It was difficult to fight against the most essential part of your nature.
Difficult to come to terms with something that felt like it was keeping you… safe.
She had never been in physical danger, never once in her whole life, but she had sure seen a lot of people die too early.
It was the kind of thing that fundamentally changed your brain chemistry. Having to look at the fragility of life, of love.
She’d been thirteen when her father died. Her mom had already been showing very early signs of dementia. Though, they didn’t realize that at the time. But her mom had been the one who seemed fragile. Who seemed like she was going to need to be taken care of, and her dad had been larger than life.Hale and hearty. Such a kind and fun man. He had a booming laugh and had been just full of life and joy.
She wasn’t like him. Her brother wasn’t like him. Her mom hadn’t been like him. He had been completely unique. His personality had elevated all of them. He made them have more fun. He’d made them try things they wouldn’t have otherwise tried. He’d never had any health problems, he had tons of energy and heart.
He was just awesome.
And then he had a heart attack that killed him almost instantly. A widow maker.
They’d sadly discovered why they were called that.
They made frail women into widows, and thirteen-year-old girls fatherless, and that shock, that had never gone away.
That memory made her hate being estranged from her brother at the moment.
Because he was one of the only other people on Earth who knew their dad the way that she did.
Marlowe had known him for a little while. Aiden and Marlowe had been around twenty-one when he died, and Marlowe had been with her brother for three years at that point. She had known him from family dinners and a couple of camping trips.
But it wasn’t the same as being raised by him. It wasn’t the same as having that great, gregarious figure in your life and then just having him gone.
She watched The Muppet Christmas Carol every year, and the ghost of Christmas present always oddly reminded her of her father. That was a weird thing that she’d never said to anybody. But sometimes she watched it just because she felt like she could see her dad around the holidays. In a Muppet.
Yeah. She was sad.
But it was the mood. That joy, cheer, and gregariousness.
Even if it did make her a little bit sad. Even if it did make her miss what she had had.
She sighed heavily and went back into the kitchen. The bakery would be closing soon, and everybody would be out on their ride.
She had lived here for three months, and she had barely done any of the outdoor things. She hadn’t put herself out of her comfort zone at all.
Well, she had Jackson’s number now, so she could call him. She could make a date with him. But she had an immediate negative reaction to that.
She could go on a hike. There were so many trails all around the property, and they were supposed to be very easy to navigate. Easy enough that they sent their guests out on them unguided all the time.
It was coolish, and there was a bit of cloud cover, which was nice, because this late in the month, it was starting to get blistering hot at points during the day, and she didn’t necessarily want to go out into that.
Riding a horse also seemed like a bridge too far, but a little nature hike? Surely that was within her scope.
She locked the bakery up and got into her car, trying to decide which trail she was going to take. She knew there was one that followed the bottom of one of the hills and gave you a good view of Painted Ridge. Painted Ridge was called that because it had fine sand all over the side, and cream, red, and black sand ran through it like brushstrokes. When it rained, it looked even more astonishing as the water bled into the colors and deepened the hues.
Mustang River was such a magical place. It was green and lovely in places and had the look of the high desert in others. There were petrified forests and beds of lava rock, bottlebrush-shaped pine trees, and twisty, enchanted-looking manzanitas.
And she had spent so little time in any of it.
Once she had chosen a trail, she sent Marlowe a text letting her know where she was going and parked her car at the trailhead. It was an easy trail. And not very long, she didn’t think. She had spent a lot of time looking at the little brochures that they gave to guests, and she was pretty sure she remembered that this was only a couple of miles round-trip. She might not be very adventurous, but she knew she could walk a couple of miles.
She did that regularly around town.
She was wearing a dress, but she was wearing very sensible, comfortable shoes, and in spite of the clouds, it was warm. She put her phone in her dress pocket and started up the trail.
