“And now…” I look down at Sunridge, where the ranch is a small patch of brown and green at the edge of things.
I think about Sadie’s laugh when she licks batter off a spoon, about Boone’s lunchbox full of receipts, Caleb’s quiet hands on a horse’s neck, Silas dancing in the farmers market like the pavement is a stage.
“Now it turns out I can feel alive baking muffins for a six-year-old and fighting with the pantry,” I say. “And walking up a mountain. And… talking about bean bags.”
He nods.
“Wild Reverie seems… happy,” I add. “Messy. But… balanced. Like you all decided what matters and built around that instead of letting the world decide for you.”
Creed’s gaze stays on the horizon. “We’re trying.”
I hug my arms around myself, the wind cutting a little sharper now.
“I’d like that,” I say softly. “To… decide. And then build around it. I just don’t… know what I’m choosing yet. Or if I’m brave enough to say it out loud when I do.”
He looks at me then, really looks, his eyes clear.
“You don’t have to know today,” he says. “Or tomorrow. Or by the time the Coyote Cup starts. Just… keep walking toward what makes you feel like yourself. And away from anything that makes you feel small.”
Marcus. Headlines. Shame.
“I’m trying,” I whisper.
“That’s all any of us are doing.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Caleb
By the timethe sun drags itself over the ridge, I already know I’m in trouble.
Not the usual kind—loose fence wire, a colicky gelding, a feed shipment delayed.
No.
This is the kind of trouble that sits heavy in your bones before your eyes even open.
My joints ache. My head throbs. My breath feels thick, sticky, like trying to wade through mud. And my stomach… well. It isn’t thrilled with me either.
But horses don’t feed themselves, and the ranch doesn’t stop moving because one man feels he swallowed a beehive.
So I swing my legs out of bed.
And immediately regret it.
The room tilts hard to the left, then to the right. I’m on a boat in a storm. I stop moving and brace a hand against the nightstand. Sweat beads down the back of my neck despite the cold morning.
“Not today,” I mutter to absolutely no one.
Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe allergies. Maybe Karma is finally sending me the bill for every time I’ve told Boone he looks hellish.
I pull on jeans and a flannel, both heavier than they should be, and make my way down the hall slow enough that even the floorboards seem impatient. The kitchen smells of coffee and cinnamon. Someone baked early, and by someone, I mean Delaney.
Great.
Exactly the person I want to look half dead in front of.
She’s already gone, though. Her coat is missing from the hook, and a few prep bowls are on the counter waiting for later. Boone and Sadie ate and left for school. Silas’s coffee mug is in the sink, which means he left ten minutes late and will swear his alarm “betrayed him.”
