Chapter 10
After spending most of the next week on the ranch, learning to clean out the stables and learning some of the ins and outs of what actually goes on here, I feel as if I understand Broken Ridge a little more.
The distraction is welcome. Although I often feel as if I’m not alone. As if someone is watching, but there is never anyone there.
I’m used to working. Maybe not this kind of labor-intensive work, but I’ve been working since I was fifteen, mostly under the table. Anything to keep the lights on and the rent paid. Food was always last on the list of priorities.
Here, though, things are different. Still hard, still demanding, but no one’s yelling.
No one’s high or passed out on the floor.
There’s a strange kind of rhythm to my days; one I’m starting to fall into.
Sutton hums while she cooks. Shiloh curses under her breath when she burns her hand on a hot tray, then grins at me like we’re in on some shared joke.
Even the workers, rough around the edges and sharp-tongued, soften with full stomachs and cold lemonade.
After an early dinner, I help clear the dishes and wipe down the long table out on the covered porch.
The breeze is steady, tugging strands of hair from my braid.
I pause for a moment, leaning against one of the porch beams, letting my eyes drift out over the land.
It stretches for miles, all dust and sun, framed by an infinite looking fence line.
It’s a kind of quiet I’m not used to. Not the silence of dread or disappointment, but a peaceful one. Honest.
Footsteps creak behind me, and I don’t have to turn to know who it is.
“You made it through your first week,” Pace says, his voice light with amusement. “Still standing, too.”
“Barely,” I admit, my voice dry. “Pretty sure I’m feeling every inch of hard work.”
He comes to stand beside me, arms crossed as he looks out over the pasture. “That’s how you know you did it right.”
We fall into an easy silence. One which doesn’t demand conversation. I glance at him, trying to read the shift in his posture. He’s relaxed, but thoughtful, his brow drawn slightly like he’s working something out in his head.
“Most people don’t last past the first day or two,” he says after a moment. “They get their boots dirty and decide they’d rather be anywhere else.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. We both know I don’t have the luxury of leaving.
He turns toward me then, his gaze more serious. “You surprised me this week.”
I blink. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding once. “It is.”
A small, tentative warmth blooms in my chest. I don’t know what to do with it, so I shift my weight and look away again.
“You know,” he continues, “if you want to learn more about the horses, I can show you how to groom them. Maybe take you out on a longer ride tomorrow. Out past the creek.”
I glance at him, caught off guard. “You’re offering to spend more time with me?”
He smirks, nudging my arm with his elbow. “Don’t make it weird. I’m trying to be nice.”
I smile in spite of myself. It’s small, but it’s real. “Thanks, Pace.”
He shrugs, but there’s something almost proud in the way he lifts his chin. “You’re part of the ranch now. That means something around here.”
I watch him walk off, back toward the barn where the others are finishing up for the day. The sun’s starting to dip low, casting everything in a honey-colored light.
I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I don’t know what’s waiting around the corner.
But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might be building something instead of only surviving.
And that, more than anything, feels like hope, which is terrifying.