Cowboy Strong. Kelli Ireland

her deception, he plowed forward in excitement.

      “I’ll have Alyssa make arrangements to get this horse to Ohio State and the Galbreath Equine Center’s emergency medicine team.” He pulled his cell and called his barn manager. “Alyssa, I need you to charter a flight for an injured horse—Fort Worth to the nearest airport to the Galbreath Center.” He paused then shook his head. “No, not Indie. Kenzie managed to buy into Covington’s Dippy Zippy Gizmo just before the stud was injured.” Another pause. “I have no idea how she managed to do it. We’ll get details later. Right now, that horse has to get on his way. I’ll have Kenzie book the next flight to Columbus since she should be on the ground before the horse in order to receive him. Tell the Center to do whatever is necessary to save this animal. Cost isn’t an issue. I’ll call you back shortly. Thanks, Alyssa.”

      Kenzie wanted to puke. The lie had taken on a life of its own and was about to cost her father a hell of a lot of money. She couldn’t live with this, couldn’t let him foot the bill and then find out the truth. “Dad, maybe you shouldn’t do this. I don’t actually—”

      “Honey, it’s all right. I trust you implicitly. You’ll be my eyes and ears, acting in my stead to make sure this horse gets the best of everything.” He pulled her into a bear hug. “I’m so glad we’re finally partnering with the Covingtons and have the means to help save this magnificent animal.”

      Guilt hung in her throat, both bitter and sour. “I haven’t been—”

      “I know you haven’t ridden yet, Kenzie, but don’t worry, honey. You’re amazing on horseback and you’re young still. There’ll be more opportunities for you to chase my record. I’m proud as hell that you’re putting others’ well-being in front of your own success.” He stepped away and grasped her shoulders before meeting her gaze. “Call me with your flight details.” His attention drifted to the horse, who lay in the soft arena dirt, sides heaving, one front fetlock terribly swollen and distorted in a macabre, stomach-churning manner. “You remind me so much of Michael, thinking on your feet like this.”

      She’d lived to ease her parents’ pain after Michael’s death, worked her ass off to be good enough at everything she did to make them proud, and here she was, hearing the words for the first time.

      The irony wasn’t lost on her. Jack Malone, known for his honesty and straightforward talk, wasn’t proud of her based on her own merit. It had taken things beyond her control and one whopping lie to hear the words she’d longed for from him.

      Sure in the knowledge she was dooming herself by letting the truth stay buried, she hugged him hard before starting for the end of the arena where the golf carts were kept. She got a driver to return her to her hotel, stuffed all her belongings into her suitcase and less than forty minutes later was in a hired car bound for the airport.

      She dug out her cell phone, pulled up the internet and paused. If she called her dad now, she could come clean, tell him she’d pay for the horse’s care from her trust fund. She wouldn’t have to live with the immense burden so many lies created.

      She closed the web browser and pulled up her dad’s cell number.

      Her thumb hovered over the call button.

      I trust you implicitly.

      I’m proud as hell that you’re doing the right thing.

      You remind me so much of Michael.

      Confessing now would destroy his pride in her, would make him regret losing Michael all the more because her brother never would have backed himself into a corner like this.

      “Way to go, Mackenzie,” she muttered, closing the phone function on her smartphone and returning to the web browser.

      It only took a few taps of the screen on the airline’s booking page to have her seated in 3A on the next flight to Columbus, Ohio.

      Kenzie dropped her phone in her messenger bag, then settled back into the seat. The image of Ty’s broken body flashed through her mind. She shivered.

      There was more to this than just her father’s pride in her. At least part of the reason she was going through with this was the sheer terror she’d witnessed in Ty’s eyes. She’d felt an emotional connection with him, a shared purpose that bound them together in this. She could save him, save his horse, where she’d failed Michael that day. Now she might set the past to rights by saving Gizmo, and in turn, giving Ty a reason to fight harder to recover, to live.

      And she needed him to live. In the privacy of the backseat of the car, she could admit she cared about him. Cared far more than was wise, no doubt.

      But for a split second when she’d first approached Tyson after the accident...

      His chest hadn’t moved.

      Hers had stopped in kind.

      He’d had no pulse.

      Hers had stalled without even an indignant sputter.

      His eyes hadn’t fluttered.

      She’d been unable to blink.

      He’d been as still as death.

      And a part of her had died.

      The thought alone was enough to make her throw herself into Gizmo’s well-being. Being near the horse would put her near Ty, and it would give her time to work out how to handle her dad. And she could avoid looking too closely, or even at all, at the complicated emotional chaos she’d faced when, for that split second, she’d thought she’d lost Ty forever.

      * * *

      TY KNEW THINGS WERE, at best, pretty damn bad. If someone would’ve taken the time to explain just how bad, he’d have appreciated it. Chances were good they assumed he couldn’t hear them, though. Seeing as he couldn’t currently force his eyes open, it was a fair assumption. But it was still wrong. During the many moments of dark lucidity, he heard every word.

      As it was, the best he could do was focus on squeezing his hands or flexing his feet when instructed. No matter how miserably he knew he’d failed, strangers’ voices praised him. Now and again he’d hear a voice he recognized. That was when he’d fight hardest to open his eyes. The effort always proved too much, but it wasn’t enough to take the fight out of him. He needed to know what had happened, needed to see the truth in the faces around him. Those faces wouldn’t lie to him.

      Yet no matter how hard he fought against the pain that enveloped his brief battles to remain conscious, he continued to surface to darkness and descend into darkness.

      So he listened.

      And heard the same phrases over and over.

      “Cervical involvement at C2 and C3.”

      “Neurological impairment unknown.”

      “Long-term prognosis undetermined.”