I blush a little at his nickname for me. For so long, he used it as a way to cut me down—but somehow, it became my favorite thing. He transformed it into a term of endearment that I love.
“But, not before our ranch, though. We still wanna be the best out here,” he says, joking, though I’m sure Gage loves the idea of this ranch being the highest producing one in Bell River—hell, the entire county if it were a competition.
I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
We stop at the mesquite tree and walk the horses through the brush. The field is still fully bloomed, like nothing has changed, symbolizing a new beginning on the horizon. Its quiet comfort restores peace inside me, much like the first time I saw it.
Gage gets off his horse first, then helps me down so we can take a seat under the tree on the small hill. I press my back close to his chest as his arms circle my waist. “I think the ranch could do with some improvements,” he says as I nod in agreement.
I didn’t want to implement anything too extreme while out here, but I did notice that a lot of what the ranch uses is not only outdated—it isn’t sustainable, either.
The great thing about changing that is it saves the ranch money over time, eliminates unnecessary financial burdens, and paves the way for a clearer product on stronger land.
“Well, I do have some ideas,” I tell him, making a mental note of the list I made just in case. I never thought I’d be able to put those ideas into motion back when I made it.
At that point, Gage was constantly breathing down my neck, looking for any chance to oust me, so I made the list hoping things would get better—or, at the very least, that I could hand it to him and let him decide what to use.
“Well, I’m all ears,” he says, so I tell him.
I tell him we need to swap out the water main in the wooded area near the house with updated machinery and clear out the older one behind the house.
I mention how we can begin growing food alongside the cattle ranching, which wouldn’t just be sustainable forus—but for the rest of the town, too. It also improves the soil, creating healthier land—and healthier animals.
The last thing, at least for now, is to look into solar panels. We live in an open town that isn’t short of sunlight. It’d be good to take advantage of it, saving us money and drastically reducing our reliance on electricity.
Gage is obviously out of his depth hearing all of this—but I expected that. At this point, he trusts that I won’t steer him wrong—and I know what’s right for this place. So instead of fighting me, like he would have done in the past, he just nods.
“If you think that’s what is best, I won’t tell you any different. You know that stuff better than I do,” he replies, and I smile, looking at him proudly.
There is something so attractive about a man who recognizes your intelligence for what it is. He sighs softly. “What else is there to do before we head on back?” He asks, and then I fish folded papers out of my pocket, holding them up to him.
I think he has an idea of what they are without seeing them.
I stand up and dust my shorts off as he stands up with me. A slight breeze washes over us, and I allow myself to enjoy it for a brief moment.
I hold the papers in my hand and start ripping them to pieces. No deal.
The freeing relief I get as I turn the unlawful deal that Horizon presented me into confetti is indescribable. Having Gage here to witness me tearing it apart and then tossing it in the air as a gust of wind comes around, taking all the tiny pieces with it, is like everything is coming full circle.
It’s the newfound peace—and the beginning—we both desperately wanted, but were too afraid to chance until now.
He walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he rests his chin on my shoulder. “You know,” he begins, “Hollis Carter Ranch has a nice ring to it,” he adds as I turn to look at him, smiling even wider.
I turn in his arms and press my lips to his in a searing kiss. I never dreamed of the ranch having my name attached to it—the exact opposite, in fact—but knowing that it will be is something to celebrate.
After everything we’ve overcome, it’s easy to see how my feelings about life have changed.
When we return to the ranch and put the horses back in the barn, Gage looks over at me, and we share a look.
“I never got a chance to ask you,” he says as I close the latch, waiting for him to continue. “What do you think about marriage and kids?”
I tilt my head to the side in thought.
Is he asking because he’s thought about it?
“Why do you ask?” I reply, curiously. He turns away, suddenly shy about the question, but it’s clear he’s thought about it. Maybe he doesn’t want any of that—and just wants us to be together.
We still have time to figure that part out, but I’ve certainly thought about marriage and kids for myself.
