For the first time since the fire, I don’t feel like something’s been taken from me.
Something’s been given.
Because he stays.
Epilogue
LEONORA
The first calf bawls just as the sun crests the ridge.
The sound carries across the pasture, sharp and alive, and I close my eyes for half a second.
Not chaos. Not fire. Not gunshots.
Life.
Real, stubborn life.
Dust kicks up as trucks line the fence row—neighbors, deputies, cowboys from two counties over. Christian stands near the gate, laughing with a dark-haired rancher I vaguely recognize from town. Women unload foil pans and Dutch ovens onto long folding tables set beneath the cottonwoods.
Smoke rises. But this time it smells like mesquite and brisket.
Not loss.
Martin lost his ranch at auction a few months later.
Arlo and I bought it.
A screaming deal.
One that stitched the original Winchester land back together—acre by stubborn acre.
Not because I did it alone.
But because we did it as a team.
Faith and Travis out of Hollister bought the feed store, turning dread-filled supply runs into something I actually look forward to.
Arlo moves through it all like he belongs here. Rope coiled in one hand. Hat tipped low. Conferring with the men near the chute. Not barking orders. Not taking over.
Standing beside.
He catches my eye from across the pen.
There’s a question in it.
Still.
Always asking.
Still choosing.
I nod once.
He nods back, the corners of his mouth tipping up.
The first calf is wrestled gently to the ground, branded clean and quick. When it’s done, Arlo rises, dust clinging to his jeans, forearms streaked with sweat and soot. He grins at me as if this is the most natural place in the world for him to be.
