Ashes of the heart

self. Miles of fencing cut across golden pastures where the breeze carried the scent of hay, manure

with sun-darkened skin and a square jaw that looked like it had taken a punch or two in its time. His

se denim clung just right and whose hands knew the weight of a horse's reins and the sharp heat of whiskey at midnight

long enough to know

ended ugly - a courthouse, a slammed door, and his little girl crying in the corner wh

s just him

her never had time for. She was Cole's reason for breathing, the only softness left in him. When she laughed,

rses. She wore a too-big straw hat and bo

hat pony," Cole said one morning

d and bright-eyed. "Then

h disuse. "That's how it starts. Next

rinkled her nose. "Ne

g the sweat from his neck. The sky was al

her mother, either. It was better that way - at least, that's what he told himself.

white envelope from the county educat

commendation: certified t

s breath and thrown it

e needed her education. And damn it

s driveway, boots crunching gravel, heart hard and locked up tight, waitin

n't want to. She'd do her job

ind was alr