“Yes, I’m aware,” I say with a sigh.
“I’m not here to pile on,” she says. “But this isn’t New York, Roxanne. You’re on a ranch with people who’ve seen the worst life can throw at them. We take safety seriously here, not just for your sake, but for everyone else’s peace of mind.”
“I didn’t plan on falling in,” I mutter.
“No one does,” she says. “But we dress for the fall, not the ride.”
“You’re right.”
“You’ve got to be smart out here,” she adds. “No one here wants to see you get hurt. That includes Duke. Even if he’s terrible at showing it.”
“It was stupid. I put everyone in danger, and I know better.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. People fall in. It does happen, and what happened today, well, it could have been worse, but it wasn’t. End of story.”
I glance at her. “I appreciate you looking out for me, and I’m sure the rest of the residents appreciate you doing that for them as well.”
Georgia shrugs. “Combat medic for five years. I’ve seen what happens when people think they’re invincible.”
“And now you keep people from getting themselves killed in the mountains?”
“That, and make sure no one sneaks their cell phone into goat yoga.”
I blink. “Goat yoga?”
“It’s a thing,” she says, deadpan. “You practice your poses while baby goats hop all over you.”
“I see. I didn’t know that was on the healing menu,” I say with a chuckle. “I would think people would want their phones to take pics of all the baby goats.”
“True, but we’ve had too many incidents where the goats ran off with the phones.”
I smile, but it fades as soon as I glance down at my scraped palms. “Guess I still have a lot to learn.”
“You’re not the only one,” she says, her voice softer now. “We all came here because we needed to learn something.”
“That’s why we came here. To learn. I’m excited to start my interviews and thank you for signing your release form. I’m glad you’re so open to talking.”
“Oh, you can ask me anything. I’m an open book. I realizethere are a lot of vets who won’t want to be interviewed and that’s totally their call, but I don’t mind telling my story.”
I smile and glance at her. She drives one-handed, her arm draped across the open window, wind teasing her long red hair into a halo of copper strands. Freckles dust her cheeks, catching the late sun. She looks completely at ease—strong, self-assured, and somehow softer for it. I can’t imagine the things she’s seen in combat. She lost part of her leg because of her service, and yet, she glows. I wish I knew how to carry myself like that—unbothered, unafraid.
“Can you give me the highlight reel of your story?” I ask. “I know we’ll sit down for a full interview, but I’ve been excited to get to know you better since we met.”
Georgia chuckles, eyes still on the road. “The highlight reel, huh? Let’s see… born in Colorado Springs, joined the Army in my second year of college. I was a combat medic, spent most of my twenties patching up people who thought they were invincible.” She pauses, a half smile tugging at her lips. “Turns out I wasn’t either. My convoy hit an IED during a routine patrol overseas. I came home minus part of my right leg and plus a new perspective.”
“I can’t imagine,” I say.
“I try to stay positive and hey, I’m here. I have friends who didn’t make it back,” she says. “Running the medical and wellness programs for the ranch also keeps me busy and grounded. The whole point here is healing without hiding from the hard stuff.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not. Don’t let me fool you. I still have my ugly cries in the shower. My own sister Baylee? She was more freaked out about me losing my leg than I was. We were so close and now things are so awkward because she stopped knowing how to be around me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs as the ranch gate comes into view. “Thank you, but it will work itself out.”
“Does Baylee live here?”
