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I’ll never understand why this man seemed so intent on chasing me down and waiting me out. He had no reason to care, but he did anyway. But I’m done letting him down.

At least, I hope to be.

I walk over and lean against the pen while Briggs keeps leading the horse. After a minute or two, he tosses me a sideways glance. “You looking for something to do?”

“You got something for me to do?”

“Was about to take Honey out,” he says. “Jensen could use some exercise. I think he’ll suit your personality.”

“Is he a crotchety old man too?”

Briggs’ laugh is big. “Why, yes he is, matter of fact.”

“Doesn’t seem like Hattie needs my help, so I can go.”

“Hattie doesn’t need anyone’s help.” Briggs shoots me a look. “At least, she thinks she doesn’t.”

“Stubborn as ever, huh?” I say.

“Always something to prove, that one.” He nods to the stable. “Jensen’s the big guy with the spotted coat.”

I find the horse and immediately love him. Broad, tall, a little glint in his eye that maybe he’s done with this stable and wants to get out and run.

I feel ya, pal.

I get him tacked up without a fuss, then meet Briggs back at the pen. He’s up on Honey, ready to ride. Before I left, horseback riding was my favorite thing to do out here on the ranch. Now, even though I spend so much time around these majestic animals, I hardly ever ride just to ride. It’s another reason the trailer life has stopped suiting me. I want horses. I want a dog. I want roots.

Hard to get any of that when, like Hattie said, your home comes with a trailer hitch.

We start off in the direction of the north meadow, both of us quiet.

The view is wide open, almost to the horizon, interrupted only by the mountains in the distance. No fences, no people . . . just the rolling hills, the changing leaves, and the air and the land and the sky.

We both nick the horses into a steady gallop, and feeling the wind and the sun and the power beneath me is exactly what I need right now. After a good ten minutes of pushing the horses, we rein them down to a slower pace. I pull Jensen into a trot next to Briggs.

He’s not one for small talk, and neither am I. If he’s going to say something, it’s going to be something that matters. And he always seems to know when I’ve got something to say too.

Which is why I’m not surprised when he glances at me and says, “Go ahead.”

“Sir?”

“Somethin’s on your mind.”

I chuckle to myself. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re not hard to read,” he says.

“I thought I was pretty good at pretending.”

“Not with me.”

I sigh. “Something’s been bugging me, I guess.”

He stays quiet. I’m convinced that’s how he got any of us talking—by waiting us out and not pushing. No clue why it works, but it does.

“Never understood why you came and found me after I left,” I say. “I basically spit in your face, you know?”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything.