Page 64 of Careless Hope
I cast a sidelong glance at her, catching the sun playing hide and seek in her auburn hair. Once again, I was struck by just how beautiful she was. How had I never noticed it as a kid?
And damn if she hadn’t stitched something up in me without either of us realizing it.
“Here we are,” I announced as I pulled over and killed the engine. The spot I’d chosen looked out over the rolling green pastures, the river cutting a lazy path through the land my family had worked for generations. It was more than just property; it was a testament to sweat, blood, and love—much like the life I was beginning to imagine sharing with someone special.
“Wow, Walker,” Caroline breathed out, stepping out of the truck. Her eyes lit up brighter than any star I’d ever seen in the Montana sky as she took in the scene before us. I watched as her gaze swept over the picnic setup, each detail meticulouslyarranged to offer comfort and charm amidst the wild beauty of the ranch.
“Thought you might like a break from the clinic walls,” I said, grabbing the basket and trying to keep my voice steady while my heart raced like a thoroughbred at the starting gate. “You like it?”
“Like it?” She turned towards me, an incredulous smile spreading across her face. “This is . . . it’s wonderful.”
The way she said it, like every syllable was a treasure she was afraid to fully unwrap, did funny things to my insides. I found myself hoping she’d find this small gesture as a sign of the deeper feelings I was only now admitting to myself.
“Come on,” I urged gently, leading her by the elbow toward our private oasis. “Let’s make the most of this afternoon.”
The cushions sunk a little as we settled onto the blanket, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the contrast of it all—us sitting atop luxury in the middle of untamed nature. Caroline tucked a stray lock behind her ear and reached for a sandwich, her green eyes dancing with mirth.
“Turkey and cranberry, isn’t it?” she asked, unwrapping the sandwich with delicate fingers.
“Your favorite,” I replied, my chest swelling with pride at getting it right.
“Reminds me of Thanksgiving dinners back when I was a kid,” she said, taking a bite. “We always used to have turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce for a week after.”
“Me too,” I agreed, popping a grape into my mouth. “Though most Thanksgivings here involved chasing errant turkeys who thought they could escape their fate.”
“Ever catch one?” Her grin was infectious.
“Every time,” I boasted playfully. “I had a knack for it. Sort oflike a turkey whisperer. Well, whisperer turned executioner, I guess.”
Her laughter rang out, clear and sweet as the river beside us, and I found myself wanting to make her laugh again just to hear the sound.
“Speaking of animals,” I started, leaning back on my palms and looking out toward the pastures. “Did I ever tell you about old Bessie?”
“Old Bessie?” She tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her face.
“Ah, Bessie was a horse like no other. Stubborn as they come.” I couldn’t suppress a smile at the memory. “She’d let you saddle her up but the second you tried to hop on, she’d bolt like a bandit with your loot.”
“Sounds like quite the character,” Caroline chuckled, sipping her wine.
“Character, terror, the line was thin with Bessie.” My gaze drifted to the rolling hills where the sun cast long shadows over the land. “But she taught me a lot about patience . . . and about knowing when to hold on and when to just let go.”
“Is that why you love this place so much? The horses?” Caroline’s voice was soft, almost reverent, and it nudged at something deep within me.
“It’s part of it,” I confessed. “This land, these animals . . . they’re in my blood. It’s hard to think of being anywhere else.”
“You know, you’re much more introspective than your party-boy reputation would have us all believe.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice now.
“Hey now,” I protested with mock indignation, “a man’s got to have some fun. But this—” I gestured expansively at the ranch around us “—this is where my heart is. Always has been. And this spot here is what has always meant the most. My spot tocome and think. To appreciate the land. To sit with it and breathe it in.”
Caroline nodded, her eyes reflecting a sunset I felt rather than saw. We sat there in comfortable silence, munching on our sandwiches, lost in the tranquility of the moment.
“Thank you, Walker,” she murmured after a while, “for sharing this with me.”
“Thank you for appreciating it,” I replied, more sincere than I’d been about anything in a long time. “It means more than you know.”
The laughter bubbled up from my belly, an echo of Caroline’s own infectious giggles, as I recounted the tale of the Great Chicken Escape of ’09. The way she threw her head back, letting her auburn hair catch the sunlight, had me momentarily spellbound.
“Stop,” she gasped between laughs, “you’re making it up. Chickens can’t be that cunning!”
