“No. And no, thank you.”

She raised her brows and sighed. “Mr. Ransom, it’s my understanding that your career is dependent upon the effectiveness of this treatment program. But I want to be perfectly honest with you.” She paused to slide her thin silver-framed glasses off and rub beneath her eyes. “It’s only as effective as you’ll allow it to be. So if you just shut off or shut down every time I ask about your family, your past, and so on, I don’t think we’ll be making much progress at all.”

Van nodded. “I get that. It’s just… It’s complicated.” He rubbed a hand roughly across the back of his neck. “There’s no right place where I can start. No beginning and no clear-cut ending. There’s no ah-ha moment, Doc. No point where I can just shine the spotlight and say, ‘Here it is, the place where everything went to shit.’” He shrugged. “Sorry.”

Her forehead wrinkled and her lips pressed into a thin line. “There usually isn’t, in my experience.”

“Your professional experience or your personal experience?”

One corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Both.”

“Well, then. You see my dilemma.”

“You want to know what I actually see?”

Well this was new. In all of his previous encounters with head shrinkers, he’d never had one volunteer to share their actual opinion of him. Usually he just assumed they thought he was a lost cause while they answered questions with questions.

“Sure. What do you see, Doc?”

She pulled in a deep breath and looked at him. Really looked at him. Long and hard. If he were younger and gave a shit, her penetrating stare would’ve made him squirm. But he’d looked the devil and all his demons straight in the face on multiple occasions. A pretty Ph.D. wasn’t about to rattle him.

“I see a man.”

He let out a sarcastic snort. But she continued.

“One who carries things with him that weigh him down. That taunt and torture him. I see walls, thick steel ones, meant to keep everyone from seeing the vulnerable part of him. From slipping into that tiny crevice where someone might actually get in. For fear they might start to mean something to him. And then he’d really be in trouble. Because the man I see has lost everything, is in danger of losing the small semblance of a life he has left, and will do whatever it takes—drinking, drugs, sex, whatever—to keep from feeling the fear and the pain and the loss that he carries.”

Van cleared his throat. “Not bad. You forgot to mention that you have no fucking clue what I’ve lost or stand to lose. And that I should keep a journal to get in touch with my feelings.”

“I take it you’ve heard something similar before?”

“I have.” Maybe not in such exquisite detail, but close.

She set her notebook and pen on a small table beside her chair and sighed. “Let me be clear, Mr. Ransom. This isn’t every other facility you’ve been in. It’s not the traditional twelve-step structure you might have encountered in the past. And if other doctors have failed you, well that’s unfortunate. But we can’t get to know each other until you let go of that, rid yourself of that chip on your shoulder, and be straight with me.”

“So no journaling then?”

She smirked. He kind of liked her. For a doctor, anyways. She was honest, straightforward, and she didn’t give him the impression she’d be writing out her grocery list when and if he actually decided to tell her what had led him here.

“Sorry. It’s really not that type of place. Second Chance Ranch is more about facing the reality of what tempts you, triggers your addictions, and finding ways to build up a resistance to them.”

“I see.” He did his best to mimic her knowing confidence. “And you think you can do all that in ninety days or less?”

“No,” she said, surprising him. “In ninety days or less I think you can do that.”

Mucking horse stalls was done by some of the teenage volunteers, thank goodness. Though they didn’t always clean up as well as they could have. Stella Jo peeked into the stables and saw that it could still use some straightening. But she’d have to change clothes first.

After a long day of learning the layout at SCR, where the copy room, breakroom, and bathrooms were, she was exhausted. But she looked forward to the end of her shift for more reasons than just because she was dead on her feet. No matter how her feet ached from traipsing around the facility in four-inch heels, she looked forward to checking in on the horses every evening.

Dr. Ramirez’s son, Jesse, was around her age, and had just finished veterinary school at the University of Texas. He handled a great deal of the animal care. Stella waved goodbye to him as she walked the path to her bungalow. He grinned and waved back.

“They’re good for tonight, Ms. Chandler. See you next week.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” she called out as she unlocked her door. Even if the horses had been fed and exercised, she knew she’d still head over to them after she’d changed. Something about them calmed her. Allowed her to decompress from her stressful first days at her new job.

There was one she felt the need to see each night especially. He was black, solid black, with eyes like a midnight sky. Shadowdancer, the board next to his stall proclaimed. He was beautiful, a retired racer—like her.

The other three were sweet, chuffing at her when she entered each evening and allowing her to pat their noses. But Shadowdancer despised everyone. He wouldn’t even let Jesse get close enough to do anything besides refill his trough. It was him who’d drawn Stella Jo in like a moth to a flame. She felt the pull to him like she felt a pull to a certain client she’d been trying her damnedest not to let run across her mind.

Shadowdancer had darkness in him, much like Van Ransom. Secrets. A past. Something that haunted him.

She always approached him slowly, one small step at a time, not making eye contact until she was close. As if she didn’t notice him and then was pleasantly surprised to see the thousand-pound animal in her midst.

He was so beautiful, so majestic, that he almost seemed unreal. As if he were some ethereal equine figment of her imagination. Sometimes she feared he’d up and disappear, fly off into the night and return to whatever magical world he’d come from. But after she’d exchanged her shift dress for cutoff shorts and a T-shirt, slipped off her Manolos and slid on her riding boots, she made her way to the barn, where Shadowdancer still stood. As usual, he backed into his stall when she entered, hiding from her.

Stella took her time petting and loving on the other three, waiting for him to peek his head out to see what the fuss was about.

When his black snout appeared at the edge of his stall, she took her first step. Softly, so as not to startle him with creaking wooden floorboards. Another step and she could feel his steady breathing as if it were her own. Two more gentle steps and she was beside his stall. A loud huff told her that he knew she was there. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but it sounded like acceptance, so she turned to face him.

Making eye contact had to happen at just the right moment. If she tried too soon, he’d retreat and that would be it for the night. If she waited too long, he’d get impatient, and ignore her completely.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she turned slowly, praying silently that she’d got it right, read him correctly. Glancing over to him, she saw him eyeing her from under thick dark lashes. He exhaled slowly, seemingly thankful that she hadn’t screwed it up this time.

“Hey there, sweet boy,” she said softly. “Want a snack?”

She opened her palm to reveal the apple slices she’d brought. Not breaking eye contact, Shadowdancer angled his head toward her hand and gingerly took the slices. Her heart ached to reach out to him, to tell him that despite whatever, or whomever, had hurt him in his past—he could trust her. But there was no need to rush into things. He clearly needed her to respect his need for space. So she would.