I'd spent twenty-four years chasing a version of success defined by someone else. And in one moment of choosing Winnie, of choosing this life, I'd found something success could never buy.
I'd found home.
WINNIE
EPILOGUE
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
12 Months Later, Late Summer
"Home isn't where you land—it's where you choose to stay, and stay, and stay."
– Winnie Jameson
***
Nationals changed everything.
Not just the third-place finish—though that helped, the prize money and sponsorship deals that followed even more so. But it was the moment I crossed that finish line in Fort Worth, Bandit's hooves thundering, crowd roaring, and I looked up to see Beau in the stands exactly where he'd promised he'd be last time, first row, center seat, screaming louder than anyone else, his face split in the biggest, stupidest grin I'd ever seen.
That's when I knew, bone-deep and certain, this was forever.
A year later, I was living that forever in ways I'd never imagined. The ranch was thriving—cattle healthy, finances actually stable for the first time in years, Pops strong enough to work half-days and complain about being forced to rest the other half. And Beau? Beau had transformed. He’d gone from that overdressed city boy who couldn't tell a pitchfork from a garden rake into someone Pops actually trusted with the herd.
His hands were permanently calloused, rough against my skin in the best way. His shoulders were broader from months of hauling feed and fixing fences. He looked like he'd been born to this life. Like Dallas had been the costume and this—dirt under his nails, hay in his hair, arguing with a rooster at dawn—was who he really was.
Which is why, when he woke me up at 4:30 on a Sunday morning with a hand on my hip and a whisper of "Get dressed, we're going somewhere," I didn't even question it.
Well. I questioned it alittle.
"Beau, it's four-thirty in the morning. On a Sunday. Our one day to sleep past five." I blinked at him in the darkness of my room—he'd taken to sneaking in after Pops went to sleep, leaving before dawn, a dance we both knew Pops was aware of but politely ignored. "Unless the barn is on fire, go back to sleep."
"It's better than sleep. Trust me?" His eyes were bright even in the dim light, almost manic with barely contained excitement. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my bare shoulder that sent a shiver straight down my spine. "Jeans and a nice shirt. And boots. Your good ones."
"My good boots? Beau, if you're taking me to Waffle House in my show boots, I'm going to kick you."
"Please, Win. Just... trust me."
Twenty minutes later, I was dressed, caffeinated, and confused, sitting in his new truck as we drove through the dark Oklahoma morning. The sky was just starting to lighten at the edges—that particular quality of pre-dawn blue that felt more like possibility than actual color.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"
"Nope." He was grinning, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to rest on my thigh, his thumb rubbing circles into the denim. "But we're almost there."
We turned off the main road onto a dirt path I knew by heart—it led to the old Miller property, twenty acres that had sat empty for two years since old man Miller passed and his kids moved to Tulsa to become accountants or something tragic. I'd ridden past it a hundred times, always thinking what a shame it was that good land was going to waste.
Beau parked near the decrepit farmhouse—paint peeling, porch sagging, windows dark—and killed the engine.
"Okay," I said slowly. "Why are we at the Miller place at the crack of dawn? Are we squatting? Is this a breaking and entering date?"
He turned to face me, and the excitement in his expression was blinding. "Because I bought it."
The world tilted on its axis. "You... what?"
"I bought it. Closed on it Friday afternoon. Twenty acres, the house, the barn, access to the creek." He was talking fast now, words tumbling over each other. "I know we talked about expanding eventually, being smart and waiting, but Win—this property borders yours to the east. It would give us direct creek access year-round, double our grazing land, and look—" He pointed toward the barn. "That structure is sound. It could be converted into a proper training facility. Indoor arena, stalls for client horses, room for clinics and lessons."
My brain was struggling to catch up. "Beau, this property costs... twenty acres in this area, even with the buildings needing work, that's at least two hundred grand. How did you—"
