I don't go into his stall—Eli made it clear I need permission for that. But I can watch. He's alert when I approach, ears swiveling toward me, but he doesn't pin them back. Doesn't retreat to the far corner. Just watches, wary but not panicked.
I turn away and head toward the far pasture fence, scanning for the next thing that needs fixing.
Chace is already there when I arrive, crouched by a loose board near the corner post. I don't know how long he's been working—long enough to notice me checking on the colt, apparently.
He doesn't ask questions. Doesn't comment. Just works nearby, the way ranch hands do when they're keeping an eye out without making a thing of it.
"Rough night?" There's a hint of amusement in his voice.
I tip the bucket and set it down with a thud. "Yeah."
"Well." He tips his hat back and studies the sky. "You're still here."
The observation lands differently than I expect. Simple. Matter-of-fact. No judgment attached.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I am."
We work in loose tandem after that. Not assigned, just adjacent. Chace takes on tasks that keep him nearby. Fixing a loose board. Checking another gate. Just two people working the same land, shoulders loose, breathing easier.
The sun climbs. Sweat slicks my spine. Dust clings to my skin, settling into something that feels almost like belonging. With every completed task, a small piece of the noise in my head goes quiet.
By the time I pause for water, my breathing has evened out. The ache in my muscles feels familiar instead of sharp. I lean back against the shed wall for a moment, forearms resting on my knees.
Chace hands me a bottle of water without a word.
I take it, unscrew the cap, and drink deep. Water runs cool and steady down my throat, washing away the dryness I hadn't realized had built up.
"Thanks," I say.
He nods, then glances toward the pasture. "Gonna be a long one today."
I follow his gaze. The ranch stretches out wide and indifferent, work waiting at every turn. Empty stalls where boarders used to be. Fences that need more than patches. A financial crisis I'm only beginning to understand.
That you give a damn about any of this.
Eli's words from last night surface without warning.
Do I?
The question sits heavier than I want it to. Because the truth is, I don't know how to prove I care. Not in a way that makes up for five years of silence. Not in a way that convinces him—or anyone—that I'm not just going through motions until it’s time to leave again.
I'm here today. That's all I've got.
Whether it's enough, I don't know.
I drain the last of the water and push to my feet. "Yeah. Let's keep moving."
***
The afternoon stretches long and hot. I work steadily, checking off tasks without fanfare. A loose board replaced. Feed distributed. Troughs scrubbed clean. Small things. Necessary things. The kind that keep a place like this moving forward whether people are ready or not.
I pass the empty stalls more than once. Each time, I slow just slightly, taking in the vacant space. These used to be full. Boarders paying to stable their horses here, clients bringing young prospects for my dad to train. It was my daddy’s greatest joy.
I keep walking.
By the time the sun starts its descent, my body has settled into a rhythm that feels almost right. The earlier ache has smoothedinto something manageable. The tightness in my chest has loosened—not gone, but no longer sharp enough to stop me.
I pause once, hands on my hips, eyes tracing the line of the pasture fence toward the hills beyond. Somewhere out there is Maddox land. Cole circling, waiting for us to fail so he can swoop in with another offer.
