“It feels strange,” she says finally, eyes on the window. “To wake up here. To see everything so unchanged when we’ve changed so much.”
I nod, my throat tight. “The land remembers us, even if we try to forget it.”
The silence between us grows heavier, but it isn’t hostile anymore. It feels fragile, like glass between us—something to be handled carefully.
I shift, clearing my throat. “Come riding with me today.”
Her eyes lift, uncertain. “Riding?”
“Just for a while,” I say. “Let me show you the ridge again. The creek. The fields in bloom.”
Clara studies me, the pulse fluttering at her throat. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispers. “So much of this place is tied to what we lost.”
“And maybe it’s time we remember what we had,” I tell her gently. “We don’t have to run from it anymore.”
She looks down, her fingers tightening on the mug. When she speaks again, her voice trembles. “All right,” she says softly. “I’ll ride with you.”
By the timethe sun clears the ridge, the air is already warming, the bright sun of summer heavy in the sky. Saddles creak, leather groans, and the horses shift restlessly as I cinch the last strap into place. Beside me, Clara stands with her hand resting on the mare’s neck, her touch light but steady.
As we lead the horses out of the stables, I see it again, how she looks different out here, framed by pasture and the wide Wyoming sky. Her hair catches the light, the breeze tugging strands loose until they shine like molten threads. She doesn’t look like someone out of place. She looks like she belongs.
I hold the mare steady while she gathers the reins. “Careful now,” I say, watching her put her foot in the stirrup. “She likes to test new riders.”
Clara glances at me, one brow arched. “Is that your way of warning me, or are you just trying to impress me with ranch wisdom?”
“Both,” I admit with a grin.
She swings up, settling easily into the saddle. “Well, she’ll just have to behave. I don’t scare off that easy.”
“Good,” I say, mounting my own horse. “Because neither do I.”
For a moment we sit side by side, the air alive with the restless shift of hooves and the anticipation between us.
“Ready?” I ask, nudging my horse forward.
Her lips curve into a smile that sends a jolt through me. “I was ready the second you asked me.”
That smile stays with me as we ride out of the yard and into the open pasture. The grass brushes against the horses’ legs, the air rich with the scent of wildflowers and earth. Ahead, thecreek flashes like silver in the sunlight. Clara tips her head back, letting the wind pull through her hair, and I feel the sight brand itself into my memory.
For a long stretch, words feel unnecessary. The land speaks in its own rhythm, the cry of hawks overhead, the low murmur of cattle far off.
But I can’t keep the words in forever. Not now. Not with her beside me again.
“Clara,” I say, my voice rough. She turns her head toward me, waiting.
I swallow. “You look…you look like you never left this place.”
Her smile falters, but her eyes soften. “Part of me never did.”
The truth of it hits like a blow, sharp and sweet.
We ride on, side by side, two souls circling a conversation we can’t keep avoiding much longer.
We follow the fence line, the posts leaning here and there like tired old men. Our horses fall into an easy rhythm, their hoofbeats a steady heartbeat beneath the quiet between us.
Clara tips her head toward the horizon. “It’s wider than I remember. The land. The sky.” Her voice is soft. “I suppose I was too young then to understand what forever looked like.”
I glance at her, the words stirring something deep in me. “Forever doesn’t always look like what we think it should.”
