Chapter 18
They rode without hurry, a sharp, medicinal scent wafting around them from the sagebrush being crushed by their steeds hooves and the rhythmic creak of the leather saddles they sat upon.
The air still carried a chill, a small reminder of the high-altitude wilderness surrounding them, their horses’ breath white puffs dissipating into thin air. The only sound was the muffled thuds of hooves against the damp earth.
The rhythm settled into something steady, the land opening gradually as they moved farther from the ranch. The air shifted, the boundaries less defined, the sense of place deepening with every mile.
As the morning light peaked, the landscape underwent a magnificent transformation as the gray shadows of the Pryor Mountains dissolved into golden fire with the big Montana sky as its backdrop.
Randi didn’t ask where they were going.
She understood this wasn’t something to interrupt.
When the landscape began to change more, she noticed it immediately.
The land itself didn’t lose its beauty—but something in it felt different. Lived in but not polished. Structures stood scattered across the terrain, some worn by time or ready to tumble, others newer but simple and functional.
Life was here. Not staged or curated but real as real could get.
“This is part of our land,” Braden said quietly.
Randi nodded, taking it in without speaking.
Children moved in the distance, laughter carrying faintly on the wind. A truck passed slowly along a dirt road way older than its driver, dust rising behind it. An elder sat outside a small home, watching the morning unfold with quiet patience.
Nothing about it felt empty.
It felt… enduring.
“It’s not what I expected,” she admitted softly.
Braden glanced at her briefly.
“Most people do not know what to expect.”
They continued on, the silence between them comfortable and unforced.
When they reached the clinic, Braden slowed his horse.
Randi’s gaze shifted to the building.
It stood apart from the others. It wasn’t grand, but solid and long, with shutters painted a soft and inviting blue. There was a quiet strength in its structure, clean lines set against the open land.
“Brew built this,” Braden said as he dismounted.
There was no embellishment in his voice.
Just pride.
Randi dismounted slowly, stepping closer as she took it in.
“He told me he wanted to do something more,” she said.
“He did not forget where he came from,” Braden replied.
Her fingers brushed lightly along the stucco exterior, something settling deeper in her understanding.
A well-landscaped wildflower garden graced the length of the building blooming with colors of red, yellow, blue, and purple in multiple shapes and batches.
A short distance away, something older stood, almost monumental. It was smaller in size, weathered, and worn by time.
She turned toward it and pointed.
“What’s that?”
Braden followed her gaze.
“Our medicine lodge,” he said. “From before.”
Randi studied it quietly, not as something abandoned but as something that needed remembering.
“We carry both,” Braden continued. “What was… and what is.”
She looked back at the clinic, then the old lodge, then him.
“And Brew?” she asked.
“He walks between them,” Braden said. “That is not always easy.”
They were words she had heard for a second time and this time they lingered, not heavy but truer and with more meaning than before.
Randi drew in a slow breath, her gaze moving across the land once more—seeing it differently now.
She saw neighbors greeting each other with a chin-flick or a low-voiced joke followed by hearty laughter.
She admired the bright geometric paint of a community building nearby where teens entered excitedly.
“I think I understand a little more now” she said.
Braden nodded once.
“Understanding comes with time.”
She hesitated.
Then asked the question that had been forming since the day before.
“Will you teach me?”
He looked at her then.
Really looked.
“I will show you,” he said. “You must choose to see.”
Randi held his gaze. His words held such wisdom, and he made her feel accepted.
“May I see the inside of the clinic.”
He nodded and led the way.
The waiting area was more than she expected. Almost every chair was occupied. Braden was welcomed warmly by the twenty inhabitants waiting, some elderly, pregnant, injured or visibly ill.
Three toddlers quietly played in an area specifically colorfully designed for their age group. It was located near the registration area where they could be monitored while their parents were attended to.
Rows of comfortable upholstered chairs were provided. The walls were decorated with Apsáalooke (Crow) cultural paintings, historical photographs of tribal leaders, a huge flatscreen tv, and local art displayed throughout.
Randi openly admired the artwork and paintings.
“How many examining rooms are there?”
He held up six fingers.
“Two doctors who take turns for on-call emergencies, a PA, three nurses, and three office staff. This facility offers outpatient care, and minor surgeries, and a WIC program for nearly seven hundred residents.”
When they rode back, the land felt different beneath her. It wasn’t foreign and unfamiliar or something she stood outside of like a stranger.
And for the first time—
She understood that loving Brew meant more than loving the man he was.
It meant honoring where he came from.