Epilogue Denver （Five Years Later）
Epilogue—Denver
(five years later)
Standing next to Blair’s dad, I keep a hand firmly on my son’s back so he doesn’t fall off the fence rails he insists on climbing. Constantly trying to keep up with his older sister and cousins, he’s already a bit of a wild child. Though I guess he comes by it honestly.
The rodeo stands are packed, and Oliver wiggles his tiny butt to “Hell on Heels” by the Pistol Annies, when the world’s cutest barrel racer comes out of the alley. Frank leans on the rail, recording the run on his phone to show his wife during his daily visit to the care home. And Blair’s standing just beyond the timer in the arena, hands anxiously clasped over her mouth as her horse rounds the first barrel at a trot. Circling around to the second barrel, our adorable four-year-old is bouncing in the saddle with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. Her light brown hair whips out from underneath the pink helmet—just like her mom’s always does—and when Avery rounds the third barrel, I swear the entire rodeo ground hoots and hollers collectively. All the way home, to where my gorgeous wife is jumping up and down, dirt clouding around her dusty jeans as she cheers on our baby girl.
“Come on, Oll. Let’s go congratulate your sissy.” I scoop up the two-year-old, settling him onto my shoulders, and we walk with Frank over to where our truck and horse trailer are set up.
Blair’s in the middle of tying up her horse. A wedding gift from Jackson and Kate that five years later I’m still convinced was meant as a gag—the buckskin Blair accidentally rode through a thunderstorm, thinking it was one of mine. It turns out Sandy makes a decent barrel horse. And he has a pretty undeniable bond with Blair. Something magical happens to her after a few hours spent in the saddle following a hard day. Between running her own clinic, coping with her mom’s mental decline, and raising two feral children, she deserves the escape.
“Dad!” Avery shouts, already eating a celebratory Rice Krispies square on the fender of the horse trailer. “Did you see me go super fast ’round those barrels?”
“You bet I did. Super fast.” I smile at her, lowering her brother to the grass. “You’re going to have more winning buckles than your mom pretty soon.”
Blair loosens off Sandy’s cinch with a breathy laugh. “I think we’ll both be adding another one to the collection today. Sandy’s on a roll this afternoon.”
The two kids— and their grandpa —immediately tie into the plastic container filled with homemade marshmallow treats, courtesy of Beryl. The troublesome trio giggle away like absolute fiends. As hard as it is sometimes to be away from the ranch, it’s been a blessing to have a loving grandparent a couple doors down, especially since we moved Blair’s mom into a permanent care facility three years ago. If we’re not at Frank’s house, he’s at ours. And recently, we’ve even been able to stand out on the porch and let Avery walk alone down the quiet street to his house.
It’s a bittersweet reminder of the relationship I had with my grandfather, and something I didn’t know if my future children would get to experience. My own dad’s around more often now than ever before, but he has no interest in moving back to the ranch or Wells Canyon, and I don’t fault him for that.
Blair scratches Sandy’s shoulder, making his entire body shudder. Then she pulls the hat from my head to plant her warm lips on mine. Five years and two babies later, I can’t get enough of kissing my wife. I also haven’t gotten over the fact that she’s my wife.
“Hopefully all three of us will go home winners today,” she says.
“Baby, winning bronc ride or not, I’m still going home a winner.”
“Right answer.” She plops the hat back on my hair.
Adjusting it, I rub my other hand up and down her arm. “I’m gonna go say hi to Mom quickly before my ride, if you got time?”
“Always.” She looks over her shoulder, confirming Frank and the kids are all good. Interlacing our fingers, we saunter toward the barn with our hips bumping into each other at random. Her hair flounces over her shoulders, and I let go of her hand to sling my arm around her waist when we step inside.
The barn my family built when I was a kid is dimly lit and quiet, filled with the familiar smell of horses and alfalfa. Blair and I were near-strangers the first time I saw her in this barn at thirteen, not realizing that mere weeks later my mom would coerce me into buying her a pop that would change my life. A simple drink—one I bought reluctantly, no less—gave me the family I’ve always dreamt of. Maybe that was Mom’s plan all along; she always seemed to know exactly what we needed before we did.
I hold on to Blair, silently thanking Mom for bringing her into my life—at thirteen, and again when I was finally ready to be the man she deserved. A man my mom would be proud of. A man I’m proud of.
“Do you know how happy I am that you found your way back to me?” I whisper against her hair.
“I was always coming back to you, Denver. No one else has ever felt like home.”