When Gabriel realized what she was doing, he asked her to show him the signs, too.

She’d almost fallen off the bleachers. No one had ever asked her to teach sign language.

So she’d shown him some basics, for the most common criti-cisms he was shouting out, blushing as his eyes held hers while she moved his fingers into the right formation.

But afternoons in the school gym couldn’t compare to the mornings at the farm. She’d always loved the cool silence, the easy solitude when it was just her and the horses. But now each moment carried a hint of anticipation.

Gabriel had shown up every morning.

He always looked deliciously sexy, his hair tousled from the run, a night’s worth of stubble along his jaw. He told her it took twice as long to get to the farm as it did to get home. When she’d given him a puzzled look, he’d almost blushed and said, “I don’t want to be a sweaty mess when I get here.” Then he’d kissed her for so long that she’d forgotten her name, and he’d whispered against her cheek, “But it’s okay if I’m a sweaty mess when I leave . . . ”

But he never pushed her, never demanded more than she was ready to give. His hands never ventured outside of those safety zones, never even tried to get past her clothing. If her body stiffened at his touch, he backed off.

But now, after days of being good, her imagination was starting to get the worst of her. What if Gabriel felt her scars and thought she was disgusting? Talking about them in theory was a lot different from seeing red, puckered skin running up the side of her abdomen.

Thursday morning, they were lying on a grassy hill some distance behind the barn. Her horse was grazing a few yards away, a rope trailing from his halter. The air was crisp, but the sun warmed her cheeks, making her drowsy. She didn’t want to close her eyes, in case there was any chance she’d open them to find out it was still Sunday morning, that this week was just a dream.

The horse snorted at a butterfly, but then went back to grazing.

Gabriel turned his head to look at her. “Why doesn’t he run away?”

Layne gave a short laugh. “I keep asking myself the same thing about you.”

He rolled up onto one elbow to look down at her. It put the sun behind him and made his hair fall into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Someone pinch me.

“Seriously,” he said, glancing over at where her horse was yanking tufts of grass out of the ground. “Is he trained like a dog?”

Layne giggled. “No. Horses are herd animals. If he ran anywhere, he’d go back to the barn.” Though really, if the barn manager caught her lying out here with the horse running loose, the woman would probably have a word or two to say about it.

“Like that day on the trail,” said Gabriel.

Layne nodded. “The day you ran.”

He snorted. “You scared me off with that . . . that hug.”

She almost laughed at his tone, but then remembered the whole reason she’d thrown her arms around his neck in the first place. He’d looked so stricken, so sad. Even now, she could see shards of emotion in his eyes.

Despite the amount of time they’d spent together, she was still no closer to discovering his secrets.

And he was a master at keeping them hidden.

It had to do with his family; she knew that much. She never saw him with his brothers, but talking about them was just about the only thing to turn his voice sharp. No matter how much she loved his company, she couldn’t help wondering if he was spending time with her so he could avoid spending time with them. Even in the mornings, he stretched the minutes as long as possible, until she knew he must be practically sprinting home to make it to school in time.

She reached up and pushed the hair out of his eyes. He turned his head to kiss her wrist.

Layne had to remind herself to focus. “What’s it like, having a twin?”

He closed his eyes and gave a tight sigh. “I never know how to answer that question.” He paused. “I mean, what’s it like not having one?”

“Come on,” she teased, trying to lighten his mood. “Do you finish each other’s sentences? Feel each other’s pain?”

He snorted, obviously not playing. “No.”

“Are you and Nick still not speaking?”

He shrugged a little.

She could feel him distancing himself again. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

Now his eyes turned hard. “Why do you care?”

She matched his tone. “Why shouldn’t I care?”

He was going to fire back; she could tell. She braced herself for words sparked with anger.

But then he just sighed and rolled back to the ground to lie beside her. “I’m not even sure where to start. He brought Quinn home for dinner, and I just . . . I picked a fight. I’m not even sure why.”

“Did you like her?”

“No, no, nothing like that. But we hardly ever fight, and this one it got out of control. I almost . . . it could have been bad.

Mike and Chris broke it up. Hunter, too.”

There was more a lot more. She could hear it behind the words.

“What else?” she said.

He was staring at the sky now, almost directly into the sun. It had to be hurting his eyes, but he wasn’t even squinting. “It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

He scowled, and she thought he wasn’t going to say anything else. But then he turned his head to look at her. “I wish I could undo it, but . . . I can’t. They don’t understand. Nick especially.