Epilogue
Late April, eight months later
In the eight months since she’d decided to join Buck in Wyoming, she’d done a lot of growing up.
During that time, the two of them had exchanged countless texts and phone calls, and Buck had even managed a few visits when he was competing at horse events in Texas.
By now, they were comfortable together, and their passion was as strong as ever.
She felt secure in her decision to start a new life in a new setting with the man she loved.
Other situations had resolved themselves as well.
Rachel had been given a life sentence. But she would be serving her time in the French Robertson women’s unit ten miles north of Abilene, which would make it easy for family members to visit.
The last time Cheyenne had seen her, she’d talked enthusiastically about the Bible study group she’d organized.
She’d also become involved in some of the counseling and mentoring programs. “This is where God wants me to be,” she’d said.
“These women need me. I’m content to be here, paying for my sin and doing His work. ”
Kirby had been another problem. Lonely and missing his wife, he was becoming more irascible by the day. Roper and Cheyenne had shared his care, but the arrangement wasn’t working well for any of them.
Finally, a new retirement home had opened in Willow Bend.
Kirby seemed happy enough there. The food was good, and he’d made a few friends.
More important, he was getting some therapy for the back pain that had kept him drinking.
Visits to Rachel in prison had only distressed him.
At her suggestion, Roper had stopped taking him.
The couple communicated now by letters and rare, awkward phone calls. Not all endings could be happy.
The Culhane house had burned to the ground.
Lila and Roper, who’d married in a quiet ceremony, had moved into the larger of the two guest bungalows and made it their home.
Instead of rebuilding the house, they’d invested the insurance money in a medical and physical therapy clinic for horses.
The facility, which was still under construction, already had a waiting list of clients.
Another wedding had taken place in Abilene.
Cheyenne hadn’t been invited, but Lila, who’d attended with Roper, had told her about it.
Jasmine was a glowing, pregnant bride. Sam’s boss, Nick, still recovering from chemo, stood as his best man.
The couple had received some nice gifts, but one gift, as Sam had told Roper, was puzzling.
A package had arrived by messenger with no card, no postmark, and no return address.
Inside was an exquisite cashmere christening blanket and an envelope with a very generous cashier’s check inside.
“I think someone’s keeping an eye on them,” Lila had said to Cheyenne. “Madeleine was always a stealthy one. This has her touch all over it. Let’s see how long she can stay underground after that baby comes.”
Everyone had their story, some sad. Hayden had crashed his plane into a mountain while fleeing arrest. He’d left behind a debt-mired ranch and proof that he’d engineered the deaths of Chet Barr, his fiancée, and her unborn child.
Cheyenne had placed a bid on Hayden’s cutting horse, Steely Dan.
But the beautiful champion paint had brought out an army of high bidders, and she’d lost. Maybe that was for the best. The future she’d planned didn’t include a life on the competition circuit.
She’d sold Jezebel, her barrel-racing mare, to a wealthy breeder who would give her a good retirement.
The sale had helped pay for Cheyenne’s new truck.
After a stop in Buffalo to fill the gas tank and grab a quick bite, she’d taken the sixty-mile cutoff through the Bighorn Mountains to Ten Sleep. The country’s spectacular beauty left her breathless. It was everything Buck had described and more.
Coming out of the hills, where the road leveled off, she’d seen them, the wild horses he’d told her about—a band of them, thundering over the prairie, manes and tails flying, bays, roans, paints, palominos, grullas, and blacks; mares, stallions, and tiny, long-legged foals.
Mesmerized, she followed them with her gaze until they vanished from sight.
Seeing the horses reminded her that she had a decision to make—a final decision about Fire Dance.
“Your stallion survived the winter in good shape,” Buck had written.
“I can pet him, and he seems to get along with other horses. But after months of trying, I can’t get a saddle on him.
He bolts at the sight of it. I think it’s safe to say that this horse will never be fit for riding.
We talked about this, but since you’re coming, what we do with him will be your decision. ”
Twenty minutes later, she was driving through the ranch gate.
Ahead now, she could see the house—heavy timbers, glass, and natural stone, with a wide front porch.
Buck was standing on the porch with his two cattle dogs.
As she pulled into the yard and climbed out of the truck, he strode out to meet her.
For a long moment, he held her in his arms, kissed her, then stepped back, looking her up and down. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. “Do you still want to take care of Fire Dance first? That’s what you told me.”
“Yes, let’s do it now,” she said. “Take me to him.”
The red stallion was alone in the outer paddock. He was shifting restlessly, moving back and forth along the fence line, nickering and calling. “He’s been like this for days,” Buck said. “Listen.”
At first, Cheyenne heard nothing. Then the sound came her on the breeze, faint, sweet, and so chilling that it raised the hair on the back of her neck. It was the sound of wild horses.
“Where are they?” she asked. “I don’t see them.”
“They’re out there, beyond the trees,” Buck said. “Fire Dance knows where they are.”
“It’s time, isn’t it?” she said.
“Go ahead. He’s your horse.” He pointed her toward the gate.
Heart pounding, Cheyenne slid back the bar and swung the gate open. With a joyful snort, Fire Dance reared, passed through the gate, and thundered off across the prairie, drawn by the sound that sang in his blood.
Cheyenne and Buck stood watching him go. As he pulled her into his warmth, Cheyenne felt a sense of everything as it should be. Fire Dance was home at last. And so was she.