That one actually made me laugh out loud the first time I found it.Sam and Goliath.It sounds like a bad buddy comedy or the world's most ironic country duo.
But here’s the kicker. Sam isn’t short for Samuel. Or even Samson. Nope. Just plain old Sam.
There’s a mythos built around this guy—leather jackets, low growl of a voice, the brooding country outlaw with the smirk and the six-string—but the more I dig, the more it feels like smoke and mirrors. The question isn'twho is Sam Stone? It'swho is he trying so hard not to be?
I even know a lot about his hometown, Broken Heart Creek. Population: 780. It’s nestled on the eastern slopes of the Big Horn Mountains and sits at the edge of high desert and alpine forest. It’s about 50 miles west of Sheridan and is surrounded by dramatic scenery. Rocky ridges, pine-covered slopes, and winding creeks.
From what I can tell by photos, the main street and downtown area are rustic and old-fashioned. The town is most known for the Love Lost Rodeo in June, which is a prelude to the Cheyenne Frontier Days a few cities over. According to the internet, Lost Love Rodeo is a bittersweet festival that blends bronco busting with poetry slams and lost-letter readings. Supposedly it started after a Civil War widow settled there and read aloud letters never delivered. Tragic and romantic.
The town itself was founded in the late 1800s as a mining and ranching stop and was named after a settler’s tale of losing his love to a blizzard while crossing the mountains. Some say her ghost still walks the land at dusk. There are hiking trails, historic buildings, and even an actual creek called Broken Heart Creek that runs through most of the town and is icy cold year-round.
I’m feeling confident with my research as I sit in Denver for my layover. That is until Frederick texts me.
Frederick
You coming to work today?
Seriously? I roll my eyes and sip my too-hot airport coffee that’s a tad bitter.
Did you not read my email?
There are three blinking dots like he’s debating how far to push.
Chasing a lead in Wyoming?
Care to tell me what this lead is?
I’d rather not. Not until I have something solid.
Another pause.
Char, this doesn’t look good.
Oh, we’re doing this again? I smirk and type back.
Freddy, you used to trust me. Have faith. I’ll be in touch when I know more.
I purposely use the nickname hehates. I mean, if he can’t be bothered to learn my name after four years, why should I worry about using his?
No response. But the dots appear again. Then vanish. Then reappear. Whatever. I close out of the conversation and slip my phone into my bag. My next stop is Sheridanand then onto Broken Heart Creek, where Iwillbring back something solid.
The plane touches down in Sheridan at four, local time.
The sky outside the tiny window is thick with clouds, the kind that hang low and brooding, like they’ve got something to say. The whole landscape looks muted, washed in grays and browns. It’s not at all what I expected.
As I wait for the flight attendant to open the cabin door, I overhear a guy behind me mutter, “Supposed to snow tonight.”
I snort under my breath. Snow? In April? Yeah, right. That sounds like the kind of thing locals say to mess with outsiders.
It’s definitely cooler as I step onto the tarmac. Cool enough that I’m grateful for the jacket I almost didn’t pack. But the denim isn’t lined with anything, so it doesn’t keep me warm. Not like the lady in front of me who’s dressed like she’s prepared for a blizzard. Fur coat, fur hat, and thick gloves. She can barely walk because she’s so well-insulated.
Once we’re off the tarmac, I bypass her. Luckily, I didn’t check a bag, so I skip the carousel chaos and head straight for the rental counter.
The woman behind the desk barely looks up as she hands me a key fob and says, “Spot twenty-three. Lot’s behind the building.”
The car? A silver Prius. Of course. It’s the same model I drive in LA. I came all this way and somehow ended up with a carbon copy of my everyday life.
I haul my bag over one shoulder and head outside. The air slaps me awake. It’s crisp and cold and carries the kind ofsilence you never get in the city. No hum of traffic, no honking, no shouting. Just open space, wind, and that thick, low sky pressing down like it’s keeping secrets. And Broken Heart Creek is going to be even quieter.
