Mom’s gaze slides toward the trail where Harleigh disappeared earlier.
Then back to me.
She gives a tiny smile.
Dad, however, remains blissfully unaware.
He’s still chatting happily with Albert Storm and Holland Ludlow.
Taking pictures.
Laughing.
And I realize something as I watch him.
Maybe this conversation tomorrow won’t be quite as explosive as I originally feared.
Because somewhere out there, on a trail winding through these hills, is my future.
And whether my father realizes it yet or not …
These people are going to be family someday.
The late afternoon sun hangs low over Wildhaven Storm, throwing long shadows across the festivities. My thighs ache in that satisfying way that comes after hours in the saddle, and my shirt clings to my back from sweat and sun.
Today has been chaos in the best possible way.
The Raintree-Storm Rodeo Academy grand opening has been a long time coming, and a dream come true.
But right now, I’m happy for it all to be winding down and to be finishing my last guided trail ride of the day.
“Did you see that deer?” the tiny voice seated in the saddle in front of me asks.
I glance down at Ruby. Waylon’s daughter. Her riding helmet is slightly crooked, and her cheeks are flushed pink, but the grin on her face is infectious.
“It wasn’t a deer. It was a Rocky Mountain elk,” I tell her. “He was probably watching you ride and thinking he should take lessons.”
Ruby beams like I just told her she was the best cowgirl in Wyoming.
The group follows me down the final stretch of the trail, weaving between cottonwoods until the barn comes into view. A few ranch hands wait near the hitch rail to take the horses.
As soon as we stop, Ruby swings her leg over the saddle with my help and lands on the ground.
“That was the best ride ever,” she announces.
“Better not let Shelby hear you say that,” I tease.
Her eyes go wide, and she raises a finger to her lips. “Shh, don’t tell her.”
I laugh as I help remove her helmet. We hang it in the tack room with her riding gear.
The other riders thank me as the ranch hands lead their horses away, and within minutes, the group disperses back into the swirl of activity around the ranch.
Ruby slips her hand into mine.
“Let’s go find your daddy,” I say.
We leave the barn and head toward the row of tents where the music is louder, and the crowd is thicker.
