Thatcher
There wasn’t a moment in my life that I didn’t feel detached. My earliest memory is that of my mother looking at me as if I was something to fear. I’d never had a relationship with her. The ones I did have were forged from loyalty. Love was a concept that was used to explain a broad range of emotions that one felt. I had very few of those, so I didn’t require labels. When a situation presented itself that required a reaction, I thought it out—made my decision. Even if those closest to me believed my actions weren’t something I could control. I let them think it because their misconception gave me power. I was the master of my impulse.
Except once- when wide, terrified gray eyes locked on mine. She’d been in trouble, and my questionable sanity snapped.
That day, I realized my twisted soul wasn’t the only thing buried deep inside me. Perhaps it was what my mother had seen in my eyes as a child that kept her from caring for me like she did my brother. The evil that seemed to dwell but not stir had been provoked. The sweet little minister’s daughter had no idea the demons she’d awaken.
Capri
Just when I get a chance of a lifetime to ride for Shepherd Ranch and make a mark in the horse racing world, everything else in my life seems to take a downward spiral. I’m terrible with flirting, and I can’t seem to keep a guy interested long enough for any real relationship. I spend most nights alone, and my imagination is starting to get the best of me. I’ve almost convinced myself there is something in the shadows watching me. I shouldn’t have stopped praying. Now, my list of sins has gotten out of hand in God’s tally book. I doubted he had enough saving grace to wipe all I’d done clean.
