2. Storm
I tighten my fingers around the reins and tug. “Easy,” I say, my tone firm. I rest my palm against her neck, settling deeper into the worn leather of Dream’s saddle.
She shifts under me until she calms herself. This one’s always eager to get out and stretch her legs. I pat her again. “Atta girl. We’ve got time.”
Well, that’s true for Dream, anyway. She’s got time to learn to ride with the big boys. Time to grow and discover how fast, free, and wild she can be.
Not all of us have that luxury. But I do love watching young horses discover their power.
It’s the only time I feel truly untethered from my responsibilities. You can’t rush a young horse. They pick up on that kind of tension. The stress. They don’t react well. They respond better to calm and confidence.
Things I’ve been slowly losing over the last few years. Well, since becoming a mother. After I had Max, life got hectic; every moment, every decision—every dollar—started to count.
The sun hovers low over the familiar hills of Blue River Ranch, painting the sky in pale pinks and golds as the land wakes.
I suck in a long breath, and release. I like to start my day believing everything is the way it was meant to be.
Max and I have a routine that works. He’s safe.
He’s happy—for the most part. And he’s loved. Everything else is just details.
Somewhere near the barns, a feed truck roars to life.
The smell of hay and damp earth drift from the tack room.
And . . . as Dream and I move closer to the Saddle Room, Wilder and Dallas’s office, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits my senses just as hard.
It’s the hour I love most—before voices fill the air, before guest lessons, tourists, and chaos fire up my day like the fourth of July.
Please dear God let there be no engagement shoots today—or this week. Heck, can we just make that a spring thing?
It’s not that I don’t like weddings, or even couples who insist on proving their love to one another with photos. It’s that they always seem to upend the entire staff and disrupt schedules. And there’s nothing I hate more than entitled guests thinking they bought out the entire ranch for the day.
Oh dear. I need that coffee soon.
Dream snorts as I guide her toward the training ring. She’s young, all muscle and nerves, still learning that riders don’t mean fear. I keep the reins loose, communicating more with the shift of my weight than my hands. Patience builds trust faster than force ever could.
It’s what Carrie Thorne, Silas’s mother, always said when she taught me to ride.
Right here on this ranch over sixteen years ago.
I didn’t show up here a beginner by any means.
I’ve been riding since I was a little girl.
But apparently, back then I rode like a girl.
Carrie taught me to ride “like a cowgirl.”
The ring’s gate creaks as I nudge it open with the toe of my boot.
Dust stirs beneath Dream’s hooves as she steps inside.
I flip back my braid, blonde strands coming loose.
My muscles already ache from the hours I’ve put in this week, but that’s nothing new.
Comforting, even. Ache meant work. Work meant money.
Even if it never seemed to be enough.
The Thornes pay well. So I’d never ask for more. My troubles shouldn’t be their burden. But it’s hard when half my monthly salary goes to a long-term care facility in Denver for my father, who’s been there for over a year for advanced heart failure.
Anxiety creeps into my posture and I shake the negative thoughts off. Dream will feel it. I was never good at keeping my emotions in check.
I exhale gently.
Patience. Shoulder forward. Light pressure on the leg. And happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Sunrise, coffee, horses. Max.
I work with Dream for one hour. I always try to quit before they get restless. I can tell she’s close when her head drops after the last round, her steps faltering.
“Great job, girl.” I dismount and rub her neck. Then walk her back to the stables behind the Saddle Room.
I check my watch. It’s Saturday so the schedule’s a bit more hectic today.
More riding lessons. And then I’ve got a birthday party coming in the afternoon.
Not gonna lie—hate those. I know I shouldn’t.
Having kids’ birthday parties at the pony barn with festive music and activities should be fun.
And at Blue River Ranch, they truly are.
But I think I’m just scarred from the parties over at Callahan Ranch when I worked there.
Those kids were no better than some of the staff: loud, obnoxious, and treading a thin line of animal cruelty.
It’s like Callahan Ranch attracted a certain crowd.
Or the Thorne brothers just know how to deal with and control their parties better.
There’s a certain level of respect when you walk onto Blue River.
Connor and Carrie Thorne made damn sure of that decades ago.
Still burns me that I spent five years working for the Callahans when Dad and I returned to Blue River Springs from Aspen six years ago.
After Mom died. I didn’t argue moving back.
I wanted to keep working with horses. But for reasons I’m ashamed to admit now, I chose the rivals.
Some time ago, Dad and Connor Thorne had a falling-out. Still don’t know what it was about—Dad’s reasons would change over the years. And none of it added up. But I suppose it wasn’t my business, so I never questioned it.
And even though it made me ill inside, any enemy of Dad’s was an enemy of mine. So I made a left turn and asked Dusty and Ricky Callahan for a job as a horse trainer.
Well, maybe it wasn’t entirely for Dad. There might have been something I personally wanted to avoid too.
Like running into my old crush.
The boy I spent years chasing and playing with all over this ranch. When his older brothers were busy learning the trade . . . and he just wanted to have fun and be rebellious.
I . . . wanted both. I loved their ranch, the horses, the people and . . . Silas Thorne. Of course I did. It was probably as cliché to love him back then as it would be now.
Until high school came around and he pretended he didn’t know who I was.
And why would he? I still wore pigtails and probably smelled like horse manure on any given day.
But that’s how it goes, right? The cool kid always forgets the geek.
I made peace with it and moved on. Especially after Max was born—he became my whole world.
Nothing else mattered other than providing for him, giving him as much as a single-mom salary would allow.
Mom’s medical bills made sure I learned to stand on my own feet pretty quickly.
By the time she died, Aspen didn’t feel like a place either of us wanted to stay anymore.
Dad said he wanted to go back to Blue River Springs.
Said it was time to go home. I think he believed he could fix things he’d left broken here.
But he never did. Which is why I’m here now—there’s no logical reason to keep avoiding this place.
Not when it all feels so long ago. The rift, the crush I once had—hell, even the annoying fizz in my stomach when I saw Silas last year for the first time in over nine years.
Dallas remembered me the moment I walked in. Gave me a big hug and before I could even ask, he said, “What’s it going to take to get you to jump ship and train my horses?”
The warmth and relief that spread through me. It’s all I needed, to know Max and I would be happy here.
After settling Dream back into the stables, I step into the Saddle Room.
It’s empty, but I can tell the guys were here.
Or at least Dallas was. Coffee’s freshly brewed by his desk.
Wilder doesn’t drink coffee but doesn’t necessarily hate it anymore since his live-in girlfriend, Rose, runs on that stuff.
I pour myself a steaming mug and avoid looking at the bulletin board next to the timecards.
With the tourist season coming to a close and the need for extra hands and hours slimming, the overtime requests are through the roof.
I don’t bother. I spend enough time without my nine-year-old boy.
Besides, my job isn’t exactly “in demand” after October.
But thankfully, they still keep me on full time during the winter.
It’s important work. Mostly maintenance: feed and blanket checks, groundwork, short riding sessions, weather permitting, and foundation training those horses that either weren’t quite ready for a crowd or were mishandled during the season by new riders.
“Mornin’,” Dallas huffs, appearing at the door and running a hand through his dark curls as he hangs his black hat over the hook by the door.
“Morning,” I call back.
He nods at the mug in my hand. “Hope I didn’t make it too strong for ya. I’m going to need it, with the Smith party coming in at noon.”
I try not to shiver out of pure reflex and remember I actually enjoyed the last one. “How many are there today?”
“Eleven.”
I wince.
“Hey, if you want, bring Max by. They’re about his age. Could make some friends.”
I smile politely. Because I know what he’s saying; Max could use some friends. He has some at school—a Danny, I think. But he’s shy. A little awkward. He was raised by his grandfather for Pete’s sake, while I was working to support us.
Besides, friends mean playdates. Playdates mean time off work for costly adventures in arcades and festivals.
Then the occasional mom who recommends they start “enrichment classes” together.
Whatever happened to “your house or mine?” After a while, I had to start turning those down, blaming it on work.
Sundays are my only day off and I need those to recuperate from the long week, spend time with Max, or visit Dad.
“That’s all right.” I wave him off. “Bad enough I bring my kid to work with me on weekends, not going to have him distract me too.”