Then he was there, shifting from man to bear and back again, savage, wild beautiful, his growl flowed into language and meaning and love, a voice that was steeped in silence and reached to the heavens, stars and moonlight in his fur and on his skin. He reached out his hand, and her heart answered as her whole spirit reached back for him.
Then a voice…many voices, woven into one breath, whispered, We waited for you. Walk now.
Bailee gasped, and the fire flared behind her closed lids, a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow.
She opened her eyes to find the embers glowing hot and full, a wind rising through the cottonwoods, and her heart beating with a rhythm older than her bones.
“I answer your call with conviction and purpose, and I choose a path that is rocky, treacherous and dark. I’ll answer with a full heart and a devoted spirit to you, to the land, to my people. I won’t fail them, I won’t fail you, and I won’t fail myself. Thank you for this gift. Thank you for him, Dakota Locklear.” She rose, clutched the bag around her neck and left the flames burning behind and deep inside her.
The morning after the fire, Bailee stood at the kitchen sink, cradling a warm mug in her hands, the silence still full of embers.
A knock came at the door.
Ayla stepped in like she’d always belonged there, eyes clear, braid loose over her shoulder, purpose radiating from every step. Her visit to Taryn’s family had shifted something in her, refined her spirit into steel and grace.
They didn’t need words to greet each other.
Ayla walked over and touched Bailee’s arm. “You’re coming back to Pine Ridge with me.”
Bailee blinked, something softening in her chest. “I think that’s a perfect idea.”
She reached for a small carved box on the counter, her hands trembling as she turned and pressed it into Ayla’s palms. “We found this when we found Taryn’s bones,” she whispered. “I wanted to return it to you…with something of her.”
Ayla’s breath hitched. “What did you do?”
“Open the box.”
Her fingers shook as she set it on the kitchen table. The latch gave with a soft click. When she lifted the lid, her breath left her in a single, sharp sound.
Nestled inside lay the horse her grandfather had carved for her so many years ago. But threaded on the same smooth leather cord was something new, something sacred. A small hawk carved in Taryn’s style, fierce and proud, wings flared as if ready to take flight.
Ayla’s soft cry broke the quiet. She turned and threw herself into Bailee’s arms, sobbing into her shoulder. “You gave me her to take with me,” she wept. “Fierce like a hawk. Our Taryn.”
They held each other for a long, trembling moment, two women bound by loss, love, and survival.
When Ayla could breathe again, Bailee gently lifted the necklace from the box and draped it around her throat, her own tears slipping free. The leather settled against Ayla’s skin like a claim. Like a blessing.
“Thank you,” Ayla whispered, voice raw as she touched both symbols she loved.
Bailee wiped her cheeks, nodding. “I’m ready.”
A slow, sly smile curved Ayla’s mouth. “Good. Because he’s waiting. Not quite patiently. He’s turning into a big ol’ grizzly bear.”
Bailee let out a quiet breath, heart pounding with certainty. It was time to take a personal path, and the beginning of that way waited for her, growly and hers.
She turned, walked back into her room, and opened the cedar chest at the foot of her bed.
Inside, the star quilt waited, soft and warm with memory. She folded it gently, pressed it to her heart, then grabbed her suitcase. When she stepped out into the morning sun, she didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. Her grandmother knew she’d be home again.
The morning stretched wide and golden over Pine Ridge, light spilling across the fenced pasture in a slow wash that warmed the earth. Bear finished the last length of his run along the dirt road, his breaths deep and even, the rhythm calming the edges of the thoughts he had wrestled since dawn. Sweat clung to his back. His pulse steadied beneath the quiet. He braced one hand on the sun-warmed fence rail and leaned forward into a slow stretch as the countryside settled around him.
His mind refused peace.
Every inhale brought her back. The clean scent of her hair. The way her voice softened when she let go of the fight. The look in her eyes when they had parted in Rio, a woman changing before his eyes, finding her core, finding her path, finding herself. He had carried that look into his dreams and woken needing to run it out of his system, only to find it pulsing stronger.
A soft breeze lifted through the prairie grass, and he let his gaze drift toward the long dirt drive.
A car door slammed.
