Secrets and Shadows Read Free Page A

window, barely noticing any of Junction’s Main Street drifting by, its little trees nearly naked as a few dried orange and yel ow leaves stil held tight, waving in the sharp autumn breeze. An unseasonable cold held Junction in its grasp and even back when we’d thought it was too early for Hal oween displays, the dropping leaves and plummeting back when we’d thought it was too early for Hal oween displays, the dropping leaves and plummeting temperatures made it somehow fitting.
    The three o’clock train shrieked out a whistle, the rattle of its cars muted by a few blocks of the town’s most bustling real estate.
    Dad pul ed into the parking lot at McMil an’s. “Just need milk and bread,” he explained as he shut down the truck.
    “Skipper’s has better prices,” I reminded.
    He shot me a look that shut me right up. He would never go back to Skipper’s. It shared a parking lot with the local video rental store. The rental store I was standing outside when Mom came to pick me up the night of June 17.
    The same night Sarah, on a joyride, crashed into Mom’s car and kil ed her. Dad forgave Sarah’s stupidity and brusquely accepted the new subdued Sarah (amazing what severe head trauma could do to improve a personality), fol owing my lead.
    But the scene of the accident couldn’t change enough for him to move on. The macadam and the surrounding buildings held too many memories. I knew. They’d frequently been the backdrop for my nightmares.
    Until the night the Rusakova twins’ birthday gave me vivid new imagery to replace the old.
    My family had come a long way since the accident. But most days I didn’t think we could ever come far enough.
    I tried to ignore the decorations in the local store windows on the ride home, skeletons and glowing spiders in polyester webs reminding al of Junction that Hal oween was crawling ever closer.
    As was my birthday. One more celebration Mom would miss.

    * * *
Maybe I looked tired to Dad (king of compliments), but my mind ran so fast I wouldn’t get any peace even if I tried to nap. As soon as I got home I transferred my notes from Friday’s classes. Nearly legible. I highlighted a few key concepts and tucked my notebooks away before heading to the paddock.
    I thought more clearly on the back of a horse.
    Rio, my chestnut mare, whickered a greeting and charged the fence—daring me to stay stil .
    To trust her.
    She flew at me, hooves slicing up chunks of soil as she barreled forward, nostrils flared, eyes wild.
    My head up, stance open, I watched her with thinly veiled amusement. She skidded to a halt, spraying dirt up from her steel shoes. Right onto my jeans.
    “Rio,” I admonished.
    She tossed her mane, pushing her snout into my chest so I had no choice but to stroke the sleek bridge of her unmarked nose and marvel at the brightness of her eyes.
    If there was one thing in life I could trust, it was Rio. Horses didn’t lie. Joke? Yes.
    “Let’s go,” I said, slipping her bridle over her head. I climbed onto a fence rail and she maneuvered into position, standing stil as stone when I said, “Al ey oop,” and mounted.

    position, standing stil as stone when I said, “Al ey oop,” and mounted.
    No saddle, I felt every move Rio considered, every twitch of muscle, every thought telegraphed back to me. She didn’t need to verbalize to be understood. The swivel of an ear, a snort, or a pawing hoof and I knew what was on her mind or in her heart.
    When life was most confounding, Rio was the blessing best understood. My dogs, Hunter and Maggie, were seldom understood, but ever-present.
    Rio and I did a few passes around the paddock—nothing fancy, nothing stressful, just the lengthening of strides, the ground-swal owing sweep of a smooth gal op and my mind drifted.
    “Whoa!” I tugged on the reins. “Sorry, girl.” We walked a few minutes and I tried to push everything from my mind. It wasn’t happening. Even the rhythmic droning of hoofbeats couldn’t push