CHAPTER 17
The morning unfolded slower than the day before.
Randi stepped onto the porch just as the sun began to warm the land, her gaze drifting instinctively toward the open fields beyond the house. The air carried a quiet stillness, broken only by the distant movement of horses and the soft rustle of wind through the grass.
“You ready?” Brew’s voice came from behind her.
She turned.
He stood there, relaxed, something thoughtful in his expression.
“For what?” she asked.
“A ride,” he said. “There’s somewhere I want to take you.”
“Oh, okay. Where we driving to?”
“Not a drive – a ride,” he pointed to an approaching ranch hand leading two painted mares by the reins in their direction.
Her breath caught over the beauty of them, both overo with a white base and spotted, with splashy markings and standing about fifteen hands tall. One was chestnut and the other bay.
“Horses?”
“That’s what we call them in these parts.”
She slapped his arm playfully, chuckling.
“This is such a surprise. I can’t remember the last time I rode.”
“I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
There was something in his tone—quiet and meaningful that made her hesitate.
Then she nodded.
“Mom said she had something for us first. She’s in the kitchen.”
He reached for her right hand without realizing it and squeezed it tenderly.
Randi jumped – not because it hurt but it made her heart skip in her chest. It filled her with such warmth and belonging and didn’t want it to ever end between them.
Blythe met them in the kitchen. She had already packed a basket by the time they entered to let her know that they were leaving now for the day.
“Mom. We’re going now for –“
Before Brew could finish his sentence, she extended an insulated bag.
“Thought you might be heading out,” she said, handing it to him. “Nothing heavy on the stomach to spoil your dinner later,” she said, “and just enough to keep you from getting hungry.”
Randi smiled. “Thank you.”
Blythe leaned in slightly toward her son. “There’s a bottle of Sauvignon in there… just in case.”
Brew shook his head, but the corner of his mouth lifted.
Randi caught it and smiled inwardly.
The familiar scent of leather and dust hit her first and settled directly into her muscles.
Randi tentatively put her foot into the stirrup, her heart hammering with a mix of apprehension and deep nostalgia and lifted herself up and onto the saddle.
The horse’s calm, warm breathing under her was like meeting an old friend – a silent and forgiving greeting that melted away her apprehension.
“You ready?” Brew inquired beside her.
“No cowboy hat,” she teased.
He chuckled responding.
“That’s Branson’s thing.” He nodded to her mare. “Pepper is a gentle and even-tempered filly. You okay up there? I know it has been a while.”
“I’m… good,” she drew in a slow breath,” tapping the heel of her shoe boot lightly against her mares belly.
Her hands were still initially stiff, and she felt a little clumsy holding the familiar reins, but the muscle memory was still there, just beneath the surface. The horse, sensing her anxiety, took a slow, deliberate step before pausing, checking to see if she was ready.
She clucked and tapped her mare to cue her to move forward, and the mare obeyed with a slow walk, the rhythmic, rocking motion triggering a wave of muscle aches she knew would be debilitating tomorrow but felt wonderful now.
The world seemed to align with the soft clop of hooves on the dirt path. It was an awkward, stiff reunion, yet as she eased into the familiar gait, the time of separation dissolved into the simple, grounding act of riding.
The ride carried them farther out than she expected.
Randi adjusted to the rhythm, her movements careful but more confident than before, her awareness shifting from the mechanics of it to the experience itself.
The land stretched endlessly around them, each rise and dip revealing something new, something untouched.
“How much farther?” she asked after a while.
“Not far,” Brew replied. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
He was right.
The moment they reached the crest of a gentle rise the land opened into something that felt almost hidden from the rest of the world.
It gave way to pockets of quiet shelter, the air cooler, the light softer.
“Here,” he said.
Randi followed his gaze.
And everything stilled.
A pond lay below them, fed by a narrow waterfall that slipped over stone with a quiet, steady rhythm. Trees framed the space, their branches dipping low, offering shade and a sense of quiet protection.
Randi drew in a slow breath.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
He watched her, not the water.
“I thought you’d like it.”
They dismounted slowly, Brew helping her with tender care without making her feel like she needed it. She was appreciative as her pelvic and thigh muscles stiffened from the ride.
Brew spread out a flannel blanket while Randi emptied the insulated bag of cheese, sliced fruit, bread, and wine. The bottles of water set aside for later.
Brew popped open the bottle of wine and half-filled two hard plastic glasses.
They settled near the opposite edge of the pond to benefit from the shade of a massive oak.
For a while, neither spoke.
They didn’t need to.
The quiet between them wasn’t empty, it was full of everything they were still learning how to say.
Then movement caught her eye. At first, she thought it was the wind. Then -
Horses.
“Oh! Oh!,” she pointed excitedly.
Brew placed his point finger to his lips and spoke softly.
“Shh. Softly, so you don’t spook them.”
They appeared gradually, emerging from the tree line in small groups, their presence commanding but unhurried.
There was a mixture of duns, bays, roans, palomino’s, buckskins – and primitive markings to set them apart – they were spotted, some with tiger-striped legs, cobwebbing on their faces, as dark as the blackest night, or brown like caramel. They were a sight to behold.
Mares stepping forward first, cautious but unafraid, followed by foals that stayed close, nudging, nursing, learning.
Randi leaned forward slightly, completely drawn in and captivated.
“Do they come here often?” she asked softly.
“Every day,” Brew said. “It’s one of their main water sources.”
A small foal stumbled briefly, pressing closer to its mother, and something in Randi’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
“They’re… beautiful,” she whispered.
“They’re part of my father’s people,” he continued. “The Crow—Apsáalooke. This land… these animals… they’re tied together. They always have been.”
“I thought mustangs came with the Spanish,” she said.
“They did,” he replied. “But they didn’t survive alone. Tribes like the Crow learned them, bred them, protected them. They became part of their lives.”
Randi was beside herself. She had an uncontrollable desire to capture them on canvas.
“My father says they carry memory,” Brew added. “Not just instinct. Memory of where they came from… and who kept them alive.”
I want to capture that, she proclaimed quietly.
“And your family still does that.”
“We try,” he said. “There were millions once. Now… not so many. Land changed. Priorities changed. But this—” he nodded toward the herd, “—this is something we don’t let go of.”
“Because it matters.”
“Because it’s who we are.”
“You speak of this land with so much love and reverence. Why leave this ... your family?”
The question seemed simple. He was in Minnesota now.
It wasn’t.
Brew leaned back slightly, his eyes shifting out over the land.
“Every time I visited the reservation with my dad when I was younger, it bothered me how much they suffered. The health system could care less my people were dying from malnutrition, preventative causes, but mostly from injuries that got infected and turned sepsis, killing them. All because of improper medical and emergency care. That’s why I got into medicine. ” he said quietly.
She turned toward him.
“How’s that helping them here though - now?”
It was a strike, but he wasn’t offended. She was an insightful woman, for good reason.
“Once I graduated and started receiving an income, half of my salary went to enlarging the clinic, providing more supplies, purchasing much needed equipment, increasing salaries to attract more highly trained staff.”
“Don’t you miss this?” she extended her arms wide.
“All the time. I come back as often as I can free up time,” he replied.
“Someday … in the very near future, I’d love this to be my life again.
I’m almost there. It won’t be exactly the same as what my parents built—but close.
My own home. Taking over the clinic. Kids running around…
more noise than I probably know how to handle. ”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
Randi listened, something inside her both warming—and tightening.
“And you?” he asked, turning the question back to her.
She hesitated and looked down at her hands and shrugged.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“That’s not true.”
She let out a quiet breath.
“I’m afraid to hope for something like that.”
He didn’t interrupt or didn’t rush her.
“Every time I’ve had something good,” she continued, her voice softer now, “something happened. It got taken away. Or it changed. Or I lost it.”
The words lingered in the air between them.
“I don’t think I trust it anymore,” she admitted.
Brew studied her for a long moment.
“Trust what, love? People lose themselves in that,” he said quietly.
“Love?”
“No. That fear you just spoke of. It is fear and you’re letting it decide for you. Fear stops what one deserves … what to go after… and walk away from what you want before it even has a chance to exist.”
She met his gaze.
“Hope isn’t the risk,” he continued. “It’s the beginning. Just a step.”
“And the rest?”
“Is what you choose to do with it.”
The words settled into her slowly. Not pushing. Not forcing. Just… there.
Randi looked back out at the water, at the horses, at the life unfolding in front of her.
Then back at him.
“Maybe…” she said quietly, “maybe it’s time I stop waiting for it to disappear.”
Brew didn’t respond with words. He didn’t need to. He moved closer. Slowly. Giving her time to react. Giving her space to step back if she needed to.
She didn’t.
And when his hand found hers, she didn’t pull away.
The kiss that followed wasn’t uncertain this time. It wasn’t new. It became deeper. Rooted in something they had both finally stopped trying to deny.
The world around them faded—the water, the horses, the quiet rhythm of the land—all of it slipping into the background as something far more personal took hold.
And in that moment—
There was no fear. No past. No waiting for something to be taken away.
Only the quiet, undeniable truth of what was growing between them.
Later, after they returned and the sun shifted higher, Brew stepped away to check on a ranch hand who had gotten caught up in fence wire while they were gone, leaving Randi alone by the paddock.
She didn’t hear Brew’s father, Braden, approach.
But she felt him there.
“You see them,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Randi turned, offering a small, respectful smile.
“Oh, yes. I am soooo in love with these animals.”
He stepped beside her, his gaze moving over the herd.
“The horse does not belong to us,” he said quietly. “We belong to the land that keeps them.”
The words settled deep.
Randi nodded slowly.
“Brew said something similar.”
Braden glanced at her then, studying her more closely.
“He carries both worlds, my son,” he said. “Not always easy.”
“I can imagine.”
A quiet pause stretched between them.
Then—
“You paint,” he said.
She blinked slightly.
“Yes.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at things,” he continued. “That is where it begins.”
Her gaze dropped briefly, her voice softer now.
“I’m trying to find my way back to it.”
Braden shook his head once.
“We know of your accident. Your strength, your will, your spirit has been tested, not broken. You are a warrior and will not falter back.”
She looked up.
“You are becoming,” he said simply, patting her shoulder.
The words caught her off guard and settled deeper than she expected.
“There is something I wish to show you. Will you ride with me tomorrow after breakfast?”
“Will Brew be joining us?”
He simply shook his head, his gaze not challenging – just watchful.
“I’d love spending quality time with you, yes.”