Page 66 of Just One Summer with the Grumpy

“Sorry, girl,” I said, out of breath from running across the field. I grabbed the saddle off its stand and turned to face her. “We aren’t done for the day yet.”

Galloping Rosie felt just as I remembered—smooth and fast. At fourteen, she wasn’t the youngest of the bunch, but she hadn’t forgotten how to run. I chose the dirt road shortcut to protect her legs and cut time, giving her rein to gallop as fast as she wanted. I breathed in the wind and let my hair whip around behind me. The sensation reminded me of the island, except this time, it smelled of home. Hope. Happiness. An opportunity to make everything right, at the very least.

I didn’t allow myself to think further than that.

Rosie began to tire before we even reached the frontage road along the highway. Frowning, I pulled her over at the gas station and tied her to a bike rack. A minute later, I emerged from the convenience store with a couple of room-temperature water bottles and a huge dog bowl I’d borrowed from the cashier. Rosie drank happily as I counted the seconds.

It had been twenty-five minutes since Chase’s arrival at my home. That meant he could arrive at the airport any minute now, and we were barely a third of the way there.

The foolishness of my situation hit me hard. Did I really intend to ride Rosie all the way to the airport? What would I do once we got there, tie her up in the park-and-ride and run through the airport calling Chase’s name? Besides, the frontage road was full of potholes. I didn’t want Rosie to get hurt.

I pulled out my phone, but the Uber app said the closest car was still ten minutes away. I requested a ride and then waited, hoping against hope that a driver would accept my request.

Two minutes passed. Three. Four.

The screen went black. Dead.

Crap. I should have charged it at Bridget’s last night. Maybe somebody inside would have a charger…or maybe somebody could give me a ride? People hitchhiked to the airport all the time, didn’t they?

I headed for the doors again—and then stopped dead in my tracks.

A jet-black sports car sat parked in one of the gas stalls. A tall man with broad shoulders and aviator sunglasses put the gas dispenser back onto its holster, then opened his car door to climb inside.

“Chase!” I called, running toward him with my hands waving.

The car started, and he pulled onto the main road.

“No!” I sprinted faster, but his speed only increased. Then he was out of sight.

Uttering every curse word I knew, I hurried back to Rosie and fumbled with the knot before swinging astride my trusty steed.

“We’ve got to catch that car,” I told her, and her ears flicked backward. She knew how important this was. Of course she did. The only problem was that I couldn’t take Rosie on the busy road. It wouldn’t be safe for her or anyone else.

My mind still raced. Chase had his car. That meant he’d driven all the way here from New York. He’d be merging onto the freeway in a few minutes. If we hurried, we could still head him off.

We took the dirt road from earlier but headed north instead of east. A boy drove by on a four-wheeler, watching us hurry past with wide eyes, but I paid him no heed.

This was taking too long. “Come on, girl,” I whispered. “Please.”

She responded, her ears flicking back and toward the front again as her speed increased.

We slowed to round a turn and took off again, the entire road clear. I could see a black car in the distance. It had to be him. An intersection lay ahead of him, and he looked to be slowing for a red light.

We were going to make it.

Just as we reached the end of the road, a tractor pulled out—pulling a narrow trailer that blocked the entire road.

Rosie didn’t hesitate. She leaped over the trailer.

I may have screamed.

We soared like that for a moment, the both of us one and the same as we flew. Even Rosie’s hard breaths seemed to sound in slow motion. My scream echoed in the air, reverberating in my ears like the aftershock of a loud concert.

Then Rosie’s front hooves hit the ground, jarring me abruptly forward—

And I found myself lying on the ground, staring up at the blue sky with puffy white clouds that looked like giant half-pulled cotton balls.

A face appeared over me. Mr. McCandell. “You all right, little lady? Hey, you’re the Porter girl.”

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