Chapter 3

"Whitney! You're awake at last!"

When she opened her eyes the next day, Colton was there, lying next to her.

He touched her forehead, his eyes filled with worry. "Why didn't you call me when you got a fever? Do you have any idea how freaked out I was to find you passed out?"

'Would calling you have made a difference? You were busy with Janice and your kid, weren't you?' she thought bitterly.

"I'm fine now," she said, her voice raspy as she brushed his hand aside.

Colton's brow creased with concern. "You're not happy?"

"It's nothing."

"I know when you're not happy," he said, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on her hair.

"Remember how you've always wanted to go horseback riding at the ranch? Let's go, okay?"

He spoke with a tenderness that harkened back to better days, and began to assist her in getting ready with a soft touch she could not resist.

Just as she was dressed and about to head out, Janice peeked in shyly. "Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones, are you off to ride horses? I'm so jealous. I've never been. Can I come along?"

She caressed her swollen belly, her eyes filled with hope as she looked at Colton.

"No, you're pregnant," Colton said firmly, his brows knitting together.

Janice's lip quivered. "I really want to... It's not good for the baby to be cooped up all the time..."

Her voice trailed off, laced with a subtle plea.

Whitney could not bear to hear any more and turned to leave.

She knew Colton all too well. He was a sucker for that kind of doe-eyed begging.

Sure enough, as she stepped outside, she heard Colton give in with a resigned sigh. "Fine, but you have to do exactly as I say."

Once in the car, Whitney saw that Janice had indeed tagged along. Colton was ever the gentleman, helping her in and keeping a protective hand on her back as if she were made of glass.

However, once they arrived, his attentiveness was all for Janice, as he seemed to forget who he was there to comfort.

"Watch the steps.

"The sun's strong, so wear your hat.

"Take it easy, don't overdo it."

Each word of caution was a cut to Whitney's heart, each one sharper than the last.

Whitney slipped away to the stables, her hands deftly saddling a calm mare.

Colton had taught her those skills himself, on a day she would never forget. On her twentieth birthday, they galloped across his private racetrack from dawn until dusk.

However, the man who had once shown her the reins was preoccupied, lavishing attention on another.

He was full of care and concern for Janice, adjusting her gear with a tenderness that made Whitney's heart ache. He clung to Janice's reins as if they were a lifeline, not once loosening his grip, until his phone buzzed.

A frown creased his forehead as he checked the screen.

"Mr. Jones, don't let me keep you," Janice said sweetly, releasing him from his duty.

"I've got the hang of it now. I can manage on my own."

Colton hesitated, double-checking Janice's position before he stepped away to take the call.

Whitney watched him from the sidelines, the sun casting a long shadow behind Colton as he tapped his phone in that familiar, absent-minded way she knew so well.

"Mrs. Jones," Janice called out, her voice dripping with honey as she rode up close.

"Ever wonder what happens when two horses crash into each other? I've always been curious."

Without waiting for an answer, Janice spurred her horse hard. In a flash, the horses collided, the mare rearing up in panic. Whitney's grip on the reins was iron, but it was no match for the frenzy that took hold of her steed, who bolted towards the fence, screaming.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Janice's grip 'slip', and she tumbled from her mount.

"Janice!"

Colton's voice tore through the air as he lunged to catch her, just in time.

Meanwhile, a thundering herd, spooked and wild, broke free, charging straight for Whitney.

"Colton... Save me!" she cried out.

Whitney's cry was lost in the tumult of galloping horses.

She caught a glimpse of him cradling the limp form of Janice, bolting for the edge of the arena without a backward glance.

A cloud of dust kicked up by the stampede stung her eyes. The reins slipped through Whitney's fingers, and as she was catapulted into the air, a memory flashed before her: Colton's words at that very racetrack when she was 20 years old.

"Whitney, just call out to me, and I'll always turn back."

The ground rushed up to meet her, and the world went dark.

Through the haze of pain, the last thing she saw was Colton's retreating figure, rushing Janice to the car with desperate haste.

The agony in her ribs was sharp, but it paled next to the shredding pain in her chest.

Curled up on the ground, the drumming of hooves drawing near, Whitney let her eyelids fall.