Page 188 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

For months I’ve been telling myself not to get attached. Arizona’s a woman who chases the next town, the next song, the next stretch of open road.

I figured the best we could hope for was a few good memories before she packed her guitar and disappeared over the next horizon.

Somewhere along the way, that stopped feeling true.

She isn’t living out of her truck anymore. Her boots are lined up beside ours by the back door. Her guitar leans against the living room wall instead of waiting behind the driver’s seat.

Sadie asks for her before breakfast, Red reaches for her without thinking, and Willy smiles differently whenever she’s in the room.

Nobody talks about when she’s leaving anymore, because she isn’t.

Arizona McCay came to Colter Creek looking for another song.

Somehow, she found a home instead.

And so did we.

Epilogue

ARIZONA

The announcer calls my name, and the applause begins before I reach the center of the rodeo platform.

It rolls through the Colter Creek Rodeo Grounds, echoing off the grandstands while broncs wait behind the chutes, cowboy hats rise above the crowd, and a loud whistle draws laughter from every direction.

A few months ago, I drove into town with a guitar, a duffel bag, and every intention of leaving before anybody learned my middle name.

Tonight, they already know every lyric.

I settle the guitar strap over my shoulder, step up to the microphone, and smile. “Evening, Colter Creek.”

The cheers swell again, and I look toward the front row of the grandstand where my family is impossible to miss.

Sadie has climbed onto the bench, pink cowboy boots bouncing as she waves both arms over her head. “There she is!”

Emmett catches her around the waist before she pitches into the row behind them. “I think she knows where you are, peanut.”

“I still have to wave!”

Beside her, Willy jumps to his feet and hoists a glitter-covered sign over his head.

ARIZONA MCCAY BELONGS HERE

The letters lean in every direction, tiny guitars fill every empty corner, and enough glitter coats the cardboard to sparkle beneath the arena lights.

A laugh slips out before I can stop it.

Red studies the sign before looking at Willy. “You couldn’t have made it any bigger?”

“I could’ve,” Willy says. “Emmett stopped me.”

Sadie points proudly at the sign. “I helped!”

“I can tell.”

The crowd laughs with us, and that simple sound settles deeper than I expect.

When I arrived in Colter Creek, people watched me with the careful curiosity every small town reserves for strangers, waiting to see how long I’d stay before moving on to the next place.