“Hey.” Capri sat up straight. “Now that we have an in with Charlie Grace, maybe we can all be in the production. Add film star to my resume.”
Lila’s face brightened. “My daughter would die to have her moment of fame.”
Charlie Grace slowly shook her head. “Well, I don’t know about any of that. Tell you what…you’re all welcome to come out to Teton Trails and pitch the idea yourselves.” She grinned. “Have at it.”
15
The next morning, Charlie Grace stopped at her dad’s bedroom on her way down the hall. Hearing movement from behind the closed door, she knocked lightly. “Dad? You up?” She waited and heard another shuffle. “Do you need anything before I head out to feed?”
He grunted loudly. “No, I don’t need your help.”
She sighed. “Okay, then. I’ll be back after a while.” With determination, she moved through the kitchen and out the back door, not bothering to stop and make coffee. It’d been a late night with the girls, and she’d let herself stay in bed about twenty minutes longer than normal. The decision meant she’d have to get a move on this morning. No time to dawdle, not even for the much-needed caffeine.
Charlie Grace loved the early hours of the morning, just before the sun broke over the horizon when the world still slept and a hushed stillness settled over everything. It was as if the entire landscape held its breath, waiting for the first light of dawn to pierce through the darkness and awaken the day…a moment of raw potential, full of untold possibilities.
She moved across the yard, enjoying the crisp, cool air. Upon reaching the barn, she unlatched the door and moved inside the dark interior stable. For several seconds she stood on the concrete floor in the comforting stillness, breathing familiar leather and liniment-scented air before her fingers instinctively moved to the panel to the right. She pulled the lever, and light immediately flooded the tack room.
After knotting her hair at the back of her head and securing the clip a bit tighter, she drew a blue bandana from her back jeans pocket and tied it at her neck. She made her way through the wash bay and headed for the stalls, where she grabbed a grain bucket from the nail on the wall. Against the opposite wall were several grain sacks. She opened one and filled the container, making a mental note to remind Gibbs to order more grain. They were already getting low again.
Charlie Grace lifted the heavy pail and made her way to the horse stalls, where she dumped the grain into the individual plastic feeding containers, stopping to rub the nuzzle of each horse before moving to the next. When she was finished, she glanced at her watch, noting that Gibbs was late…again.
Outside, the sky had lightened slightly, signaling she needed to hurry and finish up. Soon, it would be time to get her daughter up and ready for school.
As she stepped outside the barn door, a distant motion caught her eye. She stopped and squinted, straining to make out the figure heading for the river.
It was him…Nick Thatcher.
He knelt on the ground with one knee and pointed his camera lens toward the stand of quaking aspen trees along the bank of the river. She stood mesmerized, watching him take shots of the tiny silver-dollar-shaped leaves dancing in the faint light of morning. He crouched and pointed his lens up toward the top of the trees, popping off several shots. Then he knelt for several more before he stood and traded out his lens.
Nick turned, saw her, and immediately stopped what he was doing. His face broke into a smile, and he waved for her to join him.
Embarrassed to be caught watching him, she pulled the gloves from her hands and headed his way.
“Good morning,” she said. “I see you’re a photographer?”
Dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth as he smiled. “My job includes lining up shots for the big camera, but personal photography has been my passion for as long as I can remember. There’s something about capturing a moment in time, freezing it forever in a single image, that never fails to captivate me. It’s not just about taking a picture; it’s about telling a story. I love the way a photograph can evoke emotions and memories, transporting the viewer to a different time and place.” He put the cap on his lens. “For me, photography is a way of seeing the world in a different light, of noticing the beauty in the mundane and the extraordinary. Whether it’s the way the sunlight filters through these trees or the expressions on people’s faces, every scene is a potential masterpiece waiting to be captured.”
He grinned. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to ramble.”
“No, that’s…well, that’s amazing. I only wish…” She paused, feeling heat flood her face. She waved off her thought. “Oh, never mind.”
“No, what?”
“I…it’s that I used to love to take photographs. My mother gave me a camera when I was twelve. A Canon.”
“You don’t take pictures anymore?”
Charlie Grace shook her head. “Nah, I got busy. Never seemed to have time to pursue photography.” She paused. “I still have it. The camera my mother gave me.” She looked at him, pulled in by those eyes. “She died. I was fourteen.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. It was an extremely hard time in my life. Everything changed. I had a lot more to do around here, and then one thing led to another. I got engaged, married…became a mother. Divorced.” Her voice drifted.
She couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy wash over her. It wasn’t that she was unhappy with her life; she loved this ranch, her daughter, and her friends. But as she looked back on her younger years, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. There was a time when she had been so passionate about life, so eager to explore the world and all it had to offer.
Somewhere along the way, the mountain of responsibilities that came with adulthood had taken over, leaving little time or energy for the passions of youth. Now, when she looked in the mirror and noticed tiny wrinkles forming around her eyes, she realized that time was slipping away from her. She longed to recapture that sense of wonder and enthusiasm she felt in her youth, but it seemed like an impossible dream.
“Life happens,” she muttered, feeling the weight of the admission.
