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couldn’t stop it. His entire body shook as the horse inspected him and seemed to try to comfort him, touching his soft nose to Seamus’s hand and standing right beside him. Experimentally Seamus leaned on its shoulder. It was the first time they’d had physical contact in seven years. Odd that. Seamus wondered how old Black was. It didn’t look much older.
He drew in a deep breath and spoke, despite the uselessness of speech. “Zachariah’s dead. I’m sorry I can’t make you understand that. I’m sorry you’ll never know. And I’m sorry I didn’t visit him last year. I got too busy with work and a new boyfriend, not that that worked out, and… Well, they’re all poor excuses.”
The horse gave a full-body sigh.
“I’m glad you’re still fine. Zachariah worried about you. That someone would take a shotgun and shoot you as a nuisance. Which seems crazy to me.” Seamus stroked that strong, dark neck. “How can something so beautiful be a nuisance? You watch yourself, okay?”
Seamus pushed off from the horse. “Hey, I’m doing this all wrong. Zachariah used to pay a lot of attention to patting and grooming you, and feeding you treats, and here I am slobbering all over you.”
In response, it did its blowing and snorting, and Seamus had to laugh. “Okay, let me get some apples and carrots, alright?”
The horse danced away.
“Stay put,” Seamus warned, and he dashed into the house.
But by the time he came out, carrying treats, the horse was gone. Disappeared again.
As he stood there with his hands full of vegetable and fruit, facing the field and the small woods beyond, Seamus had to admit that this farm, with its accompanying disappearing acts, was beginning to unnerve him.
    Well, thought Ri as he rolled to his feet and adjusted to his human body, Seamus didn’t have a clue what he was. He’d wondered if, near the end of his life, his grandfather had shared Ri’s secret with Seamus, despite promises otherwise. Not that his grandfather was the type to go back on his word, but he’d been weak, frail this past year, and searching for help.
    When Ri didn’t need help. His life was fine as it was.
He’d known Grandfather was dead. Of course he’d known, given that he’d been in and out of the house for the past two years, caring for the old man when he didn’t need to run wild for a few days. He’d only been gone three days, but it had been three days too long. One day to die and two to be discovered.
Ri couldn’t block out the memory of walking back to the house and finding it surrounded by strangers he could not approach. It had hurt not to ask after his grandfather. His grandfather had been feeling well on the day Ri had last seen him.
He’d held out the hope that someone had taken Grandfather to a nursing home or something of the sort. He’d heard such places talked about. Not that he could have visited, but the scenario offered the possibility of his grandfather returning home.
That hope was gone.
Ri stopped at the stairs leading up to the back porch. Now where had he left his clothes this time? He didn’t think Seamus would appreciate his nudity. The man was already shaken up, though he showed that more to Ri’s horse than Ri’s human.
Which was kind of interesting.
Grandfather had urged Ri to trust Seamus. You need someone. You cannot remain completely alone.
The old man thought that because Ri had saved Seamus’s life it meant something. Like a debt to be paid. But Ri refused to be in a position where someone could hold something over him. That never worked out.
Look what it had done to Zach, who’d been young and naïve and looking for friendship—and had told someone, told a wolf , he was a horse shifter.
Of course, Seamus wasn’t a wolf. Seamus was an amiable young man who had cared about Grandfather. Not the same situation. But the fact remained: Ri didn’t know how to trust.
He peered through the screened window to see Seamus lying on the couch. Out cold. It was puzzling, how