“Yeah.” Rowan’s voice grew quiet. “Before he died saving me from a horse that was spooked, just like Jasper was today.”
“Is that why you were so scared? When Jasper reared up?”
“Terrified,” Rowan said. “I couldn’t lose you, Huck. Not when I just found you.”
“I’m sorry I ran away.”
“Yeah. That wasn’t smart. You have every right to be upset. But you need to figure out how to keep your cool when your emotions feel too big, okay?”
The sound of hoofbeats made them both look up. Sierra appeared at the top of the ravine, mounted on her palomino mare. Even from this distance, Rowan could see the tension in her shoulders, the fear and anger warring in her expression.
“Huck Elway Blackwood!” Sierra’s voice carried down to them clearly as she guided her horse carefully down the slope. “What in the world were you thinking, riding off like that? You could have been killed!”
“Sorry, Mom.” Huck swiped at his eyes, trying to erase evidence of his tears.
Sierra dismounted and was across the creek bed in three strides, pulling Huck into a fierce hug. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
Sierra’s eyes found Rowan’s over Huck’s head, and he saw the moment she registered his emotional state. His eyes were still damp, and she clearly saw it. But instead of saying anything, she simply smiled—a soft, understanding smile that made him ache.
Oh, he loved her.
“What happened to the snake?” she asked, noticing the scattered remains on the rock.
“Mr. R shot it,” Huck said, pulling back from his mother’s embrace. “It was huge, Mom. And Jasper got scared and reared up, but Mr. R caught me before I fell.”
“Did he now?” Sierra’s eyes held Rowan’s, and he saw gratitude there, mixed with something deeper.
“Just doing my job,” Rowan said quietly, standing and brushing dirt from his jeans.
“What job is that?”
“Being his dad.”
The simple statement hung in the air between them, and Rowan watched Sierra’s expression soften further.
“Good job.”
They were gathering the horses and preparing to head back when Sierra suddenly went still.
“What is it?” Rowan asked, immediately alert.
“Look.” Sierra pointed toward the ridge above them, where a lone horse was picking its way down the slope toward the ranch buildings. A riderless bay gelding.
Rowan’s blood chilled. “That’s Morrie’s horse.”
“Where’s Morrie?” Sierra’s face went pale.
The horse appeared calm but tired, his reins trailing and his saddle slightly askew. No signs of violence, but no sign of his rider either.
“I’ll get the horse, then we should head back, see if we can raise Morrie on the walkie.”
Sierra met his gaze, her eyes dark.
“I’ll find him,” Rowan said quietly. “I’ll find him.”
Eleven
