Page 31 of 11 Cowboys

Grace doesn’t talk at first, which I appreciate. She moves beside me, her flashlight bouncing across the floor, scanning the shadows like a detective in an HBO crime show.

“You really didn’t need to come,” I say eventually, adjusting the latch on the foal’s stall.

“I was awake,” she replies, voice quiet but clear. “And… I’m not a fan of storms.”

“Who is?” I ask.

“My mama,” she says. “She loves the electrical ones that tear across the sky like children’s scribbles.”

“Nice description,” I say, thinking about Eli and how much she liked to draw before her momma left, and how painfully stilted her efforts are now.

“Anyway, you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

That catches me off guard.

I glance over. Grace is standing close to the foal now, palm flat against its damp, twitching flank. She’s calm. Present. There’s a storm raging outside, and she’s channeled the quiet inside.

“You good with animals?” I ask.

“I grew up in a house with more foster kids than bedrooms. Learning how to keep creatures calm kind of came with the territory.”

I nod. That makes sense. She has that grounded way about her and a voice that cuts through noise with tone rather than volume.

The foal calms beneath her touch, and she smiles, soft and open, different from the professional smile or the half-smirk she uses to keep people at arm’s length. This one isdifferent.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she says, glancing at me sideways.

I shake my head. “Not unless I have something worth saying.”

“And yet... you came out into a thunderstorm for this one.”

I shrug, but she isn’t wrong. The animals are safe and predictable. People are harder.

Grace doesn’t press but keeps rubbing slow circles on the foal’s neck that I can imagine on my own. I look away, feeling stupid.

“You like it here?” I ask after a beat. “The ranch.”

She considers it for longer than I expected. “I do. More than I thought I would.”

“Why?”

“Because nobody here is trying to be cooler or smarter or louder than the next guy. You all just… are.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, but it sits with me and settles under my ribs. It’s good to confirm that she recognizes our strength as a unit and how well we work as a team. If she can bring that into the article, it will help the outside world focus on the good at Cooper Hill Ranch.

Lightning flashes again, this time close enough to light up Grace’s face fully. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her hair curling even more at the edges from the damp. She looks tired, but not in the way most people do when they’re overworked. There’s a fragility that she keeps hidden during the day that seems obvious now.

She meets my eyes and holds them. “Junie’s yours?”

“And Eli.”

She smiles. “They’re sweet as honey… and they’ve both got your serious side.”

What she means is we’re all carrying the aftereffects of the same sadness and betrayal.

“You lost someone like Corbin?” Grace asks gently.

My shoulders bunch before I can school myself toremain unaffected. I don’t want to answer these questions, but I understand she’s doing her job. This is why she crossed the yard in the rain, to unwrap all my burdens.