“I bet you could,” Rowan agreed. “Tell you what—let’s work on your form a bit more, then maybe we can set up some different targets.”
“We’re going to do horseback work after lunch,” Huck said.
“That’s when it’ll get fun.” Rowan glanced at Sierra. “Kowalski’s deli still open?”
They bought thick roast beef sandwiches and Sierra’s favorite potato salad and ate lunch at a picnic table outside the Renegade Community Arena, watching other families enjoying the crisp October afternoon. The arena buzzed with activity—kids practicing for next week’s youth rodeo, parents offering encouragement from the sidelines, the familiar sounds of horses nickering and people laughing mixing with autumn air.
Sierra unwrapped her sandwich, stealing glances at Rowan as he ate. Even something as simple as lunch felt different with him here, more complete somehow. Huck chattered between bites, pointing out friends and explaining the arena’s layout like a tour guide.
“That’s where they’ll have barrel racing,” Huck said, gesturing with his sandwich. “And over there’s the roping ring. Mr. R, can you help me practice? Please?”
“Rowan, you don’t?—”
“Sure,” Rowan said. He got up and walked over to the roping ring, where a weathered cowboy was helping a group of kids with their technique.
“Go ahead,” Sierra mumbled to herself. “We’ll finish eating.”
And of course, instead of just observing, Rowan walked straight into the ring. Sierra watched him approach the instructor—Buck Gilmore, one of the area’s best ropers. Buck’s weathered face broke into a grin as Rowan extended his hand, and Sierra could see them talking, Buck nodding with obvious respect.
“Who’s that man talking to Mr. Gilmore?” asked a young girl at the next table.
“That’s Mr. R, my mom’s friend,” Huck said proudly. “He’s teaching me to rope.”
Within minutes, Rowan had borrowed a lasso and was demonstrating a technique Sierra had never seen before. The kids gathered around him like he was the Pied Piper, their faces bright with attention. He showed them a complicated wrist movement, his voice carrying clear instructions across the arena.
“Keep your elbow steady,” Rowan called to a boy about Huck’s age. “The power comes from your core, not your arm.”
Sierra found herself remembering another moment—Rowan at seventeen, pulling her into the kitchen after one of her grandpa’s barbecues. The party had been winding down, most of the guests heading home, but Rowan had lingered. He’d always lingered.
“Dance with me,” he’d said, even though there was no music.
“Here? In the kitchen?”
“Especially here.”
He’d pulled her close, swaying to some rhythm only he could hear. Sierra had melted against him, her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of soap and hay and something uniquely Rowan. For those few minutes, she’d felt completely safe, completely loved, completely sure that they were meant to be together forever.
Now, watching him with all these kids—patient, encouraging, completely natural—that same sweeping longing crashed over her. This was what she’d dreamed of during all those lonely nights—Rowan here, their family finally complete.
“Mom, can I go practice too?” Huck had finished his sandwich and was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Go ahead,” Sierra said, and Huck ran out into the ring. Rowan, of course, turned and smiled at him, and her heart nearly exploded.
Tell him. The words simply flamed inside her. He deserves to know. They both deserve to know.
Yes. Yes, he did.
They brought out horses, and for the next hour, Sierra watched her son learn alongside other kids while Rowan moved between them like he’d been teaching children his whole life. Huck’s natural talent was obvious—he picked up techniques faster than kids who’d been practicing for months. Several parents commented on his skill, and Sierra’s heart squeezed with pride and guilt in equal measure.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Buck Gilmore finally called out. “Don’t want to tire out these horses before next week’s competition.”
The kids groaned but began gathering their gear. Rowan walked back over, coiling his borrowed rope with practiced ease.
“Thanks for letting me help,” he said to Sierra. “That was fun.”
“You’re a natural teacher,” she said softly. “Those kids loved you.”
“They’re good kids. Huck especially.” Rowan’s gaze found her son, who was saying goodbye to his friends.
