ELLIE
“Come on, Dottie,” I coaxed, my voice sweet as I held my palm out toward the mare.
The evening sun dipped behind the trees, casting long, golden shadows across the paddock.
I’d been working with her for hours, and for the first time in days, I felt like we were finally moving in the right direction.
She let out a soft whinny and gave a shake of her mane, stomping one hoof in protest, or maybe anticipation.
Still, she walked toward me with purpose, her eyes locked on the sugar cube nestled in my hand. I’d figured out sugar cubes were her weakness. The moment she saw one, her stubborn streak softened, and just like that, we were best friends.
I kept my hand flat, palm open, and grinned as her velvety lips brushed against it, tickling. A giggle escaped before I could stop it, and I reached up to stroke her nose. “Good girl,” I murmured, warmth curling in my chest.
We were building something. A fragile bond, but a bond nonetheless. Dottie was curious now, watching me with wide, intelligent eyes, trying to figure me out. And the best part? She was starting to listen. To trust.
We weren’t quite there yet. Riding her was still a ways off.
First, I had to get her used to the saddle, the bridle, the rhythm of a rider’s weight.
Breaking a horse wasn’t just about control, it was about connection.
Understanding. Finding the temperament first and building everything else from there.
“Look at her improve,” my mom’s voice called from behind me, floating in over the fence.
I turned and smiled as she walked toward us from the house. Her dress billowed in the soft breeze, apron tied tight around her waist.
“She is! We’re finally getting used to each other. She was more stubborn than I’d expected, but something shifted.”
I wasn’t just talking about the horse. I felt the change in my bones.
The shift had started in me. Somewhere along the line, I’d stopped fighting what I felt and started facing it. And Dottie, perceptive as she was, had sensed the change. She could feel everything I was carrying, everything I was hiding. She wasn’t going to trust me until I started trusting myself.
“I knew you’d get there,” Mom said softly, slipping under the railing and moving closer. “It takes time to bounce back from chaos.”
She reached for Dottie, giving her time to sniff and approve before running her hand gently over the mare’s nose.
I glanced at her, narrowing my eyes slightly, not because I was upset, but because I was trying to read her. I wasn’t sure she was only talking about the horse.
My chaos. My bounce back.
“Huh,” I said, crossing my arms as I watched her and Dottie. “It does.”
I hadn’t told her everything. I hadn’t let her all the way in. The edge of disappointment still lingered beneath the surface.
My mom knew there was something between us—Logan and me—but she didn’t press. We were keeping things slow, undefined. No labels, no pressure. But I knew I was his, and he was mine. That part didn’t need a label because he’d already branded himself onto my heart.
“How are you doing?” Mom asked, blunt as ever.
Maybe Boone had said something.
“I’m good. Why?” I replied, my voice faltering slightly.
She stepped beside me and took my arm gently, guiding me over to the fence so we could lean against it together. That was her thing—finding a place to anchor when she wanted to talk deep. I braced myself.
“What is it with my children thinking I don’t know them as well as I do?” she said with a small laugh, smiling at me.
I shrugged, but a lump was forming in my throat.
“I’m not sure where you’re going with this,” I said, even though I did.
“Your brother pulled the same crap with me when it came to Aspen,” my mom said, tone dry but loving. “I know when my babies are going through something.”
I blinked, taken slightly off guard. Did she mean with Logan?
“Logan and I are good,” I said quickly. “Things are going really well. I’m happy.”
“I know that,” she replied with a soft smile. “I’m not talking about Logan. I’m talking about everything else. Everything that’s happened over the last few years. How you’re doing.”
A rock lodged in my throat, my stomach twisting into tight, uncomfortable knots. But I breathed through it, steady and slow.
She continued, her voice low, almost hesitant. “I’m bringing this up now because… for the first time in a long while, I can see your happiness again. I didn’t mention it before because I knew how hard you were trying to manage everything on your own.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Didn’t know what to do with the idea that she’d intentionally taken a step back, given me space, when all this time I thought I’d been hiding everything so well.
But that was my parents—never pushy, never intrusive.
They believed in letting us figure things out, even if that meant we fell on our faces first. When I left, they didn’t beg me to stay.
They asked questions, sure. But they didn’t interfere.
Didn’t tell me I was wrong or try to course-correct my choices.
Their love was quiet but present. Hands-off but never absent.
“I mean, you know things weren’t easy for me… with the whole Buck situation,” I said, the words slow and hesitant. Her nod came immediately—gentle, understanding.
“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” I admitted. “Emotionally, I’ve been trying to work through it all on my own. Trying to make sense of who I am now.”
“I know, sweetie,” she said, reaching out to rest her hand on my arm.
The gesture was so simple, but it undid me. That soft, grounding touch only a mother could give. Comfort without pressure. Connection without expectation.
Emotion swelled, unexpected and sharp. Maybe it was the touch, or maybe it was being seen, but it cracked something open in me.
And so I told her.
Right there, in the quiet hush of the paddock, with dusk stretching long across the dirt and Dottie nuzzling softly behind us, I let it all go.
For the third time, I found myself unraveling the story, but this time felt different, final.
I told her about the disappointment I carried. The way it settled in my chest like guilt. How I worried I’d let her down. She didn’t even hesitate before gently correcting me, assuring me with soft certainty that I never had.
I told her about Miles. About the trip. About Logan, how he’d shown up for me in ways I didn’t think I deserved, how he stayed.
When I was done, I felt lighter like something had finally been released.
That conversation was the final piece I didn’t know I needed. The last weight I’d been carrying, the one tethered to shame and silence. Letting it go, letting her in, was part of the healing.
Part of becoming me again.
It was about trusting the people who loved me. Letting them see the messy parts. Letting them stay.
Trusting myself again too.
Giving myself room to be held.
To be loved.
To belong.
“Never once have I felt disappointed in you,” my mom said softly, her voice reassuring. “And I never will, not while you’re out here doing your best to navigate the world. We’re all living life for the first time. Not everything we do is going to be perfect.”
Her eyes locked on mine with conviction. “You are an amazing woman, Bellie.”
The use of my nickname made my chest ache in the best way. She meant every word.
We leaned into each other, hugging tightly. A long, quiet embrace that said everything we didn’t need to speak aloud. When we finally pulled apart, she offered a soft smile and reached up, brushing her thumb beneath my eye.
“Whenever you’re ready, come inside for dinner,” she said. “There’s plenty. And ask Logan if he’d like to stay too.”
I gave her a confused look. “Logan’s not even here, he worked the morning shift.”
But she just smiled and subtly tilted her head toward the barn entrance.
I followed her gaze and sure enough, there he was. Leaning casually against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded, wearing that damn smirk that always made my pulse stutter.
My head snapped back toward my mom, but she was already walking toward the house.
When I looked back, Logan was heading toward me now—his hips swaying in that loose, confident way, cowboy hat tipped low. He came to a stop by the paddock fence and leaned against it, waiting.
I didn’t even try to play it cool.
I ran.
Jumping up on the bottom rail, I leaned in and kissed him, smiling against his mouth.
“How’d that go?” he asked, nodding in the direction my mom had gone.
“Really good,” I said, breathless and lighter than I’d felt in a long time. “I feel… better.”
“Good.” He smiled, then reached up and gently tilted my chin for another quick, tender kiss.
“You wanna stay for dinner?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “I’m always down for your mom’s home-cooked meals.”
Before I could step down, Logan grabbed me by the waist and tossed me over his shoulder with an easy laugh.
I squealed, kicking my feet as he carried me toward the house like a sack of feed. He didn’t let me down until we reached the front porch steps, and even then, his hand lingered at my waist.