I left for Wyoming a year after Opal passed away. I was nineteen, my grief still raw and clawing at my insides. I don’t even remember picking Business as my major. I just moved. Breathed. Checked all the boxes I thought I was supposed to check, living for both of us because the thought of living just for myself felt too heavy to bear. I made friends. I dated. I went to parties. I laughed when I was supposed to laugh and smiled when it was expected.
But none of it ever really felt like mine. Not until I started working for Liam. That ranch, the long days and dirty boots, the way the cattle moved through the pens, the sunburnt evenings… it was the first thing that made my blood stir again. The first time I didn’t feel like I was sleepwalking through my own life.
But Liam. God, Liam. He never really saw me. Not the way I wanted him to. He saw how I could help him reach Amber. He saw how I could help run the ranch, keep the books straight, handle the headaches no one else wanted. He saw myusefulness. My loyalty. My reliability. But did he ever see me? Was he ever there for me?
Is he even there now, or is he just chasing the version of me that made his life easier?
The questions hit harder than anything Phern said.
And the worst part is I don’t know if I want the answers.
I don’t text Liam for the rest of the weekend. I think about it more than I want to admit. I reread our messages until the words blur. But in the end, I say nothing.
On Monday morning, I load my suitcase into Mom’s car and head out before the sun is fully up. The sky is streaked with soft pinks and purples, the kind of quiet morning that feels like a clean slate.
The road to Connie’s ranch feels less foreign this time, like I’m not just driving to something—I’m drivingintosomething. Maybe not a forever, but at least a beginning.
When I pull up, Connie’s already there, standing by the barn with a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a crooked smile on her weathered face.
“Well, girlie,” she says, lifting the mug in greeting, “let’s get to work.”
Her voice is steady. No-nonsense. Exactly what I need. I square my shoulders and smile back, the rising sun catching the edges of my resolve.
“Let’s do it.”
And just like that, I step into a new rhythm. One that doesn’t include Liam. At least not for now.
The days fall into pattern.
I wake before the sun, drink the strongest coffee known to man, and hit the dirt with the rest of the crew. My hands are already rougher than they’ve ever been, nails short, knuckles cracked, but I don’t care. I learn the fencing layout fast, figure out which gates like to stick, which calves are little escape artists.
Connie doesn’t coddle. She barks, points, expects me to keep up and I do. I work the chute line like I was born in it, tagging ears, giving shots, hauling bags of feed like I’ve got something to prove. And maybe I do.
By the end of the first week, one of the guys calls meWyoming, and it sticks. The second week, someone brings me a thermos of sweet tea during break. By the third, Connie claps me on the back after a long, blistering day and grunts, “You’re a damn natural, girlie.”
I smile. It feels good. It feels earned.
Not to mention what I’ve already done on the business side of the ranch. New website, merchandise store, and so much more. All up and running. Connie keeps bragging that her sales have never been this high, and this is only the beginning.
During the day, I don’t think abouthim. Not really. The ranch keeps me busy, my body sore in ways that keep my heart quiet. There’s something healing in the work; in knowing I’m building something with my own hands. But when night falls? That’s when it hits. I lie in the twin bed up in the apartment above the garage, staring at the ceiling fan, the sheets cool against my skin, and I miss him.
God, I miss him.
I miss the rasp of Liam’s voice in the morning. The way he always smelled like cattle and cedar dust. The way he’d hand me coffee without a word like I was the only person in the world worth waking up for.
Sometimes I scroll our old texts, rereading the stupid banter, the soft moments tucked between sarcasm and flirtation. My thumb hovers over his name more than once.
But I never text. Never call.
Not even when the ache feels unbearable.
I close my eyes and tell myself I’m fine. That this is what I wanted. That I’m building a life that belongs to me now.
But every night I fall asleep with my heart somewhere in Wyoming. Reaching for him.
One month goes by in a blur. Then two. Then three.
I fall into the rhythm of the ranch, and time stops feeling linear. Days blend into each other, sunrises bleeding into sunsets, my boots caked with dirt, my hands always busy. The ache for Liam dulls, settling into something quieter. Not gone. Just folded into the background.
