Maisie swished her tail lazily, utterly unbothered by their presence. She looked, Naomi thought, like something that had stepped out of a Scottish fairy tale, ancient and dignified.
"She's beautiful.”
"Yeah, and she knows it." Jonah leaned against the fence. "Maisie has a habit of standing exactly where you need to go. She's blocked more ranch work than bad weather."
As they moved on, Naomi caught sight of a strange, woolly creature with a long neck and an expression of supreme disdain. It stood alone in its pen, regarding them with suspicious eyes.
"And that's Spitfire," Jonah said. "Newest addition to the ranch. X found him at an auction last month. Previous owner couldn't handle his... personality."
The alpaca's ears flattened against his head, and he made a sound like a squeaky door hinge.
"He's not a fan of strangers," Jonah explained unnecessarily. "Or friends. Or life in general, as far as I can tell."
"He and Owen should get along great then," Naomi said before she could stop herself.
Jonah laughed—a warm, rich sound that seemed to brighten the air around them. "You might be right about that. Though Spitfire's a bit more expressive with his opinions."
As if on cue, Spitfire reared his head back, nostrils flaring. Before Naomi could react, the alpaca launched a projectile of green slime directly at them. The warm, foul-smelling substance splattered across the front of Jonah's jacket.
"Oh!" She jumped back, just missing the splatter. The smell hit her a second later—grassy, acidic, and deeply unpleasant. "What the?—”
"It's spit," Jonah explained.
“Oh my God, it’s foul!”
“Yeah.” He sighed and peeled off his jacket, wadding it up and throwing it into a nearby wheelbarrow. Underneath, he wore an olive-green Henley that stretched tight over well-used muscles. "Second jacket he’s ruined. Alpacas have excellent aim and terrible manners.”
His tone was so matter-of-fact that Naomi couldn't help but laugh again.
"So that’s why you called him Spitfire?"
“You got it.”
They continued walking, passing more paddocks and pens, each home to animals who seemed to have found their place here among the broken men who cared for them. There was a peace to this place that Naomi hadn't noticed before, a quiet rhythm of life continuing despite everything. The animals didn't care about anyone's past mistakes or future fears. They lived entirely in the present, demanding nothing but basic care and occasional affirmation that they were not, in fact, destined to become bacon.
"Does it help?" she asked suddenly. "The animals, I mean. Do they help the men... heal?"
Jonah's steady gaze met hers. "It's hard to hold onto your demons when you're mucking out a stall or brushing down a horse. The animals don't judge. Don't ask questions. They justneed you to show up." He paused. "Sometimes that's enough to keep a man going until he remembers how to live again."
Naomi's hand rose unconsciously to the fox pendant at her throat. She wondered if caring for Cinder had been what kept Owen going when nothing else could. If the dog had been his first step back toward the world of the living.
"So," she said, letting her hand fall away from the necklace. "Where did you say Owen might be?"
"Most likely up at the north paddock by now," Jonah said, adjusting his pace to match Naomi's slightly slower steps. "The paranoid bastard likes to check all his cameras before lunch."
Naomi nodded and looked in the direction he’d indicated. She tugged at Owen's flannel again, the too-long sleeves falling over her hands. "Is it far?"
"Not too bad. Ten minutes at a normal pace." Jonah glanced at her, his gaze briefly taking in the careful way she moved. "Your ribs still giving you trouble?"
"Less than they were." Last night hadn’t helped, but she wasn’t about to get into that with Jonah. "The doctor said another week and I should be back to normal."
"Normal's overrated," Jonah said with a half-smile. "But feeling better is good."
They crossed the main yard, where the morning's activities were in full swing. Anson worked on the hooves of a young bay mare, his movements methodical as he spoke quietly to the animal. Beyond him, Jax and Echo jogged through the agility yard, the dog well out-pacing her handler as she zoomed through the obstacles. The ranch operated like a well-oiled machine, each person and animal knowing their role.
"It's peaceful here," Naomi observed, surprised to find she meant it. Despite everything—the nightmares, the lingering fear, the investigation that still loomed—Valor Ridge felt like solid ground.
Jonah nodded. "Walker built it that way. Said troubled men need space to breathe, but structure to hold them together." He pointed toward a path that wound up a gentle slope. "We can cut through behind the bunkhouse. It's faster."
