Bear:Every word.
I don't reply right away. I can't. Because if I do, I'll say too much. I'll admit that my heart is already tipping toward something I don't know how to catch. Something I don't know if I should catch at all.
Instead, I type:
Me:Goodnight, Bear.
Bear:Goodnight, Sunshine.
The nickname stirs a beautiful, unexpected warmth in my chest. I set the phone face down and close my eyes. Then, feeling restless, I slip out the front door and step onto the small porch. The night air is cool and smells faintly of pine and lake water. Crickets chirp in a steady rhythm, and from somewhere down the road. Laughter echoes faintly from a nearby house, someone's porch light glowing through the trees. The world is still and peaceful, and for a moment I stand there, letting it wash over me. Walker Lake feels quieter at night, like it's holding its breath. It's easy to pretend I belong here. Easier than thinking about what happens if I don't.
But I don't know what tomorrow brings. Though tonight, with my daughter sleeping peacefully in her next room, I let myself have this one small thing. This thread of connection.
I let myself feel something. Even if I know it might not last.
Even if it's the wrong story at the wrong time.
Because right now, it feels like the only thing that's real.
Chapter 10
Asher
The morning starts before the sun. I'm out by the east paddock with a mug of coffee that's gone cold, watching the sky bleed pale pink into the edges of the hills. There's peace in that silence, in the hush of waking earth and cattle lowing in the distance. I don't get many moments like this lately. Not with the way things are shifting around here. Not with her in my head.
Sipping what's left of my coffee, I turn toward the barn. That's when I hear it. The sharp, pained whinny of a horse.
I drop the mug. It lands in the dirt with a dull thud and rolls away as I sprint toward the sound.
It's Duke. One of our oldest working horses. Strong as hell but getting on in years. He's favoring his left hind leg, trembling and wide-eyed. I slow as I approach, arms out, murmuring low tosettle him. He shifts and snorts, sweat lacing his coat even in the early chill.
"Easy, boy. I got you," I whisper.
I crouch and examine the leg. There's swelling near the hock, angry-looking. Not a cut or abrasion, but something deep. A twist, maybe. A strain.
Shit.
I don't waste time. Pulling out my phone, I scroll until I find the number in my contacts.
Cade.
The new vet, who came highly recommended by everyone from the feed store clerk to my youngest brother.
He picks up on the second ring. "Morning, Walker Lake Ranch Vet. Cade speaking."
"It's Asher over at Silver Cattle Ranch. I've got a problem with one of my old horses. Swollen hock, favoring the leg, came on fast overnight while he was in his stall. Think you can come out?"
"On my way," he says. No hesitation. No nonsense. I give him directions, and we hang up.
I tap my contacts again and call Finn. He answers on the second ring.
"Everything okay?" he asks.
"Got a situation with Duke. Swollen hock, looks bad. Vet's on the way, but I could use a hand. Can you and Zach get down to the barn?"
"Be there in five," he says. I hang up and turn my attention back to Duke again, stroking his neck to keep him calm. My phone stays in my hand, just in case.
I hear the familiar sound of boots on gravel before I see them. Finn and Zach jog up just as Cade's truck pulls into the drive. They slip into the barn with practiced ease, nodding to me and settling near Duke—quiet, steady support.