Bonus Epilogue
Heston
“We’re burning daylight,” Gage calls from outside. “Get your shit together, and let’s go.”
Tripp rolls his eyes, and I have to admit, I almost do the same. It’s literally six in the morning as the sun barely inches over the horizon.
I chuckle at Gage’s impatience as we lead our horses out of the barn. Tripp pulls the cinch one last time before gripping the reins, sliding his boot into the stirrup, and pulling himself up. Gage and Warren are waiting for us by the big oak tree by the fence.
I’m the last one in the saddle.
We haven’t camped out at the satellite pasture in almost three years. I don’t know what put the idea in Warren’s head to plan this, but I think he’s been missing this place. He comes around often, but it’s not the same as when it was just the four of us.
I wouldn’t trade what we’ve got now for another day in our old lives.
None of us would. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to being out on horseback again with my three best friends.
It’s been too long since we gathered cows all day and spent the night around a campfire with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and a sky full of stars.
The air is cold enough to make me zip up my canvas coat. Bob shakes his mane with excitement as we pick up to a trot, catching up to the other three.
Before we reach the pasture, I glance over my shoulder.
Our lifestyles aren’t the only things that have changed. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to looking toward the bunkhouse and seeing nothing but a blank space.
“I might regret this tomorrow,” Warren says, stretching his back. “I’m out of riding shape.”
Tripp laughs. “You’re turning into such a pussy.”
Gage spits a sunflower seed shell on the ground and lifts his hat from his head to wipe his brow on his sleeve. He’s been antsy since we started packing up before dawn.
We all were, if I’m honest.
I lean forward, bracing a hand on the horn of the saddle to adjust my weight. Riding away from the ranch toward the open stretch of land feels less familiar this morning than it ever has.
For the next two days, we’ll be working alongside each other. The only difference is that we know this occasion is no longer routine. It’s rare. For old time’s sake, I pretend that isn’t the case.
My eyes slide over to Tripp as he pulls a stick of gum from his pocket. He momentarily drops the reins to lift the hood over his cap.
“Let me get one of those,” Gage says.
Warren tosses him a strip of beef jerky. It flies high over Gage’s head and lands in the brush behind his horse. His aim is better on the second try, but Gage still shakes his head after catching it.
“Me too,” I say.
Warren scoffs. “This is not a drive thru.”
Tripp leans to the side and snatches the bag from his hands with a smirk. His horse doesn’t skip a beat, even as he stands in the saddle and throws the loot in my direction.
I catch it and flip Warren off. He narrows his eyes, but reaches into his saddle bag for a Ziploc of trail mix. Pretty sure there’s a heart and a note written in permanent marker on the clear plastic.
We’re silent for a while. It’s nice to hear the soft thud of horse hooves and the early fall breeze blowing through what’s left of the grass. I’m enjoying the quiet when a low, distant thump cuts through the air. The sound grows louder by the second.
Gage’s head snaps up first. “Do y’all hear that?”
We all slow, horses shifting beneath us as we tilt our heads to the sky. The morning light is no longer a dull, hazy yellow. I remove my hat to hold it up and block the brightness.
“Earthquake,” Tripp suggests.
“That’s definitely what it is,” Warren agrees sarcastically.
The sound builds to a deafening volume. We’re all a little confused, but a realization pops into my brain. A flying object crests over the hill, confirming my hunch. I let out a chuckle.
“Is that a fucking helicopter?” Gage asks.
Tripp’s mouth drops open. Warren shakes his head, a grin tugging at his mouth. It doesn’t take long for both of them to start laughing.
I can’t hide my amusement any better than they can. Hell, I haven’t laughed this hard since . . . well, ever.
When the chopper disappears as fast as it showed up, Gage is still chuckling. He glances up at the sky one more time before urging his horse forward as if nothing happened.
Warren follows next to him, tossing another handful of trail mix into his mouth. Tripp and I make eye contact. He smirks. I shake my head.
For a split second, nothing feels different anymore. I put my hat back on, brim pulled low. The reins slide through my fingers until I get the right amount of slack.
We fall into a flat line, side by side.
The first time we took this trek toward the herd, I hated how long it took. We all knew the ground was too rough for decent sleep, and the coffee was somehow always cold.
All those things will still be true on this trip. Still, we ride. Roughing it is half the damn fun.
The End