Growing up, it’d been a joke that Dad was a horse whisperer, but I never realized how true that was until I got older and knew what to watch for. It was an instantaneous connection. Somehow, he just looked into the animal’s eyes and knew what they needed and how he could give it to them. It wasn’t easy to pass that on to someone else, to show them how to pick up on the little signs here and there.
He’d always told me if he could give someone even a fraction of that insight, he’d have considered his life well lived.
Arrival day at the clinic was always hectic, but it was also my favorite. It was a perfect introduction to the people we were hosting for the next two weeks. Every ranch employee was on duty as my dad and I walked around and greeted the influx of trucks and trailers. My sisters showed guests to their cabins while Bishop, Lincoln, and the hands unloaded the horses and housed them in their new stalls for the next two weeks.
Tonight, there’d be a cookout for guests and workers—a chance for everyone to unwind and familiarize themselves withtheir surroundings. Time and time again, it proved to be entertaining. Sometimes, it’d get rowdy, and I’d enjoy watching as people would drag their feet the following day since the first class began with the rising sun.
Though, I didn’t know if I’d be staying to take part.
If it were any other year, I would’ve moved back to my parent’s house for the next two months to be nearby in case I was needed. These clinics were all-hands-on-deck kind of events. Even before I started working for Dad, I was always around to pick up on our daily chores that might have fallen by the wayside.
But Dad had specifically hired more help this year, so we didn’t have to worry about that happening. The work was split evenly amongst the staff, rotating every two weeks with each new clinic.
My packed bags sat in the backseat of my truck, judging myself and the mess I’d inadvertently gotten into. Lincoln would be housed with the rest of the hired staff in one of the cabins near the barn, putting a solid stretch of land between where he’d rest his head and where I’d rest mine.
But was it enough?
The sun began its descent, and our work finished for the day. Staff moved across the empty space past the barn where the cabins sat in neat lines. Mom and Dad had built a giant fire pit outfitted with a covered patio and grills. The familiar scent of burning wood and grilled meats wafted toward the main house, making my mouth water.
I’d barely eaten all day. If not for Dad, I likely wouldn’t have stopped at all. Keeping busy was the only thing stopping my mind from wandering to the stables where a handsome cowboy had been most of the day.
“It never gets old,” my dad said, sidling up beside me. I was leaning over the fence post, staring at the ranch I loved so much. The grass was taller than we usually let it get for June. It’d been an unusually wet spring, so we’d held off on cutting the first batchof hay for the season, but we wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer.
It didn’t mean the sight wasn’t damn pretty.
There were no hills or rolling mountains as our backdrop. Black Springs Ranch was damn near as flat as it could be, but it was still the most beautiful land I’d ever seen. Maybe I was biased. Maybe it was because this land was mine, and I was born with that love in my heart.
But there was something about being able to see the rising and setting sun in its entirety that I loved. My great-grandparents had planted clusters of trees along the property—perfectly hidden groves that had been our favorite places to hide growing up.
“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed. These quiet moments were rare, especially on days like these. It was why I had no intention of moving, not until my father broke the silence.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when this is over. I don’t know how to move on from something I dedicated my life to.” When his voice broke on the last word, he tried to cover it up with a cough, but it was too late.
I heard the hurt, heavy behind every word, the hesitation and fear of the future and what lies ahead.
“Bishop is already primed to take over the ranch, Daddy,” I said, gentling my voice. “You’ve taught him well.”
“What about these clinics?” he asked, lacing his hands together. “People depend on them. Hell, the animals do, too. Half of these horses would’ve been sold or traded off—labeled as a problem when it’s really their owners not knowing their heads from their asses.”
I didn’t have an answer. No one could match my dad’s natural affinity for these animals or read them like he could.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said, leaning on his shoulder. “But until then, we’ll enjoy the moments we have left.”
He hummed but said nothing more about his future or careerprospects. Instead, he steered the conversation toward much more precarious topics. “You haven’t brought your bags into the house.”
“I haven’t had time,” I said, lifting my foot so it rested on the lowest fence rail. “You’ve kept me busy.”
“Bullshit,” he laughed. “Is it that boyfriend of yours?”
Dad wasn’t too keen on Ellis. Sure, he thought he was friendly and respectable enough, but my father was adamant that no man alive was good enough for any of his girls.
Even after five years, he still hated Cleo’s husband. To be fair, I didn’t much care for the man, either.
While Ellis had grown up in our little small town where you couldn’t step foot in an establishment without running into a rancher, he’d never been a part of that life. He’d never ridden a horse or herded cattle. His hands were smooth and unblemished, and he had never known a day of hard labor.
Mom and Dad had both been shocked when I told them we were dating. Ellis was nothing like my past boyfriends, which is one of the reasons I’d been incentivized to say yes. Clearly, chasing cowboys wasn’t doing me any favors.
“What would Ellis have anything to do with it?”
