's bucket to his stall. "But at least we'll go for that ride when I get home. Which horse do you think you'll take?"

Grandpa hefted a bale of hay. "Well, I was gonna spend the afternoon with Lou. But you and Ty should still go on that ride."

Amy put her hands on top of Sundance's stall door. "I—I thought Lou was going to the cemetery with Scott."

"Yeah, this morning. But Scott's gotta go on calls this afternoon, so I told her I'd help her clean your mom's room."

Amy's eyes shot to Grandpa's face. "Don't let her get rid of anything. There's no way she's forgotten about those clothes I convinced her to store in the attic for now."

Grandpa stepped over to Sundance's stall. "Okay, okay, calm down. Lou didn't say anything about getting rid of anything."

"That doesn't mean she's not planning to!" Amy raked a hand through her hair. "It would be just like her to get rid of Mom's stuff on her birthday."

Grandpa's bushy eyebrows lifted. "Did you hear anything that I just said? She wants to clean your mom's room, which I assumed will involve dust rags and a vacuum, not garbage bags."

"I guess." Amy let her hand fall from her hair and sighed. "I just . . . I guess . . . I don't know."

Grandpa looked at her, patience softening the lines around his eyebrows. Amy shut Sundance's stall door and took a breath. "I guess I just wanted us all to be together today, like we were last year. I mean, sort of like we were last year." She pressed her lips together and, blinking hard, stared out at the yard. "Even though nothing's the same," she said shakily.

Grandpa placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "I know it's hard. But we've all gotta figure out how to get through this day—how to feel close to your mom the best we can."

Amy nodded and smiled weakly at him. "Yeah." She drew a breath and let it out as a short sigh. "I guess I'm going to work with Maddison before the bus gets here," she said, heading for the stall where the light bay Hanoverian peered over the door.

"D'you need a hand with him?" Grandpa nodded at Maddison.

Amy glanced up at him in faint surprise. Grandpa helped a lot with the barn chores, but he tended to leave working with the horses to Amy, Ty, and Ben. "Sure, if you want. Could you drive the trailer down by the round pen?"

"Yeah, I can do that." He dug the truck keys out of his pocket.

"Thanks." Straightening Maddison's black forelock, Amy glanced down the driveway and felt worry clench her stomach. "Hey—where's Ty?" She didn't think he'd taken today off—he would've told her last night, it was already Ben's day off, and, more importantly, she knew Ty hadn't forgotten what day it was—but he was usually at Heartland by now.

Grandpa turned back at the barn doorway. "He's running some errands for me in town. He'll be here soon."

Relief washed away her anxiety. "Good." She couldn't take the thought of not seeing him today—of having to go on the trail ride by herself—of having one more thing be different from last year. Letting out a breath, she clipped on Maddison's lead rope, rubbed the star on his forehead, and led him outside.

Jogging along the edge of the round pen, Amy glanced over her shoulder and grinned. Maddison trotted right behind her, his soft nose almost touching her back. She jogged around a few more times, and he stayed at her shoulder. When she skidded to a stop before changing directions, he turned and followed in an instant.

Amy could have totally lost herself in the steady drum of hoof beats—the thud of her own boots hitting the packed dirt—the puff of Maddison's breath on her shoulders—the sheer exhilaration of being connected to a horse with nothing tangible between them—but she knew she needed to make more progress before the bus came. So after a few more rounds, she nodded at Grandpa, who'd been leaning on a rail and watching, but kept Maddison going.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Grandpa swinging the gate open. She ran for the opening just as it was wide enough for a horse, and Maddison trotted through a moment later. She headed right for the trailer, which sat on the dirt path between the round pen and the barn, but she knew Maddison wasn't following. The space behind her felt empty and silent and, sure enough, when she stopped and turned around, he'd halted right outside the round pen.

"Hey, it's all right," Amy said softly, stepping toward Maddison and taking in the tension that widened his eyes and flared his nostrils and angled his entire body, from hooves to ears, away from the trailer. "Hey. Whoa. Whoa. You're okay." She slowly lifted her hand to his face. At first, he flinched when she touched his forehead, but then he glanced down at her and huffed. "You're okay."

Now that his focus was on her instead of on the trailer, Maddison relaxed at least to the point that he wasn't frozen. Huffing again, he lowered his head and shook himself from nose to tail.

Amy gave a short laugh. "See, you're okay. Did I go too fast for you? It's all right. We'll just stay right here for now." She ran her fingers in light circles across Maddison's face.

Grandpa ambled up and spoke softly, an apologetic look in his eyes. "Amy, your bus should be here in a minute. I'm gonna have to move the trailer back."

As Amy did T-touch across Maddison's face and neck, she felt disappointment settle in her gut and twist her mouth. So much for making progress this morning. She let out a sigh. "That's fine."

"You all right?"

She glanced over her shoulder but kept rubbing Maddison. "I don't know what to do with him, Grandpa. He loves to move. He flies over the jumps, and whenever he's in the paddock, he canters around for fun and tries to get the other horses to join him. You've seen him." At Grandpa's nod, she continued, "I thought if I kept him moving—kept him focused on his favorite thing—he'd just, I don't know, follow me right past the trailer and I'd be able to get him closer and closer to it til he just followed me in there." She glanced back at Maddison and felt some of her frustration fizzle when she saw how relaxed he was. He looked so goofy standing there with his lower lip drooping.

"That might be. It's just gonna take more time." Grandpa squeezed her shoulder. "I know you'll figure it out." The shriek and whoosh of brakes drew their attention to the bottom of the driveway, where the bus waited. "Here, let me take him." He clipped Maddison's lead rope to his halter.

With another sigh, Amy walked with them to the barn to pick up her backpack. "Sorry I made you drive the trailer around and stand there for nothing."

Grandpa picked up a brush from a grooming kit. "Hey now. It was far from nothing. You let me do exactly what I wanted to do today."

Amy picked up her backpack from where it leaned against the barn door and shrugged it on. "Really?"

"Amy, watching you work, well . . . " Grandpa's voice grew even scratchier than usual. "You're so much like your mom."

Seeing the mist in his blue eyes, Amy offered him a shaky smile and stepped forward to give him a hug. The honk of a bus horn traveled up the driveway, and she pulled away. "I have to go. See you later." She jogged down the driveway and made it to the bus just in time.

When the bus dropped her off at Heartland that afternoon, Amy sprinted up the driveway. The sooner she got away from anything related to school, the better.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Sundance and Maddison tacked up and waiting outside the barn. "You ready to go?" she called to Ty, who was stuffing something into Maddison's saddlebag.

"Yeah. D'you want to go up to the house and change first?"

"Nope." Amy ducked inside the barn, shrugged off her sweater, and dumped it and her backpack by the grain bin. "I am not going inside that house until I have to. I don't want to see how many bags for Goodwill are outside Mom's room." She put her foot in Sundance's stirrup and pulled herself up.

Ty looked up from adjusting Maddison's saddlebag and raised his eyebrows. "I was up at the house a little while ago, and I didn't see any bags. I just heard vacuuming."

Amy pursed her lips and shook her head. "I'm still going to check all of Mom's stuff later."

Ty breathed a laugh and nudged Maddison forward. "It's really nice out today."

"Yeah," Amy said absently, eyes scanning the tree branches fuzzy with green buds. "I still would've gone if the weather was gross, though." Sundance leaned down to try to snag some grass, but she pulled his head back up and kicked him forward.

They turned the horses onto the path leading up Clairdale Ridge and lapsed into silence. Amy was faintly aware of blue above her and bits of green and brown all around her, but she kept picturing gray and black and deep brown. Despite the warmth beating on her cheeks and through her t-shirt, she shivered, remembering the rain that had misted her face and made Mom's hair frizz beneath her hat. Gritting her teeth, Amy stared down at the black and gold of Sundance' mane and neck.

At least that was the same. She'd ridden Sundance last year—the first and only year he'd gone on Mom's birthday ride. Amy almost laughed when she remembered how grumpy he'd been by the end of the ride, gold coat turned dull brown with rain, glaring at her from beneath his dripping black forelock.

But the laugh couldn't make it past the ache in her throat that came from the absolute worst contrast: the space beside her was so empty. At this point, when the path widened enough for two horses, Mom would always ride next to her. Yes, Amy had been on plenty of trail rides since . . . since the accident, but this was different. Mom was supposed to be here, just like she was supposed to be here on Thanksgiving and Christmas and all those other stupid holidays that were all about family—

"Hey, what's going on?"

Amy glanced to the space beside her, now filled with a watery blur of brown and blue and bay and black. She blinked several times, bringing Ty and Maddison into focus, and tried to swallow. When she managed to force words past the ache in her throat, they came out hoarse and quavering. "I miss her so much, Ty. Nothing's the same without her here."

Her vision had cleared enough that she could see the concern on Ty's face. "I know. I miss her, too."

Pressing her lips together, Amy nodded at him. As Ty leaned over and squeezed her shoulder, she caught the sadness in his eyes. Guilt flashed in her chest. He was so quiet and so intent on helping other people that it was easy to forget he had feelings of his own. She wished she knew how to be there for him.

As they neared the turn in the trail that would lead them uphill, she impulsively reached out and caught Ty's hand, linking her fingers with his. He looked at her, the tiniest lift of his eyebrows betraying his surprise, but said nothing. As they rode like that the rest of the way up the mountain, the grief that still weighed down Amy's shoulders eased the slightest bit. Amy glanced over at Ty's inscrutable face and hoped he felt at least a little better, too.

Sitting cross-legged at the top of Clairdale Ridge, Amy leaned back on her hands and let the sun warm her face and the wind brush her hair. Behind her, she could hear the creak of leather saddles as Sundance and Maddison grazed. Grass swished and she sensed Ty sitting down next to her.

She opened her eyes to see him holding a brown paper bag. "What have you got there?" He offered the bag to her, and she opened it and peered inside. "Muffins?"

He half-smiled. "Apple streusel."

Amy felt herself tear up again, but she managed a warm smile. "Thank you."

She tried to eat hers carefully, holding her muffin over the plastic wrap. "These taste just like Grandpa's," she said around a mouthful of cinnamon and apple topping.

"They are. He gave me some extra to take home once, and they were all still in the freezer." He took her crumpled plastic wrap and tossed it with his own inside the brown paper bag. A grin teased a corner of his mouth. "You've got cinnamon on your face."

Amy pursed her lips. "That always happens when I eat these." She scrubbed at the corners of her mouth and inspected her fingers. "Did I get it?"

Ty shook his head, laughter showing in his eyes. "It's on your nose now."

Amy glared down at her nose as best as she could and rubbed it fiercely before raising her eyebrows at Ty. He nodded.

With a huff, Amy inspected his face. "How do you manage to eat these without getting crumbs everywhere?"

Ty just shrugged.

"Not fair." Amy uncrossed her legs, found even more crumbs speckling her jeans, and brushed them off onto the grass.

"You good now?" Ty asked as she resettled herself.

Amy shot him a fake glare. "Yes, thanks." Shaking her head, she smiled at him.

They sat quietly, Amy lying in the grass and Ty leaning against a tree, horses grazing and shifting behind them, wind shushing through the trees, birds twittering and swooping around and below them. Wispy clouds drifted across the sky.

"It's gorgeous up here," Amy said quietly from her spot lying in the grass. "Mom would've wanted her entire birthday dinner out here this year."

Ty breathed a laugh. "I bet Jack would've loved having to lug a cake up here."

Amy giggled, picturing Grandpa and Ty carefully riding horseback up the mountain and carrying a huge birthday cake between them. "He would've done it, though." She picked up a fallen leaf, leftover from winter, and twirled it around.

A grin twitched on Ty's lips. "He might've suggested birthday pancakes instead, though."

Amy flung the leaf away and turned to face him. "Oh yeah! That was two years ago, right?"

Ty nodded. "Her first birthday I was working here."

Amy shook her head and laughed. "And the last time she ever tried baking something that wasn't from a box. But Grandpa's pancakes were really good!"

"Even if the candles almost fell over and caught the syrup on fire."

Amy sat straight up. "Oh, my gosh, I'd forgotten about her fortieth birthday til just now!"

"What happened?"

"Well, Grandpa tried to convince her to just have a four candle and a zero candle—you know?—but she wanted forty regular birthday candles, so she did, but when we lit all the candles, it was like this giant ball of fire over the cake!"

"Oh, man!"

"And then the fire department showed up because Mom felt like it was more important to take a picture of the fireball and keep the icing from melting off the cake than it was to stop the smoke alarm from going off . . . "

They stayed on the ridge for about an hour, talking about Mom's birthdays, the wonderfully weird things she did every other day of the year, and the impact she'd had on both of them. After they got back to the yard and took care of Sundance and Maddison, they brought the rest of the horses in and gave them the evening feeds.

Walking with Ty down the yard, Amy studied him in the fading light. She'd done most of the talking that afternoon, and he'd just sat there and listened, but he never seemed to mind. Sometimes she felt like he understood better than anyone else—even Grandpa—how much Mom had meant to her. He was such a good friend.

When Ty stopped by his pickup, Amy looked over at him in surprise. "Aren't you staying for dinner?"

"I can't; I'm sorry. I have to pick up some groceries."

"Oh." Amy felt some of her sadness break through the veneer of happiness she'd felt since their afternoon on the ridge. She conjured up a smile. "Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning, then."

With a nod and a flickering smile, Ty dug out his keys. "See you."

Amy turned toward the porch but swung around and headed back to the truck "Hey, Ty?" He stopped, one hand on the open driver's side door, and raised his eyebrows. She took a breath. "Listen. Today was . . . it was a really hard day." She looked up at him and shrugged one shoulder. "Thanks for helping me get through it. You're a really good friend." Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

As she stepped back to let him leave, she saw him studying her face. Amy's memory flashed back to their kiss on Christmas and she felt her stomach flip, but he just gave her a small smile and said, "Of course."

Amy crossed her arms and stepped backward up the porch steps. "Okay, well, I'll see you tomorrow!" Ty nodded, waved, and drove off.

Taking a deep breath, Amy headed inside the house, where the smell of marinara sauce filled her nose. Lou was draining pasta, steam fogging up the little window above the sink in the process. "You should have just enough time to shower before dinner's ready."

Which means I have just enough time to make sure you didn't get rid of Mom's stuff. "Okay." After pulling off her boots, Amy walked straight through the kitchen and, with one backward glance over her shoulder, headed straight to Mom's room to inspect the damage.

Silently, she pushed the door open and flicked on the light. She blinked, adjusting to the brightness, and then blinked again as she realized that, on the surface, everything looked the same. The equine books on the shelf above the bed, the hairbrush and lotion on the dresser, the dried flowers in a bowl on the windowsill—everything was right where it had always been for as long as Amy could remember. The wood furniture shone, free of dust, and the bedspread smelled lightly of lavender.

Pursing her lips, Amy eased the door shut and headed upstairs. She felt a little bad for freaking out earlier, but not bad enough to dismiss her plan to check the basement and the attic (after Lou went to bed) for the bags of Mom's clothes they'd put there last fall.

The instant Amy sat down for dinner across the table from Lou, she couldn't shake the sense that Lou was hiding something. What, Amy didn't know, but as they ate dinner, cleaned up, and looked through old photo albums, the feeling in her gut grew stronger each time she noticed Lou glancing at her with a peculiar gleam in her blue eyes. Yeah, I'm definitely checking the basement and the attic once she goes to bed.

After Grandpa had closed the last album and headed to the kitchen to put away the leftovers, Amy stood from the couch in front of the fireplace and stretched. "I'm going to go do night check."

Lou got up and straightened the pillows. "If you don't mind, when you come in, I could use your help packing."

Amy narrowed her eyes. "Packing? Oh, right, our trip to Ocanumba's this weekend, isn't it?"

Lou looked at her. "Seriously, Amy? This trip was your idea, and you don't even know when we're going. I'm shocked." Hands on her hips, she shook her head and smirked.

Amy found herself bristling despite the teasing smile on Lou's lips. "I've had a lot on my mind, okay?"

Lou's voice softened, but that gleam reappeared in her eyes. "Yes. I know." She sighed. "Yes, well, would you mind giving me a hand once you're finished?"

Amy raised her eyebrows and grabbed her coat from the rocking chair. "All right, if you really want me to."

Lou's door was open when Amy walked down the hall, but she knocked on the doorframe anyway.

Lou looked up from pulling neatly folded shirts out of her dresser. "Come in. And please shut the door. I don't want to keep Grandpa up."

"He's downstairs reading." Amy folded her arms and took in Lou's impeccably clean, tastefully decorated room.

"Yes, well." Lou opened another drawer and, pulling out two bras, held them out on her fingertips. "I wouldn't want him to walk by and see these." She nodded at the door. "So shut the door. Please."

Deciding that it wasn't worth pointing out that Grandpa regularly helped with laundry, Amy shut the door. She crossed her arms again and regarded Lou with raised eyebrows.

Lou carried more clothes over and nodded at the foot of the bed. "Sit."

"You're sure? The bed's still made."

Lou made a face at her. "Sit down."

Amy sighed and sat cross-legged on Lou's tan bedspread. Part of her wanted to grab a pillow and clutch it in her lap, but the other part didn't want to push her luck. "What's going on, Lou?"

"What do you mean?" Lou shot her an innocent look that failed to get rid of the gleam in her eyes before ducking to pull a suitcase from under the bed.

Amy nudged Lou's leg. "Well, why would the world's best packer need help from the world's worst packer?"

Lou's voice was muffled as she emerged from under the bed, suitcase in hand. "I am not the world's best packer." Standing up and holding the suitcase handle in both hands, she pressed her lips together and looked at Amy, the gleam in her eyes on in full force. In a rush, Lou swept her shirts out of the way, sat on the bed, and leaned forward with the suitcase in her lap. "So what's going on with you and Ty?"

Mouth agape, Amy stared at her and whispered furiously, "M—me and Ty? What are you talking about?"

Lou spoke in a low tone. "I wasn't trying to spy, I promise, but I happened to be at the kitchen window when he was leaving earlier, and I saw you kiss him."

Amy held out a hand in a one-armed shrug. "I just kissed him on the cheek. I wanted to thank him for helping me today."

Lou raised skeptical eyebrows. "You could've simply told him 'thank you' and given him a hug. Why the kiss?"

Amy made an exasperated noise. "I don't know . . . " It just felt right were the words that sprang to mind, but she wasn't sure she wanted her sister to know that. Her brain raced back through the day—holding hands up Clairdale Ridge—and the last few months, all the way back to Christmas Day when he'd first kissed her by the back field. She felt her face turn red and the words leapt out of her mouth anyway. "It just felt right."

A smile burst on Lou's face. "Well then!" She leaned forward eagerly. "How long have you liked him?"

Amy took a breath, all set to deny feeling anything other than friendship toward Ty, but then she closed her mouth as it occurred to her that she and Lou were having a normal sister moment—staying up late, talking about boys. Mom would have loved this. She found herself saying, "I don't know; he's just . . . I mean, we've always been good friends, but . . . "Amy shifted on the foot of the bed. "He's really—been there for me this past year, you know?"

She looked down, trying to figure out how to bring up last November without making Lou feel completely terrible. "And when Grandpa got sick and you were—away and then Daybreak got sick—" she took a breath—"he was there. He helped me out so much." She looked up and gave Lou an impish grin. "And then he kissed me on Christmas."

The gleam in Lou's eyes sparked. "Was it a 'thank you' kiss on the cheek?"

"Not exactly." Amy felt her cheeks turn red. "But don't get too excited. We're still just friends."

"Yes, well, of course," Lou said, nodding. "But in a different way than you were before."

"What do you mean?" Amy felt anxiety gnaw at her stomach.

"Well, clearly you have feelings for him that extend beyond friendship. And you've kissed at least a few times; is that right?"

Amy's head spun. "Well, I mean, just once like that, but . . . "

"Amy, I'm not trying to freak you out! I'm simply pointing out that yes, you and Ty are—" Lou did air quotes—"'just friends,' but in a different sort of way. Your relationship has changed."

"Right." Amy blinked a few times and, propping her elbow on her knee, rested her head in her hand.

"Have the two of you talked about all of this?"

"I mean, yeah. Things were really weird for a while after Christmas. I didn't want things to change, and it took him a while to understand why, but then he agreed with me. We didn't want to risk losing our friendship."

"I see." Lou tilted her head. "Do you think you'll get together in the future?"

"I mean . . . we are together. Sort of. I mean, not in a boyfriend/girlfriend sort of way, but . . . "

"So you're not officially dating each other, but you won't date anybody else."

"I mean, I guess. We didn't really talk about that." Amy felt the worry in her stomach start to churn. "But he likes me. Why would he date somebody else?"

Lou placed a hand on Amy's arm. "Amy, like I said, I am not trying to freak you out. But I do think the two of you should talk about something other than horses for once and at least figure out where you are now."

"Yeah, okay." Amy took a deep breath, and the anxiety eased. "That sounds good."

"Good." Lou stood and deftly selected three t-shirts from the stack on her bed. After tucking those into her suitcase, she put the rest away and pulled out all of her pairs of jeans. "But whatever you two decide, remember that the end—or the beginning—of a relationship doesn't have to mean the end of a friendship."

Gnawing on her bottom lip, Amy watched Lou scrutinize a pair of black jeans. "Yeah, but, I mean, you and Carl aren't still friends."

Lou's eyebrows arched impossibly toward her hairline. "Carl was a complete and total ass. Ty is not. Far from that, in fact. But Amy, please don't go into this thinking, 'Oh, my God, we're going to break up someday.' That'll just ruin everything right from the start. Enjoy yourselves."

Amy blinked, thinking of how much strain her fear had put on her and Ty's friendship when things had first started changing. She smiled at Lou. "You know, sometimes you make a lot of sense."

Lou scrunched her nose. "Thank you so much." She tucked the black jeans into her suitcase. "And please, for goodness' sake, if he asks you if you want to be his girlfriend, do not say, 'Okay, if you want me to be' or anything like that. Do not be like Rory and Dean. Well, more specifically, I suppose, do not be like Dean."

"Who? Okay, I take back what I said about you making a lot of sense sometimes."

Lou looked up from stuffing socks into a compartment on the outside of her suitcase. "You've never seen—never mind." She zipped the compartment shut and nodded toward the bedpost. "Hand me that jacket, please."

Amy plucked the jacket from the bedpost and held it out. "I also take back what I said about you being the world's best packer. At this rate, you won't be finished packing until midnight."

Lou just threw a pillow at her head.

For the second night in a row, Amy got hardly any sleep. She lay awake and stared at the shadowy Breyer Thoroughbred on her dresser and thought about what she would say if Ty did ask her to be his girlfriend.

Ty loved horses, Heartland, and her family. They worked so well together. He listened patiently, even when she took a while to figure out how to express herself. She couldn't imagine a better boyfriend.

So what was still holding her back? She couldn't figure it out. She knew they didn't have to be like all the other irritating couples she knew from school—all gross and cutesy and holding hands one minute and being paranoid and jealous and fighting over completely stupid stuff the next. And she knew Lou was right about not letting the fear of a future breakup ruin what they could enjoy now.

The realization that she felt more than friendship toward Ty had completely freaked her out at first. She'd never really had a crush on anybody before, and she'd never imagined having one on someone she'd only ever considered a best friend. But now she was comfortable with the way she felt around and toward him. She liked it when they were off by themselves and he'd kiss her on the forehead or she'd rest her head on his shoulder.

So . . . nothing. There's nothing holding me back. Amy rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, feeling a rush of nervous excitement. I want this. We'll make it work.

She rolled back over and resumed staring at the Breyer Thoroughbred. But what if Ty had changed his mind? He hadn't pulled away when she'd taken his hand or kissed his cheek. But what if he'd done those things entirely for her?

Letting out a sigh, Amy shut her eyes. All she could do was talk to him tomorrow—er, today.

Amy woke early, filled the enormous coffee Thermos to the top, and carried it with her to the barn to get as many of the morning chores done as possible. Ben was working today, which meant she and Ty would need to go for another trail ride if they were going to talk. So she filled buckets and mucked out stalls and managed to calm her nerves to an occasional flutter that only worked itself around her stomach if she paused and thought for a moment too long.

But the flutter came back in full force when she heard Ty's pickup pull into the yard. She took a deep breath and kept tacking up Sundance. She tried to convince herself she was just feeling this way because they hadn't talked yet.

That had better be true. I don't know if I can handle feeling this way all the time. Where was that feeling of rightness she'd had last night—this morning?

Ty strode into the barn and smiled at her. "Hey."

Oh, right. There it was. She smiled back. "Good morning."

Ty crossed his arms, looking around. "Wow, you've gotten a lot done already." He nodded at Sundance. "Trying to get a ride in before school?"

"Actually I was hoping you'd come with me." Amy took a breath. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Ty shot her a curious look but simply said, "Okay. I'll take Maddison again."

After he quickly tacked Maddison up and scrawled a note to Ben on the chalkboard, they ambled down the yard. "Hey, you okay with the shortcut to Teak's Hill?" Ty asked over his shoulder.

"That's fine." Their voices and the horses' hoofbeats echoed in the still morning air, and Amy decided to wait until they were completely in the woods before starting the conversation. As they cut behind the farmhouse and through the back field, Amy fought the urge to kick Sundance into a gallop and reach the wide dirt path in the woods as quickly as possible. The grass was slick with beads of dew, so she plodded along and tried to stay calm so that Sundance wouldn't sense her tension and break into a gallop all on his own.

The instant they entered the woods, Amy looked over at Ty. "So, can I talk to you about something?" Her voice sounded slightly breathless to her own ears.

Ty raised his eyebrows. "I thought that's why we went on this ride in the first place."

"Right." She breathed deeply. "Remember a couple months ago, after we—after Christmas, when I said I didn't want things to change?"

Ty nodded, a hint of expectancy in his eyes.

Amy leaned forward in her saddle as the path angled upward through the brush. "Well, whether I liked it—at first—or not, things did change. I mean, you felt it too, didn't you?"

Ty pulled Maddison's head away from some tree branches. "Yeah, definitely."

Amy shot him a tentative look. "You—you still feel that way, right?"

He gave her a warm smile. "Yeah, I do."

"Okay, good, because—because even though it was really weird for me at first to feel—" she flung out a hand—"this way about you, I've gotten used to it. Not in a 'Oh, well, I guess I'm used to this' sort of way. I mean it feels right. This—us—feels right. So I guess—what does that mean for us?"

Ty's eyes narrowed slightly and his tone was apologetic. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Amy ducked under a tree branch Ty did his best to hold out of her way. "I guess I mean—are we friends, are we more-than-friends, are we—?"

Ty ducked under the branch himself. "To be honest, I've thought of us as more than friends for a while."

"Okay," Amy said, nodding. "So . . . I guess what I'm trying to say is—could we be more than that, even, you think?" She looked over at him, hoping for at least his usual half-smile. But the full-fledged grin on his face took her breath away.

"I think we could be, yeah."

Amy felt a grin tug at her own lips. "So, just to be clear, we're boyfriend and girlfriend, right?"

"Sounds good to me." And in the middle of the trail in the middle of the woods, Ty stopped his horse, leaned over, and kissed her.

Seeing the complete happiness in his eyes when the pulled away, Amy knew this was the right thing for them. "Me too."

When they rode back into the yard from behind the farmhouse, Lou was standing on the porch with a cup of coffee. She caught Amy's eye and arched a pale eyebrow. Amy shot her a grin and a thumbs up, and Lou tightened her hands into gleeful fists. "Yes!" she mouthed.

Amy just laughed and looked over at Ty—her boyfriend—and realized she couldn't stop smiling if she tried.

Thank you, everyone, for your patience as I wrote this chapter. It's the first full chapter I've written since publishing this story back in November. I have a full-time job as a college bookstore supervisor as well as a side job as a freelance editor, so it can be difficult to find the time—and the inspiration—to write. I will try to finish the next chapter more quickly than I did this one, but unfortunately I can't make any promises. But please rest assured that I do plan to continue writing this story. It has been in my head and my heart for years, and it needs to be written.

As always, a link to chapter commentary can be found on my profile.