Page 45 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

Meme’s shoulders fell slightly. We both knew what that meant. Another bill. Another withdrawal from an account that had very little left to give.

“I could pick up some shifts⁠—”

“No.” Meme’s eyes narrowed into slits as sharp as her frown.

“At the tavern. Or June might need someone at the bakery with festival season starting.”

“You work before sunrise until dinner most days.”

“And apparently I’m doing such a wonderful job that we’re discussing whether I need a second one.”

“The ranch isn’t failing because of you.”

I looked away, hands clenched in my lap. “Didn’t say it was.”

“You didn’t have to.”

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then Meme reached across the table again.

“We’ll figure it out.”

We.

The smallest word in the English language capable of making me feel less alone.

“Yeah.” I squeezed her hand. We would. Because we had to.

Later, I pulled on a sweatshirt and headed toward the barn. The storm had finally passed, leaving the ranch washed clean beneath a clear night sky. Water dripped from the gutters. Frogs called from somewhere beyond the south pasture, and the smell of wet earth mixed with hay as I stepped inside.

Blueberry lifted her head immediately.

“There you are.”

She approached the stall door and pushed her nose against my shoulder. Blueberry was eighteen now. Older. A little grayer around her muzzle, but still beautiful and strong.

My hand moved along the familiar white marking between her eyes. We had survived the same accident with different injuries. Sometimes I wondered whether she remembered it. The trailer overturning. Metal screaming. Glass breaking. The months afterward when she startled at every unexpected sound and I couldn’t stand without help.

Pops had refused to give up on either of us.

Blueberry recovered first, she was resilient. And five years later, I was still deciding whether I ever truly had.

“I met someone today.” Her ears flicked forward making me smile. She always listened to me. “Don’t look so interested.”

She nudged my chest.

“His name is Beau.” Saying it aloud felt strangely intimate. “He’s annoying.”

Blueberry blinked.

“Very bossy.”

Another nudge. I rested my forehead against hers.

“He’s handsome too.” There. I admitted it out loud. To a horse, which was still progress. “But that doesn’t matter.”

Blueberry exhaled warm air across my cheek.