Barrel racing wasn’t for the faint of heart. It took guts, precision, and damn good horsemanship to compete at the level my mom does. She’d been racing since she was barely tall enough to reach the stirrups. This was her dream. Traveling the country, riding hard, chasing the win. It was everything to her.
Honestly, I was proud of her. I saw a lot of myself in her—not because of her, necessarily, but from her. We shared that grit. That fire in the belly to keep pushing even when things got rough. I think that’s why life never fully managed to knock me down, even when it tried.
Sure, I could’ve let myself believe my parents neglected me. That my mom cared more about the next arena than about raising me. And maybe some of that was even true. But I’d learned a long time ago, I didn’t have to carry that weight if I didn’t want to. I got to choose how my story went.
Ellie and I walked through the tunnel and onto the dirt path. Riders passed us in the opposite direction, their boots dusty, their horses just ahead or trailing behind. I stayed close to Ellie.
At the end of the dim tunnel was a makeshift changing area. I knocked.
A beat later, the door creaked open and my dad filled the frame.
“Son,” he said, wide grin stretching his face before pulling me into a hug. He clapped my back twice—solid, familiar.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Is that Logan?” My mom called from behind him.
My dad’s gaze flicked to Ellie, who stood with her hands behind her back, a sweet smile playing on her lips.
“Hi, Mr. Walker,” she said gently.
His bushy brown eyebrows lifted high under the brim of his black cowboy hat. He was lean, all lanky limbs and not much muscle. I got my height from my mom. His mustache twitched on one side as he doffed his hat and gave Ellie a polite bow.
“A pleasure,” he said, placing the hat back on his head.
“ItisLogan, darlin’, but he brought a guest,” he called out behind him.
My mom emerged from the dressing area in full show gear—bootcut jeans, designer riding shirt, black felt hat, her long blond hair curled to perfection, her makeup flawless.
We were mirror images of each other.
I’d always known I looked like my mom, but standing side by side now, it was almost uncanny.
As a baby, every photo of me looked like a mini version of her. I’d grown into sharper, more masculine features over time—my jaw more defined, my nose straighter—but the lips? The pouty curve was still identical.
“Wow,” Ellie said, eyes bouncing between me and my mom. “You two areidentical.”
There it was, the reaction we got every single time.
Ellie had technically met my mom before, but that was years ago. Back then, when my parents passed through town, they rarely made time for my friends.
“You two look like carbon copies,” she added, hands on her hips, appraising us again.
Mom came up beside me, rising on her toes to tug our faces closer—hats knocking together as she did.
“Everyone always said I had Logan all by myself,” she teased, her smile beaming.
“I believe it, Mrs. Walker,” Ellie said, letting out a low whistle.
“Call me Jennie,” she said warmly. “I have to say, it’s a surprise to see you here.”
“We made a bit of a road trip out of it,” I replied with a casual shrug. “I wanted to come see you, and Ellie needed an excuse to head to the beach, so…”
I’d been planning that line. I knew she’d point out that Ellie was with me. But she accepted the answer with a smile, then stepped forward to hug Ellie.
“Logan told me how great you are at riding,” Ellie offered, the compliment easy and sincere.
“Oh, did he now?” My mom tossed me a wink. “Well, he also told me how goodyouare. Sounds like you’ve got a real way with horses.”
