The tree line breaks, and the road opens up ahead, and a rolling meadow covered in sunflowers, bordered by a lazy creek, comes into view. The first time Baylor brought me to this part of the property, I was enamored. The small cabin with overgrown vegetation is less than a thousand square feet and almost one hundred years old. It was built by my great-grandfather for my great-grandmother. It was the first house they lived in after getting married. Apparently, land with horses and a garden full of sunflowers was my great-grandmother's dream, and since my great-grandfather was determined to give her the world, he made Hale Ranch a reality.
I was young when my grandfather died, too little to remember meeting him or getting to hear his memories of growing up on this land firsthand, so it was Baylor who filled me in on the history of how my great-grandfather lost his heart years before her time because of cancer. It was because of her that this land was bought, and it was because of her that he ensured her legacy would live on for generations to come. It's why there's a no-sell clause on the deed as long as there are living descendants. This was her dream, and he ensured it would never die.
I downshift and turn onto the old dirt driveway that leads to the heart of the property. Once we are in front of the cabin, I kill the engine. There are seconds of silence as I steal a moment to etch this scene onto my heart. Being here with her is profound. I know I was always meant to live this moment with her.
"London," she says softly, pulling off her helmet. "This place is beautiful. Whose is it?"
"It's mine." I swing my leg over the bike and dismount so I can face her. "Want to see it?" I ask, extending my hand.
She smiles and nods adamantly, putting her hand in mine. "When did you buy it?"
My nerves are getting the best of me. I was supposed to say, "It's mine, but I was hoping it could be ours." I'm already fumbling this.
"I didn't. Technically, we're still on Hale land," I explain.
Her eyes widen. "Really? Exactly how many acres does your family own?"
"A little under six hundred acres."
"Holy shit. I mean, I knew the property was vast, but six hundred?" She squeezes my hand. "That's nuts."
"In today's economy, yeah, it's a lot. I can't imagine buying this much land, but this property has been in the family for a long time. My great-grandfather built this house for my great-grandmother."
"Really? That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard," she says, stepping onto the porch. "Like something straight out of the pages of a fairy tale. It's beautiful here. I think I could sit on this porch for hours." She walks over to the far end of the porch that faces west and points to a small clearing beside the creek. "Right there, I bet she spent a lot of time sitting peacefully beside that bubbling brook, reading, writing, and taking summer naps. It looks like a little slice of heaven."
"I'm glad you can envision yourself here," I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind. "Because I was hoping it could be ours," I murmur against her neck before placing a small kiss there.
"What do you mean?"
"You had only planned on staying here through August. It's now late September." I spin her in my arms so I can see her face. "I know Asha offered you a full-time position at Fairfield, but I also know that's not your dream. I know you want to run your own equine rehabilitation ranch, helping horses and people. I want to give you that dream the same way my great-grandfather gave my great-grandmother hers."
Her eyebrows rise slightly, and she opens her mouth, but no words come out. "London, I… I don't know what to say."
"Say yes," I plead before kissing her forehead.
"Can we go inside?"
That wasn't a yes, but it also wasn't a no. "Yes," I say with a hitch of excitement. "But brace yourself. This place is old, and it hasn't exactly been maintained."
The solid oak front door swings open, creaking on its hinges as Laney steps across the threshold, and I realize I'm holding my breath. I'm watching every body movement and expression that crosses her face, trying to get a read on her. I know she loves the property. Outside, she was already dreaming about the places she would sit and the things she would do, but I can sense a pause, or maybe it's my nerves.
The main room is the only room apart from the bathroom. There isn't much to this original cabin, but it still has a lot of charm. The exposed beam ceilings are twelve feet high, and the logs on the inside still hold their original honey color despite their age. In the very center of the cabin is a stone fireplace open on both sides, its mantel displaying intricate, hand-carved horse designs.
I watch as she steps deeper into the space, the wide-plank pine floors creaking underfoot as she walks toward the kitchen. "The kitchen would need to be completely overhauled as well as the bathroom, and we'd need a new roof, but the bones are solid."
She nods silently, running her fingers across the dusty dining table my grandfather built. "Asha is my friend. I can't quit, but more than that, I don't want to."
"I'm not asking you to quit. People could bring their horses to you. Remember what you said to Madison when she asked you to work with Gypsy?"
Her back straightens, and I realize I could have picked a better reference. We've had long conversations about what the past six years apart looked like. We discussed our relationships and the people that were in our lives during that time. She knows the truth about Madison and me: that despite whatever feelings existed, Madison was ultimately just someone to fill the empty spaces, a friend who happened to share my bed when loneliness got tooheavy to bear alone. I know how that sounds—cold, maybe even cruel—but we were both using each other in our own ways. Madison might have wanted something deeper toward the end, but for most of our time together, I was just a convenient stop on her endless journey. She never belonged to Bardstown the way I do. Her home is the highway, the next town, the next temporary landing place.
"You turned down work because you didn't have your own space to accept a client, control the environment, and assess the horse. Here, you could have that." I walk around the fireplace and meet her on the other side. "You can still work, but you could do it here instead while also expanding and starting your own business."
I can see the wheels in her head spinning, and I can tell by the way her lips are slightly pursed that she doesn't hate the idea.
"And what would you do? What's your dream, London?"
I pick up an old candlestick and brush off the dust. When we discussed our dreams in high school, they were five-year plans. Back then, I was attending school to become a civil engineer. I liked building things, but that was before I learned about the family business. My father and Baylor may have dug their heels in and refused to put their differences aside, but somehow, they still managed to run the ranch together. Growing up, I knew my father was an accountant. What I didn't know until I moved here is that he's been balancing the books and running the financials all this time. This gives me hope that his relationship with Baylor is salvageable. Reconciliation is possible. We just have to make it happen.
