Wild Horse Heart

By Katrina Ariel

A fast-paced romantic suspense set in the film industry.

When musician Ria Walsh lands the lead role in director Ben Crawford's next film, she works up the courage to leave her toxic marriage. She takes the kids, escapes her ex-husband, and dives into her new Hollywood life. Even as Ria secretly falls for her director, she accepts the offer of a summer fling with her co-star, Gregory Finn... a man notorious for romancing his leading ladies and leaving them when production wraps up

Filming on location at a wild horse sanctuary, Ria finds solace in the horses and slowly gains confidence, channelling her fears and courage into acting. When her ex jumps parole, hunting her, both Finn and Ben get protective. They'll have to stop him once and for all for Ria to claim the freedom she deserves.

PRAISE FOR WILD HORSE HEART

"Deftly written, a lush love story that moves like a freight train." — Melanie Wise, founder of Artemis Film Festival

"Passion and adventure at every turn of the page. An honest look into a woman's mind and soul." — Maja Aro, award-winning filmmaker

"My favorite stories hit that sweet spot between romance and women's fiction, and Wild Horse Heart sits squarely in the middle of those worlds." — Amanda Heger, author of Semi-Scripted

"Wild Horse Heart is a beautiful, deep romance that keeps you pinning for all three of the leads' happily-ever-afters until the very end, twisting your heart in two directions. The book captures the spirit, magic, and maturity of a love brought together through family, art, and horses." — H. Singerman, reader

"I thoroughly enjoyed this book. A refreshing storyline, realistic, well fleshed out characters and a plot to satisfy any reader looking for a happy summer read." — A. Thyme, reader

SPECIAL INTEREST: A portion of proceeds from book sales is donated to programs that protect and rescue wild horses, so you can feel good about purchasing this book. The horses in this story are well treated and all the animals get a happy ending. Most of the people do, too. :) Happy reading!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhiannon Publishing
• Release date: May 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9780987992321

Katrina Ariel

Katrina Ariel is an old-soul rebel, a musician, and a tree-hugging yogini who swears a lot. She quit teaching yoga to be a full-time mother to twin boys, but she couldn’t stop writing if she tried. The author of WILD HORSE HEART (romantic suspense) and YOGA FOR DRAGON RIDERS (non-fiction), Katrina’s writing is entertaining, empowering, and aimed at the soul. She lives in the highlands of BC, Canada, in a valley full of horses.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ria always played the Farmer’s Market on Sundays. She never imagined this would be the last time. She sang one of her favorite songs, strumming her guitar in her usual spot between vendors, with fresh produce on her right and the best tamales in Hollywood on her left. It earned her smiles, coins, and a few singles.

And then a man threw a crisp hundred into her guitar case.

Ria gaped. Her fingers picked the last notes of the song as she swept her eyes up to the man’s face. She recognized his messy hair and crooked smile, but she couldn’t come up with his name.

You have an incredible voice, he said, revealing hazel eyes as he took off his shades. His ears stuck out a little, giving him a boyish look, though he had to be over forty.

Thank you, she replied, trying not to stutter. That’s a generous tip.

I’m hoping it entices you to listen to my offer.

Which is what?

I’m filming a movie. He smiled, easy. I’d like you to audition.

It’s not porn, is it? She smiled, mostly joking.

The man laughed. No, it’s not porn. It’s about a mother who wanted a horse ranch all her life. When she finally gets it, everything else falls apart. Her husband leaves her, and she has to fight to keep her ranch and not lose her son to drugs.

Ria’s eyes stung as she considered the kind of struggle that would be, not wanting to think about her own kids going down that road. But why would he want her? She had thick legs, a belly that was soft from two pregnancies, and cheeks that were plump by Hollywood standards.

What’s your name? she asked.

Ben Crawford.

"You’re the guy who filmed Sleeping in the Rain, right? He nodded. The movie had won numerous awards, and his pride showed in his smile. Ria stood up, held her guitar in her left hand, and stuck out her right for a handshake. Ríona Walsh. I go by Ria."

Pleased to meet you, Ria. He pulled a business card and pen from his pocket, and jotted down an address. Can you make an audition Monday morning? It’s the last one we’re doing. I’ve got the rest of my cast, but haven’t found my Josie yet.

Ria nodded, her heart racing, hoping he didn’t see the way her hand shook as she took the card. She wanted to ask him, Why me? But what she said was, I’ll be there.

Bring your guitar. Ben gave her a wave.

When Ria realized she was admiring the way his jeans hugged his rear as he walked away, she scooped up the hundred, sat down, and started playing again.

THE DRIVE HOME TO SOUTH L.A. gave Ria time to second-guess the conversation she’d had, though the bill in her pocket was real enough. She parked in the short driveway, unloaded the car, and walked around the grey stucco exterior.

Juggling her guitar case and bags of goodies from the market, Ria pushed the door open with her foot and entered the dark house. The curtains were drawn, the kids were playing video games, and her husband had a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. He didn’t even glance up.

Hey, Mama, said Rachael, Ria’s nine-year-old beauty. She had her father’s green eyes, but Ria’s dark hair and freckled skin.

Hi, Mom, said Michael.

Anna said, Hi, Ria, at the same time. She and Michael were cousins, but they looked and acted like twins. They had the same blue eyes Ria had once shared with her sister.

My darlings, said Ria. You should be outside. It’s a beautiful day.

Dad said we could play video games. Michael leaned sideways, rapid-fire thumbs hammering his controller.

Well I say go outside and play. They started to protest, so Ria added, Finish this game, then go outside. Okay?

She got less-than enthusiastic replies, but they agreed. Ria lugged the groceries to the kitchen. Without looking up from his phone, her husband, Mark, moved closer to the doorframe so she could get past him. The cloth bag of carrots and beets pushed into his gut as she squeezed through, but he didn’t move to help. Bastard.

In the process of depositing her load onto the counter, Ria’s purse got tangled between two of the grocery bags and a chunk of her hair. She growled as she ducked out of her purse strap and deposited the whole mess on the counter at once. Once she was free, she glared at Mark.

Scruffy face. Dirty hair. His beer bottle rested on his belly, which had grown steadily over the years of their marriage. The black cross tattoo on his right arm bulged as he bent it, though, reminding Ria he’d once been handsome, and was still bloody strong.

What? he asked in a half-drunk slur, finally glancing up. How’d it go at the market? Did you make any money?

Years of unspoken words thickened Ria’s throat. She turned her back on Mark and began putting the food away. I made a little, she lied. He didn’t need to know about the hundred-dollar bill and business card in her pocket. If he got his hands on it, he’d spend it on booze.

Mark didn’t even respond. He took a swig of beer, bent his head, and used his index finger to type his text, probably to one of the guys from work. Sound effects from the TV in the next room grated on Ria’s nerves. As soon as the kids’ game was over, she strode to the windows with thudding steps, tore the curtains open, then forced herself to take a deep breath. She would not yell at her children.

Please go outside, she told them, her finger pointing to the back door. Grudgingly, they walked through the kitchen, past Mark—who didn’t lift his head—and out the screen door.

Ria put her face in her hands. Her nose gave a windy whistle as each overwhelmed breath came in and out. For the millionth time, she wished she hadn’t married Mark when they found out she was pregnant with Michael. Then, quickly, she buried the thought, knowing she wouldn’t have Rachael if that had been the case. Anna would’ve been hers regardless.

Ria wanted nothing more than to call her sister up, bitch about Mark for a minute or two, and then gush about this morning. But Quinn Walsh died two years ago. Ria didn’t have her sister to confide in. Instead she had another daughter to love.

Up the stairs she went. At the top, she turned left, then blew a frustrated sound into the stale air of the bedroom. Half of the blankets dangled off the bed, and Mark’s dirty work clothes were strewn across the floor, the only tidy part of the closet his gun safe and stack of tactical magazines. He’d probably be headed to the shooting range this afternoon.

She kicked his clothes into the closet, muttering under her breath about the hole in the wall that was still there from when Mark punched it last month.

Ria went to the window and opened it.

Their little house wasn’t much, but it was better than an apartment. At least they had a yard. Ria peered down, where Anna and Michael were sitting on top of the picnic table while Rachael tossed a basketball into the hoop by the fence.

Ria cocked her head to make sure Mark wasn’t coming up the stairs, then dropped to her knees and opened the bottom left drawer of the dresser. Soft sweaters yielded as she reached for the green velvet coin purse at the back, a gift from a cousin in Ireland. Ria stashed the hundred inside, with the rare twenties she got as tips when she busked.

The contents of the purse were reserved for emergencies, though Ria dreamed she’d one day have enough to take the children to Ireland to meet her grandparents and cousins. They talked on the phone a few times a year, when birthdays and Christmas rolled around, but Ria had been in the U.S.A. since she was five, and had only been back to her birthplace once before her parents died. With no other family in the country—excessively religious in-laws didn’t count—Ria missed the boisterous gatherings of her childhood. She wished her children could experience the fullness of belonging she remembered, surrounded by people who loved her, people who knew how to have fun together.

With a sigh, Ria returned the pouch to its hiding place, then stood and looked in the mirror. She tried to figure out what Ben Crawford had seen in her this morning, but whatever it was, it evaded her. All Ria saw was a tired woman who lived for her children and tried to pretend the rest of her sorry life wasn’t all that bad.

Chapter 2

On Monday morning, Ria drove across town with the wipers adding their whine to the music on the radio, rain swishing off the street against the car. White knuckles on the steering wheel, Ria’s stomach felt like a cup of dice being tumbled around.

When she got to the brick building, Ria parked the car, hefted her guitar case out of the back, and ran through the rain.

Ten minutes later, she sat in a waiting room with two women who looked like they belonged on a magazine cover. One was a knockout blonde with long, lithe legs. The other woman was older than the first, but no less beautiful. They eyed her guitar case with interest, but looked at Ria like she was in the wrong place.

The other women were called first, giving Ria ample time to doubt her choice to show up. Her damp skirt clung to her knees, cold in the air-conditioned room. She brought out her guitar and tuned it.

When the inner door opened, the blonde crossed the waiting room and left. Standing in the doorway to the audition space, a Black woman held a clipboard, her hair shining in a curly up-do. She gave Ria an encouraging smile. Ria Walsh?

Yes. Ria banged her guitar as she rushed to put it back in the case. With a flushed face, she followed the woman into the adjacent room.

I’m Yvette. Assistant Director. She shook Ria’s hand, then showed her to a chair in the middle of the room. A table stood ten feet away cluttered with coffee cups, stacks of paper, and a video camera on a tripod.

Ben Crawford and Cecilia Darr, the casting director, are just taking a break. Yvette handed Ria a few sheets of paper. You can read over the lines while you wait for them to come back. You’ll be reading for Josie.

Ria took the script pages, placed her guitar by the lone chair, and sank into it. By the time she made it through the three pages of script, the door on the other side of the room opened and Ben walked through with two other people.

He flashed a lopsided grin, coaxing a smile out of Ria, and crossed the space to shake her hand. Thanks for coming, he said. This is Cecilia. He gestured to the woman next to him, whose cream-colored suit probably cost more than Ria’s wardrobe. Cecilia had a warm grip and kind eyes. And Eric Nelson.

Ria cleared her throat, recognizing the clean-cut actor. Ria Walsh. It’s good to meet you.

Are you nervous? Ben asked. The women took a seat behind the table. Eric stood to the side, waiting.

Ria tilted her head up in a jittery laugh. Terribly.

Totally normal, he said. Just do your best. Let’s start with the argument between Josie and her husband. Eric will be playing Jimmy, who Josie just found out is cheating on him. They have two kids, have gone into a considerable amount of debt to fund the horse ranch Josie always wanted, and now he’s going to skip out on the hard work and take half of their net worth with him. Does that make you angry?

Eric tipped his head, as if acknowledging the character’s betrayal.

Ria blew out a breath. Does it ever.

This should be easy for you, then. Ben slid in next to Yvette. Take a moment to get ready.

Ria closed her eyes, brought to mind all the times she’d held back telling Mark what an asshole he was, then looked at Ben and nodded. Yvette pushed record on the camera, and Eric rattled off the first line, giving Ria her cue.

She surprised herself with the venom behind her words. She began to pace halfway through the scene, then swept one hand over her face and through her hair in a frustrated gesture she’d done a million times. Ria got so into it, allowing herself to voice the fury that had built up for years, that she was almost disappointed when the scene was over.

Eric’s eyebrows went up. Ben stared at Ria for a moment, then said, Okaaay. That was really good. Now that you’re warmed up, let’s try the second scene. Eric will read for Josie’s eighteen-year-old son, who is hanging with a kid that’s into cocaine. In this scene, she pries at him until he confesses that he’s tried it a few times. I’ll give you a minute to prep.

Ria looked to the floor, her breath shaky from the adrenaline of the scene before. Hating it, she imagined how she’d feel if it were Michael before her, and her heart wrenched with worry. Nodding, she looked to Eric, who cued her with a short line, his demeanor that of a teenaged boy. Ria read the lines with a mother’s dread.

When Eric read the line of confession, Ria turned her head sharply down and to the side, closed her eyes, and found she was choking back tears. Her voice broke as she said, Oh, honey, with all the disappointment, concern, and love she’d have if it were her own son’s life at stake.

When the scene was over, Eric pulled out a chair at the table, and leaned back. Ben locked eyes with Ria, silent. Then he held out his hand for the sheets of paper, and asked, Would you be so kind as to play us a song?

Ria nodded. Anything in particular? She blinked to clear her eyes, turning the corners of her mouth up in a polite smile.

Something sad.

Sure. Ria brought out her guitar and made sure it was in tune. She picked the strings with her fingers and a melancholy sound drifted through the room.

She hadn’t meant to play one of her own songs—usually people responded better to songs they knew, which is why she had a vast repertoire of covers—but this was the music that wanted to come out. She’d written it years ago, when she realized she would never be able to love Mark, no matter how hard she tried.

Ria closed her eyes as she sang, afraid she’d blunder if she looked at Ben or the women who watched her. This wasn’t a casual morning at the market or her usual gig at the bar, but a once-in-a-lifetime chance to make it in show business.

Her fingers plucked the ending. Three strings, two, then one, and the song was over.

Did you write that yourself? Ben asked in a raspy voice.

I did, Ria answered.

It’s beautiful, said Eric.

You have a gorgeous voice. Yvette clasped her hands on the table.

Thank you so much. Ria’s cheeks burned from the praise. Did you—did you want to hear anything else?

Can you do something uplifting? asked Cecilia. I think we need it after that.

Ria smiled, bent to grab her pick, and played a happy tune. When she was finished, Ben had two more questions. Do you like horses?

Very much, answered Ria.

Can you ride?

Yes. It’s been a while, but my father worked on a ranch east of Santa Cruz when I was a girl, and I had my own horse. Oh, how she missed that horse.

Thanks Ria. Ben stood and motioned toward the door she came in. Would you please wait outside for a few minutes?

Sure. She packed up her guitar and returned to the chair where she’d sat before. Time drew out in the empty room.

She was beginning to think she’d been forgotten when Yvette opened the door and invited her back in, a sparkle in her eyes. Ben pulled the lone chair close to the table and asked Ria to have a seat. He sat across from her and said, We’d like to offer you the part.

Ria’s head shook side to side in a reflex motion, mouth open in disbelief. She finally managed to say, Wow!

Ben gave her an easy smile. Since you’re new to the industry, I’ll tell you a little bit about what you’ll be in for if you decide to take the part. Feel free to ask any questions as they come up. He proceeded to describe the nature of the beast, as he called it, which meant long days of filming, six or seven days a week.

When he said they’d be using a ranch in western Canada for their location, Ria’s mind went in two directions at once. On the one hand, his description of the place sounded enticing, as did the idea of getting away from Mark for a couple of months. On the other hand...

I have three children, she said.

How old?

Nine, ten, and eleven. The ten year old is adopted. She always had to tell people that, or they’d comment on how she had them so close together.

Bring them with, Ben told her. If you don’t already have a talent agent, you’ll need one to help you with all the details—contracts and whatnot. Your agent can get you a list of recommended personnel with references and background checks. Your kids would have a chance to see a new country, hang out on a horse ranch for a couple of months.

Ria put her hands to her cheeks, guessing how Mark would react. Maybe he’d be grateful to have the house to himself, but more likely he’d be bitter, jealous of her success.

Do you have a husband? Ben asked, his eyes on her naked ring finger. She hadn’t worn her ring for a while.

Yes. Ria winced.

He can come along, too.

No. Ria said it too quickly, cringed, and tried to backpedal. He has his job, you see.

Well, he can visit, then. Ben switched topics, providing her with a list of agents who could help her deal with the legal side of things, and continued to give her an idea of what to expect if she took the gig.

We can offer $300,000 as compensation. We’re under deadline to cast this part, but you can think about it for a day or two, if you want, Ben said.

Ria shook her head. I don’t need to. I’ll do it.

BY THE TIME SHE GOT home, the rain had cleared, but Ria’s nerves were like guitar strings that had been wound too tight. She sat in the car for a long time, trying to summon the courage to go inside and tell Mark.

With her head against the steering wheel, she remembered the day they’d met. She’d been playing a gig at a bar. He’d come up to her afterwards all charm and suave moves, complimenting her singing and telling her how beautiful she was. He said he was sure she’d be a star, like he’d discovered her himself and had the power to make it happen.

Mark was an actor. So he said. Turned out his acting career was limited to two low-grade commercials and a one-time television appearance. Still, he was attractive. His hair hadn’t begun to thin yet, his body was lean and strong, and his eyes smiled when he looked at her.

They dated for a few months, but then Ria got pregnant, and everything changed. Mark asked her to marry him, getting down on one knee and presenting her with a ring nestled in the petals of a rose. She thought he’d done it out of love, but later realized a sense of obligation had sparked the proposal, driven by his austere Catholic mother.

Their first argument came when Ria decided she wanted to keep her maiden name, Walsh. It was important to her that her children carry the name to honor her parents, who had loved each other to their last breaths. Mark hadn’t liked it, but in the end he’d relented. That was Ria’s first, and last, real stand against him.

Michael was born, and Mark got his job at the airport, but he resented her and the children for taking away his dreams of being an actor. He’d hate Ria for getting the part.

Ria leaned into the car seat and realized this was her chance to escape. To leave Mark for good. The idea made her tingle,