Page 144 of Perfect Pitch

And that’s what this boils down to. She needs someone to trust in, something to believe in. Without question, I climb the steps. “How do I do this?”

“Have you ever mounted a motorcycle?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Good to know.” She slides back. “Mount in front of me. Just try not to kick me when you throw your leg over.”

“I’m going to be in the front?” I exclaim.

“It’s better for Sharp that way.”

I do and find myself confronted by leather reins. “What do I do?”

“Hold on to the pommel. We’re only going to walk.”

“To where?”

She doesn’t answer me. She just clucks her tongue. As if the duo has done this a million times before, the horse begins moving at a slow pace into the Texas sunlight.

* * *

A good half hour later, as we absorb the rain of sunlight bathing us from the open Texas sky walking through a field of sunflowers, I finally break our silence. “You seem to have a specific destination in mind.”

Sharp’s hoofs clopping adds to the trampled and worn trail through the tall flowers before Austyn replies, “I need to go back.”

“Back to where?”

Her breath shudders out. I feel the heat of it searing through my shirt. “Back where I began.”

Her words don’t make sense. When I say as much, she’s silent for a few moments before starting with, “The original Kensington homestead is out here.”

I’m about to respond when her thighs squeeze mine, asking for silence without words. I just face forward and let her speak. “Mama told me how they met. She’d stormed out of the house, saddled up, and rode off to see where her father had proposed to her mother—the old homestead. There’s a different story there.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Instead of just feeling triumphant over finally finding it—‍”

I interrupt. “It was a secret?”

“Passed down only to sons.”

“It’s your history as much as theirs,” I protest.

She presses her lips against my spine. She’s quiet a moment before admitting, “She didn’t just find the old homestead.”

My eyes scan the landscape. “What are we looking for?”

“A beautiful stone fence. It springs up amid the flowers almost out of nowhere.”

My eyes scan the tips of the flowers before I spy the tiny bit of gray amid the yellow and green reaching for the sky. I point. “There.”

She slips the reins into my hands. “Sharp knows the way. You hold him. I’ll hold onto you.”

I grip the reins fearfully until Austyn’s fingers slide over mine. “Relax. He’ll feel the tension in his mouth. He won’t run, not with us both on him.”

I relax marginally. Austyn slips her arms around my waist before resuming her story. “Years ago, a fire burnt down the old homestead. The only things that remain now are its original foundation and a piano. Fate? Maybe.”

The fine hairs along my neck begin to rise as Austyn continues. “The first time Mama met my... Beckett, he was playing that piano. They recognized each other because they went to the same high school. They became friendly that day and over time, they became more.”

“She told you.” It’s a statement.

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