Anjalee swings smoothly into the saddle, fitting her right foot into the stirrup. Luke leads his horse over to Anjalee, hands me his reins, and adjusts her stirrups lower to account for her long legs. When he’s done, he pauses with a finger on the line of daisies, eyes distant.
Anjalee swallows hard, eyes wet, not missing the weight of his gesture. “Luke, I…the boots, please…”
He shakes his head, clears his throat. “Warms my heart, seeing my girl’s favorite boots on you. New life for ‘em.” He looks up at her. “They ain’t her, honey. They’re just boots. And I promise, it does me good to see you wear ‘em.”
He adjusts his dusty black hat on his head, sweeping it off and replacing it with a little wiggle, so it sits just right.
Anjalee watches him, nodding, and then looks at me. “Kane, where is your hat?”
I frown at her, tug on the brim of the ball cap I’ve been wearing since we met. “Right here, honey.”
She shakes her head, pointing at Luke. “No, I mean the cowboy kind of hat. If we are riding horses, I want you to wear a cowboy kind of hat.”
I sigh, wince. “Don’t have one, honey.”
She shakes her head again, braid tip bouncing on her breast. “I will not ride if you are not wearing a cowboy kind of hat, Kane.”
Luke snickers. “Hold on, be right back. Got a solution for this.”
He jogs into the barn, leaving me holding the reins to his horse. A few moments later, he jogs back, carrying a cowboy hat.
For what feels like the dozenth time since I woke up, my heart flips and squeezes at the sight of the hat he’s holding. It’s white. Dirty, battered, and old. I know each and every dent and scratch and mark on that hat, because I put them there.
He hands it to me, looking up at me. “Been hangin’ on a hook in the office since the day you vanished.”
I swallow hard, taking it from him. Hold it, touch a cut along the left side of the brim, where a tree branch hit it as I rode this very horse through a patch of woods, chasing an ornery yearling. Sweeping my ball cap off, I shove it into my back pocket. Slowly, almost reverently, I put the cowboy hat on.
“Remember the day you gave this to me, Luke?” I ask.
He nods. “Sure as shit, I do. Told you you had to break a colt to ride all on your own before you earned your Stetson. The day you rode Rocket, I put that hat on your head. You were fourteen.”
Anjalee is staring at me, eyes wide. “Youarea cowboy, Kane. From head to toe, you are truly a cowboy.”
Luke laughs. “Honey, this man is the finest cowboy I’ve ever known, and I’m a fourth-generation rancher.”
She looks at Luke, eyes wide. “Four generations?”
He nods. “On this very land, honey. Four generations of Alansons have ranched this land.” He eyes me. “I know you got a life back in Vegas, and a new brand you’re ridin’ for, but I’m still gonna hold out hope that one day, you’ll be the fifth, son.”
I choke. “Luke—fuck, man.” I tug the hat brim lower, feeling more like myself than I have since I ran away seven years ago.
Luke just smacks my booted ankle. “That’s for later. Let’s ride.”
He takes his reins and swings into the saddle, turns Cocoa with a nudge of his knee.
And so, we ride.
My soul soars, the farther into the range we get. Once the barn and house are out of sight and there’s nothing around but trees, hills, and grass I finally feel something in my heart settle. Something that’s got nothing to do with Della, or Luke, or even Anjalee. It’s just me, and my place in this world.
I know I can’t just pick up and come back. I’ve got obligations—to my employer, and more, to the guys. To Rev, to Chance, to Lash, to Solomon, Silas, and Saxon. But someday, I’ll be back here for good.
Someday. I look at Luke as we round the edge of the hill and cut into the west graze, and I know Luke sees it. He just nods, and there’s understanding—no conversation necessary. I’ll be here, someday, when he needs me.
The Western graze is the most beautiful part of the ranch, or so Della always claimed. I always agreed. It’s greener, here, somehow, and there’s a clear view of the mountains in the distance, trees carpeting down to the fence-line. A little creek runs along the fence, and along the creek run a double row of willows, long weeping tendrils sweeping the chuckling quicksilver water. There’s a gate, here. Creaky hinges, sagging, weathered wood. A thick hook and an old rusted length of chain with a thick padlock.
Luke digs in his pocket and comes up with a key ring, flips through the keys till he finds the right one, dancing Cocoa sideways, opening the padlock and tossing the chain around the post. He shoves the gate, and I catch it, jogging Gutsy around to hold the gate for the women. Lilly leads Anjalee through, Luke goes next, and I follow, twisted to drag the gate after me. I close it so none of the horses wandering this section of the pasture can escape, but don’t bother with the chain.
Lilly clearly knows the way, trotting her mare between trees, following the creek as it angles away from the pasture and toward the feet of the mountains.
