“What a history. Tell me more.”
And he did.
About his father, Braden, a Crow Native through and through, strong, steady, rooted in the land and its traditions.
“Dad looks like a Native, high cheekbones, darker skin, the traditional long, raven hair. I get my cheekbones from him … and lips,” his eyebrows quirked mischievously.
“Nice lips and bone structure, I agree,” she countered with eyes bright with humor.
“My mom met him at a horse show forty-five years ago, is a proficient rider, and licensed midwife whose hands have brought babies into the world more times than she could count.”
“Do you have siblings?”
He nodded, raising two fingers with a quick chuckle.
“We couldn’t be more different. Brett’s a playboy, two years older and looks like mom, blonde, blue-eyed and still single. He handles the business side,” he said. “Took what we had and turned it into something global. Marketing, sales, international demand.”
“And your other brother?”
“Branson,” he replied. “He’s way more grounded and stays traditional to our people, proudly wears his hair longer than mine, favors dad’s coloring and features. He runs the day-to-day—horses,the breeding, the land. Everything that makes the place what it is.”
Randi absorbed it quietly, picturing it as he spoke.
“And you?” she asked.
He smiled faintly.
“I left.”
“But you didn’t really.”
“No. A big part of me is still there,” he admitted. “I invested in it to protect what my parents started. Stay connected. It’s still… mine … will be … when my parents pass, in trust equally with my brothers.”
She hesitated, then asked the question that had been forming.
“The plane,” she said carefully. “The lifestyle… how?”
He didn’t take offense.
“Being a surgeon helps,” he said lightly. “But the farm does more than most people realize. There’s international demand for pure mustangs. It’s a niche market—and a very lucrative one.”
Her brows lifted slightly.
“In the mid-1800s, there were millions of wild mustangs in that region,” he continued. “Descendants of Spanish horses brought north generations earlier. The Crow, my father’s people, protected them. So has my family to this day. Our land is part of the reservation. My father acquired acreage for a homestead and ranch from the Elders. It reverts to the tribe if no descendants remain.”
“And now?”
“Now we protect what’s left,” he said. “Four thousand acres, bloodlines that live on, replenishing the numbers lost for generations to come.”
Randi studied him, something shifting in her understanding.
“You’ve built a life in two worlds and your family a legacy,” she said.
He met her gaze.
“Those worlds are never separate. They’re like two links of galvanized steel, strong, flexible, resilient, forever connected and bonded.”
“However, do you find the time for you.”
