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“Well, you look good doing it, so you’ve learned plenty.”

I shouldn’t be riding with my head turned around, but I can’t help it. She’s pretty, and I like looking at her. When we reach a wider part of the trail, I lead my horse, Annie, to the left so Cotton can come up and we can ride side by side.

The only sounds are the occasional brush of one of the horses against some leaves as they walk past and a bird call or two from high in the trees. We enter a more lush area where trees shade the path, and some shade-loving plants flourish in a green mosaic on both sides of the trail.

“This is so pretty. It’s amazing that you only need to get a little bit above Willow Springs to have the climate change completely.”

“It’s true. People don’t always understand that about this area, but there are microclimates, which is why it’s great for growing wine grapes in one area, then maybe a mile or two over, it’s perfect for grazing cattle. Then somewhere else, it’s a strawberry bonanza.”

“See, these are things we need to be highlighting if we want Loveland to be a travel destination.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out how to market it. You’re good at making things look good on camera.”

“It helps to have good things to photograph.” I assume she means the heavy-handed romantic scenarios we’ve put ourselves in. We ride in silence for a few minutes, up over the rise of a hill to where the next valley spreads out below us. As the horses walk along the ridge, the color below changes from tan to green as we move toward fresh grazing land where my cattle are today.

I point out the herd, explaining where my assistant foreman sits on his horse with a pair of corgis lazing on the grass nearby, having moved the cattle onto that land this morning.

“He’ll move them all back in a few hours, and they’ll sleep in the back pasture. It’s safer for them because it’s fenced. Out here, you never know what hungry animals might try to attack.”

“You’d have to be bold to attack a cow. They’re huge.”

“Huge, but slower than a lot of predators.”

We take a side path down the mountain, and this time I have her horse take the lead. She turns to look back at me, but I point her ahead. “No looking behind you.”

“You were doing it.”

“I’ve been riding a lot longer than you have.”

When we reach the bottom, I tie up our horses in the shade, and we walk the rest of the way on foot, taking a smaller path through a flat grassy expanse that’s full of wildflowers at this time of year. I throw a small backpack over my shoulders that I brought with me at the last minute. “What’s in the pack?”

“I threw in a few supplies. Better to be prepared in case the weather changes or whatnot.”

“Nice work. You’ve earned your camping badge.” Callie gives me a Boy Scout salute and dashes off to pluck an oversized dandelion and blow its petals all around. She has the same look of innocent wonderment that I still see on Scout’s face. It makes me believe he doesn’t have to lose all of that when he grows up. Doesn’t have to become as cynical as I have.

Which is why I had to let him spend the day with Elizabeth, even if I’m gutted by the thought of her erasing her bad behavior with new memories that may convince him it’s okay to leave me behind and go live with her. Or even worse, that it’s better that way.

Almost like she knows I’m gnawing on conflicting thoughts, Callie circles back with a small fistful of yellow daisies, which she hands to me. “Thank you for doing this with me. I know today can’t be easy for you, and showing a city girl what’s what on a ranch probably isn’t top priority.”

“Honestly, there’s nothing I’d rather do today. I need the distraction.”

Callie comes closer and reaches for my hand. There’s no one around. No reason for this display. But it’s a reassuring gesture of pure kindness and warmth. Tenderness. More?

She seems to realize the same thing because she looks down at our clasped hands and squints, as though she’s not sure how it happened. Then she drops my hand.

I don’t like it.

So I hold my palm out, inviting her to place hers in it. Intentionally. Hesitating for a moment, her eyes bounce from my hand to my face, questioningly. I don’t give her an explanation, don’t retract my hand.

Slowly, like she’s attempting to pet an animal who might dart away in an instant, she returns her hand to mine, and I envelop hers, interlacing our fingers. No explanation needed. It just feels better this way, connected with hers.

We walk slowly through the field, wending our way through the knee-deep flowers on a path that’s barely there. Enough to give us direction, but not much more.

“That had to have been hard, letting him leave with them,” Callie says. “I mean, it was hard for me, and I’ve only known Scout a short time.”

My answer comes in the form of silence and some labored breathing.

“Sorry,” she says. “If you don’t feel like talking about it, I’ll leave it alone.”