Bandit is all show—chestnut coat gleaming, white blaze catching light when he lifts his head. The horse prances like he knows he’s the favorite in every parade route, and Tex encourages him with a soft whistle.
That horse is the embodiment of Tex’s personality, charming and full of flash.
My own horse, Whiskey Jack, stands beside me. He’s scarred from a barbed wire accident years ago, when he got spooked during a storm and ran right through a fence. I found him tangled up and bleeding.
Most horses don’t come back from something like that with trust still intact, but Jack did. He’s loyal and tough, patient enough to let me lean against him on the hard days.
We reflect each other. I don’t know if that’s comforting or a little depressing, but I choose the first option.
Jasper snaps another picture. He’s been documenting the whole process for a project he’s developing for his photography gallery in town. He keeps saying he wants to capture “the heart of the ranch,” whatever that means.
I don’t argue because his work is good and it makes him happy. The townsfolk like seeing familiar faces in the gallery windows anyway.
Tex calls over his shoulder for me to bring the rope around. I loop it in my hand and whistle low to Jack, walking toward the closest stallion.
The silver roan watches every move like he’s trying to decide whether to charge or pose for the camera. I like him already.
We’ve been working since dawn, taking turns easing each new stallion into the routine. They don’t know us yet, don’t know our voices or our hands or the way we guide instead of force.
Every horse has to learn that we mean to partner with them, not break them. It takes patience.
Sweat runs down my spine under my shirt, and my muscles complain every time I lift my arm, but this is the work that settles me.
Tex jokes that I turn into a different man around animals, calmer, easier to read. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know I can breathe when I’m doing this.
I wipe my forehead on my sleeve and step toward the roan. When he shifts back, I stop and wait. He blinks at me, ears twitching. His coat glimmers under the sun, pale silver dusted with dark speckles.
I stretch one hand out slow and let him decide. After a long pause, he lowers his head an inch. Progress.
I take another step.
That’s when a truck rumbles up the drive.
I turn without thinking. Dust curls in the air behind the approaching vehicle, and before I can even register the shape of it, my chest tightens.
It’s her car. I know the sound, the dent on the front bumper, the way the windshield catches the light. I know everything about that damn car because I’ve spent months trying to fix it, and she keeps telling me not to.
She pulls up beside the fence and steps out.
I forget how to breathe for a second.
Sedona hops down and shuts the door with her hip. She’s wearing a denim mini skirt and boots that stop half an inch below her knee.
Her hair is loose around her shoulders, curled from heat and travel. She looks sun-kissed and tired and happy to see me all at once.
My hat’s already sliding off the back of my head because I’m moving before I even think about it.
Tex whistles behind me. Joey mutters something approving. Seth says her name with a grin.
I don’t slow down. My boots kick dust up behind me.
She laughs as soon as I reach her. “You didn’t even give me a chance to say hi.”
I pull her straight into my arms and kiss her. She leans into it, smiling against my mouth as she pushes my hat back and lets it drop to the ground.
My hand skims her waist, then slides up her back. She hums like I just did something right.
My brothers cheer like idiots. Sedona laughs harder.
