Page 6 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

After everything we’d been through, she was my one constant.

I almost lost her after the accident five years ago. While I spent months in hospitals and physical therapy, Pops had tracked down one of the best equine vets in Georgia and done everything possible to save her.

When I finally came home, we both had scars.

We both had trust to rebuild.

It took months before she let me climb into the saddle without pinning her ears back in fear. Months before she stopped flinching at loud noises. Months before either of us looked remotely like ourselves again.

These days she followed me around the ranch like a shadow. I liked to think we understood each other.

After all, we both knew what it felt like to lose everything in a single afternoon.

As I turned onto the main road, I already knew what waited for me in town. Main Street would be covered in pumpkins carved by the townspeople. Rosie would be transforming the tavern into an autumn wonderland. June would be selling pumpkin muffins at the bakery.

And at least three different people would ask if Meme and I planned on bringing the Harvest Festival back to Marigold Ranch this year.

The answer was the same as it had been for the last five years.

No.

Nothing had been the same since the accident. Nothing about September 1st brought me joy anymore. Instead, it served as a yearly reminder of everything I lost.

Most people in Willow Creek didn’t know the full extent of my injuries, and that was exactly how Pops and Meme wanted it. The town knew I’d been involved in a bad accident on my way to Tennessee. They knew my barrel racing career was over. They knew I’d spent months recovering.

What they didn’t know was that I came home missing a leg.

Pops always said small towns had a way of turning tragedy into entertainment, and after everything that had happened, neither of us could stomach the idea of becoming the topic of conversation at the diner. So we kept it quiet. I wore jeans. I stayed close to the ranch. And eventually people stopped asking questions.

At first, everyone assumed the Harvest Festival had been cancelled because I was recovering. That we’d bring it back the following year once things settled down.

The truth was, I couldn’t imagine walking through those fields.

Not when every corner of the ranch reminded me of who I’d been before.

Not when I’d spent my entire life dreaming of becoming a professional barrel racer only to lose everything a couple hours outside of town.

And before enough time had passed for anyone to start asking even more questions, Pops was gone too.

That was the part that still knocked the wind out of me.

The accident had taken my future, but Pops had helped me survive it. He sat beside me through physical therapy appointments. He learned how to adjust my prosthetic. He celebrated every step I took like I’d won another championship buckle.

Then one morning his heart simply gave out.

No warning.

No chance to prepare or to say goodbye.

One day he was making me laugh. The next I was helping Meme plan his funeral and wishing I could go back in time.

Some losses change your life. Others change who you are.

Losing Pops did both.

There were mornings when I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.

Not because of the scars.