Lie To Her (Bree Taggert #6)(3)

The figure leaned over him. Spencer’s eyes were not cooperating. Outside sounds echoed as if he were in a tunnel. But his own heartbeat raced in his ears. That he heard loud and clear.
The intruder struck at him again. Another wave of current rushed through him. Aftershock or fresh shock? He looked up at the dark sky. A snowflake landed on his face. “Please,” he rasped.
A shadow loomed over him. “Shut up.” The voice faded. Blackness swirled at the edges of Spencer’s vision. He squeezed his eyelids tightly closed. When he reopened them, nothing had changed. It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare—except Spencer was wide awake.
A hand slapped his cheek. “Stay with me. I want you to know what’s happening. I want you to experience every single second of terror and pain. I want you to suffer. You’re a user, Spencer. You need to pay. You’ve never suffered any consequences for your actions before, have you? Guess what? Today is full of firsts—mostly for me. For you, it will be full of lasts.”
Even if he wanted to, Spencer couldn’t respond. He was helpless, and deep inside him, he knew this was the day he was going to die.

CHAPTER THREE

Sheriff Bree Taggert adjusted the latch on the stall door with a screwdriver. The barn was cold, and her breath fogged in the early December evening air.
Her sixteen-year-old nephew, Luke, raked the dirt floor, leveling the surface. The stall hadn’t been used in years, and horses had the uncanny ability to hurt themselves. When he finished with the rake, Luke used his pocketknife to cut the twine wrapped around a bale of straw.
“There’s no guarantee that I’ll find the right horse at the sale tomorrow.” Bree tested the door. The latch worked smoothly. She shoved the screwdriver into the pocket of her jacket and helped her nephew spread the straw.
“You have to find Uncle Adam a horse.” Eight-year-old Kayla stood in the aisle, holding a lead rope attached to her sturdy little horse, Pumpkin. “His birthday is Sunday! He needs to be surprised.”
Since Adam had specifically asked for a rescue horse, Bree doubted surprise was on the table. But she hoped he’d be pleased.
“I’ll do my best.” Bree had inherited a farm and three horses when her younger sister was murdered. She had also been granted guardianship of her niece and nephew. It hadn’t even been a year since she’d moved from Philadelphia to upstate New York, but Bree felt like she’d become a whole new person. She’d shed her old life and left it behind like a snakeskin. She didn’t miss it at all.
“How old will Uncle Adam be?” Kayla asked.
“Twenty-nine,” Bree answered. She couldn’t believe this would be her baby brother’s last year in his twenties. Sometimes, it seemed barely any time had passed since he was an infant. Since she’d held him on a bitter winter night as they and their sister hid under the porch of their farmhouse while their father murdered their mother.
“Wow. That’s old,” Kayla said.
Bree laughed. “It is.”
“Can we name the new horse?” Kayla dropped the rope, picked up a soft brush, and began brushing dried mud from Pumpkin’s legs. Pumpkin, who never exerted energy unless it was absolutely necessary, cocked one hind leg and shifted instantly into nap mode. His head and eyelids sagged.
“Don’t you think Uncle Adam should name his own horse?” Bree emerged from the stall, brushing straw dust from her jeans. From her napping spot next to the tack room door, Ladybug, the rescue dog, opened one eye. Satisfied her people were still there, she resumed sleeping.
“I guess,” Kayla grumbled.
But Bree knew the little girl would have dozens of suggestions for her uncle.
Luke’s horse, Riot, kicked his stall door.
“OK, Riot.” Luke laughed. “I know what time it is.” He headed for the feed room.
Kayla picked dirt out of Pumpkin’s hooves, then put the pony-size Haflinger in his stall and planted a kiss on his nose. The scene was adorable, and Bree’s heart swelled with warm fuzzies, a feeling she hadn’t known existed until she started parenting. Her eyes misted—another new reaction—and she didn’t understand why she was tearing up when she was happy.
Except that Christmas was coming—the first one without their mother—her sister, Erin. If it weren’t for the kids, Bree wouldn’t even bother to celebrate. The festivities would only make her grief come roaring back. But that felt cowardly, and the kids deserved better. Bree had to show them by example that they could keep Erin in their hearts and simultaneously move forward.
If only she had some idea of how to do that.
Bree stopped in front of Cowboy’s stall and rubbed the paint gelding’s head. The sweet-natured horse had belonged to her sister. His company made Bree feel closer to Erin, and that soothed her. Impatient, Riot nickered over his half door. Bree stepped sideways so she could scratch both horses’ foreheads at the same time. As always, spending time with the kids and horses brought her a peace she hadn’t known existed. Sometimes she was so content with her new life, she felt guilty. Erin should be the one enjoying an evening with her kids. But that was not to be.
Bittersweet. Everything in life was bittersweet.
“Well, we’ll be ready if you get lucky.” Luke emerged from the feed room, carrying three containers. He dumped grain while Kayla tossed hay over doors and Bree topped off water buckets.
A few minutes later, Bree checked the stall door latches before leading the way out of the barn. Never wanting to be left behind, Ladybug got up from her napping spot and hurried to keep up. Bree turned off the lights, closed the barn door, and headed toward the back porch. A damp wind cut through her jacket, and she shivered.