He mounts Cash in one swift motion, and I lift myself into Dolly's saddle and let Wes lead the way through the pasture. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”I ask after a few minutes of riding.
“One of my favorite places on the ranch,” he answers, his body moving effortlessly with Cash as we ride.
“You need a horse to get there?” I question.
“It’s definitely easier with a horse or an ATV. There aren’t any access roads to it.”
I give a noncommittal noise, even more curious now, but not wanting to ruin the quiet ride through the countryside. There’s no need to fill the silence with banal chatter when you’re riding. It’s one of the reasons I love it so much.
The coolness of the November air bites into my cheeks, but it’s fresh and crisp, and the land is beautifully untouched here. Prairie grass, tall and yellowing from fall, sways in the breeze and a crow caws loudly asa hawk swoops down, attempting to snag a mouse or a shrew for his supper.
The sandy buttes rise up in front of us with sides steep enough to look nearly like cliffs. These formations in the panhandle make it feel a little more like the wild west out here, like the old frontier that you always hear about in history books or old western novels.
Wes turns Cash toward a line of trees on a hill to our left. Once we reach it, we dismount and let the horses graze on the prairie grass while he spreads out a quilt and I grab the other things we’d packed.
The sun is beginning to dip low in the sky, painting the rolling hills of pasture and steep buttes in orange and gold. It’s a picturesque view from here with the sandhills and a pond to the east and a clear view of the sunset to the west. I soak in the sight, breathing in the brisk air with it. I can see why this was Wes’ favorite spot.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper as I settle next to him on the quilt.
He lounges on his side, propping himself up on his elbow as he takes in the view a moment before his gaze trails over me, lingering on my mouth as he scratches at his beard. “Even more beautiful with you here,” he says.
I scoff at the corny line.
He grabs the paper bags he brought with him, but this time instead of Mrs. Mackey’s food, it’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches he made on bread that’s a little stale.
“I figured the view might make up for the subpar meal,” he says.
I pop a grape into my mouth. “More than makes up for it. How many girls have you brought up here, anyway?” I ask, thinking back to Wes when he was in high school.
All the girls would flock to him every summer, always eager for someone new. Bringing them up here? They’d drop their panties for sure.
His eyes drift toward the horses. “You’re the first.”
I levy a disapproving glare. “Don’t lie.”
He shakes his head, a smile visible through the hair of his beard. “I’m not lying. This was always my spot. I didn’t want to share it with anyone. I came out here to think.”
A breeze blows my loose hair from my braid, and I take a moment to tighten it as I consider that. “And what is it that teenage Wes thought so long and hard about that he needed a designated spot to do it in?”
Wes chews thoughtfully on his sandwich as his eyes stay on the sun, slipping lower toward the horizon. “My dad. Pops. The ranch. The future.”
I’m taken aback by his response. I had assumed he was up here thinking about girls or something not quite so serious. My brow furrows. “What about the future?”
He sighs, face turning serious. “I used to want to be out here all year. I wanted to build a house right here and help Pops with the ranch after I graduated high school.”
I gape a moment, surprised by this revelation.
“God, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that,” he confesses, his gaze back on the horizon.
“Why didn’t you do it?”
His shoulders lift and then fall. “It was a pipe dream. Dad always wanted me to work for him at the accounting firm. He’d take me into the office and talk animatedly about how it all could be mine someday. Numbers came easily for me. Accounting is a steady income, much less risky than ranching. It seemed like a no-brainer.”
I mull over his reply for a moment, studying the shadows beginning to darken the pasture as the sun disappears behind one of the hills. “But it’s not what you wanted?”
“I didn’tnotwant it. I don’t know if I ever really fully decided what I wanted before I was applying to college at Dad’s behest. College. Becoming an accountant. Living in the city. It’s what my parents expected of me.”
“Do you always do what’s expected of you?”I wonder.
