ever had.
I lifted the bridle to her mouth. She accepted the bit, then gave another soft nicker, as if to say, come on, then.
“All right, all right.”
I checked the saddlebags to make sure we had enough water and food for the ride, then stepped into a stirrup and swung myself up with ease. Coral pawed at the ground, eager to get going. I took a deep breath. Things really did seem easier to see, to feel from up here.
I patted Coral’s neck and leaned forward. “Okay, Cor. Let’s go.”
We took one of the trails through the trees at the east end of the property, then wound down to the part of the beach that bordered a wildlife sanctuary—where the neighbors were less likely to intrude. Here it was just me, Coral, and the occasional gull or sandpiper among the grassy dunes that eventually gave way to the long, white sand and then the ocean. Vast, open. Exactly what Coral and I both needed.
“No one here today, Cor,” I said to my misanthropic horse. “Aren’t we lucky?”
Coral tugged on the reins a little. I’d given her control through the paths she knew so well but had picked up the slack down here.
“Stop,” I said, pulling more on the leather. “What do you want to do, bolt?”
She gave a soft neigh and trotted impatiently, more like she was a two-year-old filly, not a twenty-three-year-old mare.
“Oh, you think you can run, my love?”
Another sharp pull on the reins told me she did indeed. Coral was eyeing the long, empty expanse of beach with lust. Kellan, our trainer, took her out regularly, but I doubted she was given much in the way of free rein.
I swallowed. I knew what it was like to want to run.
I leaned over her neck and gave her the slack she desired.
“All right, Cor,” I whispered. “Go.”
She didn’t need more than that to take off. Coral was a dressage horse, not a thoroughbred, but she was still fast enough. The wind whipped through her hair as she charged down the beach, and I laughed, even closing my eyes to feel the cool Atlantic breeze across across my face.
Freedom. That’s what this was. At least, one of the only tastes of it I’d ever known. On Coral, I was able to let go of my fears, my frustrations. The trappings of a life that sometimes it truly felt I’d never chosen at all.
Lost.
My answer to Jane’s question echoed through my mind, an immediate rebuke. If I was being honest—which, apparently, I was today—I’d been more than a little lost my entire life. Kept on a bridle like my horse. Led from place to place, from show to show. From master to master. Perhaps a tiny rebellion here or there, but my biggest and dearest one—my daughter—was also my greatest secret. And in many ways, the one that had cost me the most.
My life had never really been my own.
What do you want to do?
They were two different things, weren’t they? Living and doing. Or maybe one would help me accomplish the other.
Well. What did I want, then?
Matthew.
His smile, his warm, mischievous eyes, his urgent, tender touch. It all filled me, along with a yearning I was certain would never fade. At twenty, I had thought I was in love. But that was nothing compared to this. Now I understood just how little I had known Giuseppe. How small I was in comparison with the magnitude of his family, accomplishments, passions, works. I was only a girl. Sometimes still learning who she was. And it went both ways, really. How could he had loved me either? How could have known me at all when I hadn’t really known myself?
That love, just a dalliance, was nothing compared to the man I couldn’t have.
So what, doll? Even then, Matthew’s warm timbre echoed through my conscience. Even if you could have me, I’m a person, baby. Not a life.
What did I want?
I had given up everything for so many others.
Never finished college.
Never traveled again.
Never had a job, real interests, passions that belonged only to me. My life was a mind-numbing collage of luncheons and fundraisers and trainers.
And fear.
Always fear.
By the time Coral and I made it back to the stables, we were both tired. We had walked most of the way back while I poured my heart out to my horse. But, unfortunately, I had no more idea of the answers to my questions than when I began.
“Tuckered her right out, did you?”
Kellan, the