Epilogue
KODY
The gravel under my tires crunches like bones. I hate that thought, but I can’t shake it. Something about coming to Mustang Mountain makes old ghosts stir. They never really went quiet to begin with.
The bunk of my old truck rattles as I turn down the drive that leads to Shane’s ranch. Dust swirls up in the rearview, catching the orange late-afternoon light like smoke. I glance at Sadie in the backseat—she’s pressed her nose against the window, wide-eyed, her little bear hugged tight to her chest.
“It’s quiet here,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I murmur, eyes fixed ahead. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
The ranch stretches out in front of us, beautiful and peaceful in that way small towns always look from a distance—like they’ve never seen pain, never heard the sound of a gavel coming down, never watched a man lose everything.
Sadie gasps. “Daddy, look! Horsies!”
I smile, a small one, but real. “They’re called horses, baby. But yeah. Pretty cool, huh?”
She nods solemnly, absorbing it all like a sponge. Her world has been shaken too many times already. I want this to be her calm.
We roll to a stop near the main house just as Shane comes out of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag. He’s still got that same easy swagger, that cool-headed steadiness that made him the only one I trusted to call when everything went to hell again.
He lifts a hand. “You got heavier since the last time I saw you, man.”
I snort and open the door. “Pretty sure you’re just getting older.”
Sadie peeks around me, then bolts toward him. “Hi! Are you the cowboy?”
Shane laughs, crouching down. “Well now, I suppose I am. You must be Miss Sadie.”
She nods, proud, like it’s a title.
He winks at her. “You like horses?”
“I love them.”