Hope Farrier’s nerves pinged as her mount skittered across the riding ring. The prickle of awareness that slid across the back of her neck wasn’t going away.
She glanced over at the dense hardwood forest that bordered her farm. Nothing unusual there.
The thin chestnut snorted and tossed his head up, tugging the reins from her hands. “Easy, Jocko,” she crooned. “It’s all right.”
Someone was out there. She was sure of it. After another lap around the ring she had Jocko at a slow trot and risked another glance at the perimeter. No one by the woods, but a tall man in a dark business suit stood by the barn.
A business suit. Old fears resurfaced. Men in suits came from foster care. From funeral homes.
From foreclosing banks. Men in suits were bad news.
He raised a hand in greeting.
She shivered. Who was he? What did he want at Second Chance Farm?