I don't know if anybody's out there who remembers "Come Home Running," the story I wrote and posted from 2007 – 2008. I took the story down back in 2009 so that I could do extensive revisions with the hope of eventually reposting it. Six years later, I don't think that's going to happen. I have a degree in English, not equine veterinary medicine, so although I definitely feel I've become a better writer, I don't feel I know everything I would need to know to write post-college Amy in a full-length story the way I wanted to.

I'm more than twice the age I was when I read my first Heartland book, but I can't get Amy and Ty out of my head. There are still some things I wonder about and some things I'd like to see happen. And although I don't have the knowledge or vocabulary to write a multi-chaptered story that would best reflect the world of Heartland after Amy graduates from college, I have learned some things that—I hope—will help me to write these snapshots.

Some of the characterization is influenced by the TV show. I really like Amber Marshall's interpretation of Amy. And Shaun Johnston's gruff, interfering, loving Grandpa is Grandpa. I love Ty Borden's character development, but the sweet, quiet Ty Baldwin of the books is the one who shows up in my stories. Although I think TV!Tim is wonderfully written and acted, my Tim is definitely Book!Tim—British, curly salt-and-pepper hair, comparatively mellow. My Lou is blonde and married to Scott Trewin; she was, is, and always will be a planner who likes to have control, but she's much more polite on the phone than her television counterpart.

"Across the sea / The space between / Everything you think you know / The things you keep / And bury deep / Underneath the melting snow / I'll follow." – "Wherever You Go" by Audrey Assad

Part 1: Before

Chapter 1

It was Tim's running joke, throughout the twelve years their marriage lasted, that Marion fell in love with his horse first. And whether he was teasing her in private or in front of a group of friends and family, Marion would always laugh and say, "That's only because I saw Tennison a minute before I saw you."

()()()()()

July 1980

At the risk of making Delilah jealous, the blood bay gelding cantering around the paddock in the summer sun was, Marion decided, the most beautiful horse she'd ever seen. Large, curved ears; gleaming brown-red points on a deep mahogany coat; silky jet black mane and tail; conformation to die for—he had all of that plus a fiery spirit that showed as he tossed his head and kicked up his heels.

"Good-looking fellow, isn't he?"

Marion sucked in a breath, looked to her left, and blinked. A young man at least a foot taller than she was with short, curly brown hair, flint gray eyes, and immaculate riding clothes stood grinning next to her. He had the slightest cleft in his chin and a spray of freckles across his high cheekbones.

Finally, she found her voice. "Yes, he is."

"Sorry if I gave you a fright." His voice was kind and his smile was warm.

"No, you're all right. I was just staring at—" She breathed a laugh and nodded at the horse still cavorting in the field, mostly to avoid looking at the man who she knew, right then and there, she was going to marry someday.

"His name's Tennison." The young man stepped forward and rested his arms on the rail.

As if she were getting ready to jump a course, moths—she'd always found moths flightier than butterflies and thus more representative of the feeling—fluttered in Marion's stomach. "He's gorgeous. Who does he belong to?"

His grin widened. "He's mine."

"Wow." They were silent for a moment, watching Tennison as he finally came to a stop and pulled at the grass in short, quick motions. Marion tried to grab hold of one of the million thoughts racing through her head. "I guess you're here to compete at the show, too, then," she said. Of course he is; why else would his horse be in the paddock?

Thankfully, the young man just nodded and smiled. "We're in the King George V Cup. And which class brings you all the way across the pond?"

"I'm in the Queen Elizabeth II Cup, so . . . "

He glanced over at her. "So then, I suppose that makes you Marion Bartlett."

"How did you know?"

"I've heard of the 'young American wonder' who's competing in that class. The other American women jumpers who are here are too old to fit that description. In the Royal International at twenty, eh?"

Marion hoped she could attribute the redness on her face to sudden sunburn. "Yes, that's me. I'm afraid I don't know who you are, though."

"You mean my reputation doesn't precede me?" The young man sighed dramatically and shook his head. "American newspapers." He grinned again—it seemed to be a habit of his, one Marion liked immensely. "Tim Fleming."

"A pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well." Tim looked out at the field, where Tennison had resumed thundering around. "Now, I don't suppose you'd like to meet him as well." At Marion's grin and nod, he let out a sharp whistle. Tennison slowed, pricked his ears, and trotted over.

"Well, hello there, Tennison," Marion said softly, holding out her hand for him to smell. Tennison blew out a breath before jerking his head away and wheeling off again. Marion just laughed.

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Well then. I think Tennison could use a good trail ride to calm down a bit. I don't suppose I could persuade you to go with me?"

Marion smiled. "I'd love to."

()()()()()

They rode for hours through nearby woods with tall, full trees that shaded them from the worst of the July heat. And they talked about everything.

()()()()()

"I grew up Catholic," Tim said as they passed a tiny stone church with a steeple overtaken by ivy.

"Me, too. I haven't been to Mass in ages, though. I miss the experience. The stained glass and the incense and the prayers—it all made me feel like I was in the presence of something—" Marion drew a breath—"something mysterious and somber and beautiful." Just thinking about it now brought a little of that feeling back. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and smiled.

When she opened her eyes, Tim was giving her a wry smile. "I always found it rather dull. I haven't been since I was eight and my parents stopped attending. Politics and that sort of thing, you know. Nothing I understood at the time. I was just glad I didn't have to sit through Mass anymore."

"Oh." Marion batted away disappointment and stared down at Delilah's head, which bobbed in time with her steps as she ambled down the trail. "Well, like I said, I haven't gone in a long time because of shows. Neither has my dad. He took up cattle farming when I was about twelve, and those cows take up a lot of his time."

"So, you've grown up on a cattle farm, eh? Tell me about that."

()()()()()

"I don't care much about politics, to be honest. I only really care when there are issues about animal rights."

"Ah, you're one of them."

Tim's smile was warm, if teasing, but not scornful, so Marion smiled back. "What do you mean?"

"I bet you brought in a lot of strays when you were a kid." He affected a high-pitched voice. "Please, Mum and Dad, please let me keep him!"

She giggled. "Yes, that about sums it up. One time, we had twelve cats, four dogs, and a rabbit." Suddenly she realized the sun had all but disappeared and the sky above the shadowy branches was turning a deep royal purple. And they were at a split in the path. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

Tim nudged Tennison forward, then turned him, looking around. He even directed Tennison off the path and into the brush for a moment. "No, I don't. I don't know how many turns we've taken or where that log was that we jumped earlier, either."

"Okay. Drop Tennison's reins."

"What? Drop his reins?"

"You've never let your horse find the way back for you before?" At Tim's blank stare, Marion sighed and explained, "I'd let Delilah lead the way, but she might take me all the way across the ocean back to Heartland. Besides, Tennison probably knows the way better than she does. You said you've been here for a week already, so he's used to the yard and his stall."

"You have that much faith in my horse? What if he bolts?"

Marion pictured Tennison thundering around the paddock but drove any doubts about his dependability out of her mind. "He won't. He wants to get back to his nice stall and his delicious oats."

Tim let the reins slacken on Tennison's neck. "I'll give him his head, but I'm still holding on. And if he leads us to my family's farm in Gloucestershire, it'll be an adventure, anyway."

Tennison snuffled the ground and then lifted his head, ears pricked. He took a step forward, and then another step.

Holding her breath, Marion nudged Delilah forward, loosening her grip on the reins. Maybe Delilah remembered the stall that had been her home for a day and a half.

For what felt like hours, Tennison steadily picked his way over trails. Aside from a sliver of silver light from the moon, it grew totally dark after about half an hour. The slightest of breezes drifted through the trees, and Marion found that she was actually enjoying herself. She and Tim kept talking, but in low voices to keep from distracting Tennison.

At one point, she glanced over at Tim to find him studying her. The moths in her stomach resumed their fluttering and she quickly looked away, but not before noticing how the moonlight accentuated the perfectly sharp angles of Tim's face.

Finally, they emerged from the woods to the glow of wrought iron lampposts casting triangles of light onto cobblestones and stall blocks. Their relieved laughter echoed across the empty courtyard. "See, I told you he would know the way back."

Tim hopped off of Tennison and grabbed the reins. "You were right. And putting aside almost getting lost in the dark, that was the best ride I've had in a long time."

Before leading Delilah to her stall in one of the back stable blocks, Marion paused. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll certainly be on the lookout for you." Marion didn't have to see Tim's face to know he was smiling. "I know a place around here that serves up the best fish and chips I've ever tasted—even better than my grandmum used to make. I don't suppose you'd like to join me for supper."

Marion felt a grin break out on her face. "I'd love to."

()()()()()

They at together the next night—Marion in the one skirt she'd brought; Tim in jeans and a button-up shirt—and the night after that, and every night, regardless of how late they were finished with training. And at the Royal International Horse Show, they cheered each other on and then celebrated their victories by going out to eat yet again.

That night, like every night, Tim walked Marion back to the cottage she was renting with the other American women jumpers. But that night, as they stood on the porch, he kissed her on the cheek before muttering, "G'night" and walking off, leaving Marion to press her hand to her face and stare after him.

()()()()()

Gripping her suitcase, Marion looked around the bustling airport terminal and blinked to keep her tears at bay. People rushed past with suitcases or sat in chairs looking bored or anxious. The noise level was reminiscent of the sound of the crowds at Hickstead each night before the jumpers rode out into the arena. This section of the airport smelled slightly of fried food and rubber and sweat.

Marion swallowed hard and glanced up at Tim. "Well, I guess this is it."

"Hey, now, what's this?" He stepped forward and cupped her face in his hand. "This isn't goodbye forever," he said with a laugh. "I told you I'd visit for the holidays, and I always keep my promises."

Marion mustered a smile. "I'm so glad you'll get to see Heartland at Christmas. It's beautiful there."

Tim nodded, eyes warm. "I'm sure it is."

"And you'll write to me, right?"

"Just like I promised." Tim grinned. "I may even call you once in a while if I can scrounge up the change." He glanced over Marion's head. "Better get on. Your flight's leaving soon."

She nodded and turned to leave, but something froze her to that spot on the worn carpet of the airport terminal. She hesitated for a fraction of a second and then let go of her suitcase, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed Tim.

When they broke apart, Tim kept his face close to hers. "Well then. I haven't told you yet, but I do believe I've fallen quite in love with you."

Marion grinned up at him, feeling herself blush. "I love you, too."

As much as she hated to let go, something compelled her to glance at her watch. She shot a panicked look at Tim. "I've got to go!" She picked up her suitcase and hurried toward her gate, glancing backward as much as possible while trying not to trip over anybody.

"See you in four months!" Tim yelled, waving. "I'll write soon!"

()()()()()

Even with all the letters they wrote—Dad claimed he'd have to sell an entire cow to pay for the stamps Marion had used—Tim couldn't stay away for four whole months. He showed up for Thanksgiving and stayed with nearby friends for all of December. He brought with him Tennison, who he stabled at Heartland, and a velvet jewelry box, which he kept hidden until he knelt in the snow in front of an alternately laughing and crying Marion at the end of a trail ride on Christmas morning.

They were married a little over six months later, July 2, 1981, on the anniversary of the day Marion had first laid eyes on Tennison and his master and fallen in love with them both. And for the next twelve years, they were blissfully happy.