Page 27 of A Mile of Ocean (Pelican Pointe #19)
Two months later
A s the weeks turned into months, life at the ranch slowly returned to a semblance of normalcy. The horses required the same daily care as they always had, the cattle still needed tending in the northern sector, and the rhythms of ranch life persisted despite the hole left by Barrett’s absence.
Like everyone else on the ranch, Trent immersed himself in the work, finding solace in the routine and physical exertion. The tasks served as a balm for his grief, a means to channel his sorrow into something tangible. As the ranch transformed into Trent’s vision, he used Barrett’s journals as his guide—detailing what to do and what to avoid. The leather-bound books became his lifeline, enabling him to experience firsthand how his grandfather had turned the business into a success during those tough early years in the 1970s. Reading the ranch’s history through the eyes of the man who had built it allowed Trent to stay connected to him.
At Tate’s urging, he moved into the main house, where their first task was to clear out the Duchess’s bedroom, strip off the ugly wallpaper, and make it his own. Savannah’s decorating advice along the way—a new paint color scheme, new light fixtures, and bringing in his own furniture—made it a renovation success story.
As he slowly returned to his routine, Savannah’s presence brought a lightness that Trent hadn’t realized he was missing. She sometimes spent the night. And during those evenings, after the day was done, he could unwind with her like he had with no other.
She enjoyed ranch life and had taken to it like a duck to water. She didn’t mind mucking stalls or the whiff of horse manure. She inhaled the scent of freshly cut hay and the earthy aroma of dust in the stables like any country girl born to it. Nothing seemed to faze her.
The horseback riding lessons she looked forward to brought her and Tate together in a sisterly bond that seemed destined for greatness. They became certified instructors, dividing their time between group and private lessons.
They transformed the main paddock into a riding school. Children were dropped off for six hours daily, Monday through Friday, to learn the basics. The chance to learn to ride attracted so many local kids that they had to stagger the days and hours to accommodate all the lessons. As he watched the growing interest, Trent built an indoor arena to use during inclement weather.
The days were long as the ranch kept thriving.
But the best times of all were the mornings when the early summer light brushed the landscape in soft hues, making the ranch look as if it had awakened with quiet energy.
Trent would always wake up first and make coffee before feeding Taco, Trilby, and their growing family of rambunctious pups. No one even considered how ten dogs might be too much for them to manage.
The two would eat breakfast together in the main dining room, where Dolly always cooked enough to feed an army. Her home cooking brought Tate to the table along with the ranch hands, who showed their appreciation by bringing Dolly a bouquet of wildflowers or little trinkets as thank-you gifts.
After breakfast, Savannah would head to the stables. She would prepare the horses for the day’s lessons while he directed the crew to the day’s work schedule or checked emails in the office. The routine of it all was comforting, and the predictability of the days was soothing in its steadiness. Each morning brought a sense of renewal, a fresh start as the sun peeked over the horizon and bathed the ranch in golden light.
Savannah’s laughter echoed through the stables, a sound that had become as familiar to Trent as the creaking of the barn doors in the wind. Her presence had woven itself seamlessly into the fabric of ranch life, her easy smile and quick wit bringing a brightness that filled a void.
As they often worked side by side—either in the stables or the office—Trent found himself opening up to her in ways he hadn’t with anyone else. In those quiet moments before the day began, they exchanged childhood stories while saddling up the horses or preparing for their day; she recalled the times spent with Owen while he often spoke about his mom and dad.
After supper one evening, they strolled through the garden, picking ripe tomatoes and placing them in Savannah’s wicker basket. She breathed in the aroma among the hibiscus blooms in shades of pink, orange, and yellow. The lavender, laden with its upright flower spikes and silvery-green leaves, had grown so tall that it swayed in the breeze next to the rows of sage and rosemary, stretching toward the day’s last rays of sunshine. But nothing outgrew the sunflowers as their stalks towered over beds of daisies and marigolds.
Savannah pointed to the tomato plants drooping heavily with ripening fruit. “How do you get them to fruit like this? You saw mine last week when you spent the night. My tomato plants haven’t yielded enough for a salad. What am I doing wrong?”
“You’re not doing anything wrong. They’re baby plants. By October, you’ll have plenty of fruit. Gardening is a patient endeavor just like teaching.”
“I don’t give them the care I should. I’ve been a little busy lately.” She stepped into a rainbow of colorful dahlias, their petals vibrant against the backdrop of lush greenery. Bushes and vines intertwined, creating a natural maze of fragrant flowers and sweet honeysuckle.
She removed an envelope from her pocket. “Oh, I found this in my saddlebag this morning after Hutton’s lesson. I thought she left it for me. But then I noticed it was addressed to you. I was slightly disappointed because that girl has taken to riding better than the other students. She’s at the top of the class. I carried it around all day and meant to give it to you tonight during dinner.”
Trent studied the blue envelope. “It’s probably another condolence note from Barrett’s funeral. I still haven’t read them all. Dolly has. But I haven’t had the time.”
“Well, who sent this one? Open it. It’s rude not to respond.”
His eyes widened as he removed the notecard and read the first line. Embarrassed, he tried to stuff it into his jeans pocket. “Uh, it’s nothing.”
“What are you talking about? Who’s it from?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“An old girlfriend then. Well, I’m not the jealous type. At least not lately. But you wouldn’t know about it if I hadn’t found it. So, tell me who it’s from.”
“A ghost.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you ever wonder how Tate and I discovered where Duchess kept her overseas account information?”
She shrugged. “I just assumed you came across it while cleaning out the stuff in her room. You’re not talking about the resident ghost I’ve heard so much about since moving here, are you? Scott Phillips. The park is named after him. He was a war hero.”
“That’s the one.”
“Trent, are you telling me Scott Phillips told you where to find the list of account numbers?”
“And the passcodes for all ten accounts.”
“How does a ghost write a note?”
“You’re asking me? Maybe Hutton wrote it.”
“What does it say?”
Trent let out a sigh. “He’s thanking us for teaching Hutton how to ride.”
“Wow. They say he watches over the town. It sounds to me like he’s watching over his daughter.”
Trent frowned. “How do you know she’s his daughter?”
“Small town gossip. How long have you been talking to Scott anyway?”
“Since all this mess started. He showed up one night. He’s the one who got me thinking about why the shooter left Duchess alive.”
“Scott said all that?”
“Not in so many words, but he implied it. He sort of talks in riddles most of the time.”
“You needed help, and he showed up like the other neighbors. That is so cool. I’m so glad I moved here. What a unique place to call home.”
He brought her closer, toying with a strand of her hair. “My luckiest day ever was when you decided on Pelican Pointe.”
“Mine is when I decided to sponsor that 4-H group. In a weird way, Duchess did bring us together.”
As they circled around to the front porch to watch the sunset, he realized she had taken the news about the ghostly Scott in stride. She saw him as a sign of protection, linking him to a gentle whisper on the wind, a tender hand on the shoulder, a flicker of light in the corner of the eye. Nothing to fear.
The days at the ranch unfolded in their predictable rhythm, the ebb and flow of life guiding them through each sunrise and sunset. Their bond deepened as they worked together, navigating the challenges that came their way.
Like the fierce August storm that swept through the area, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. The wind knocked out power, uprooted trees, tore down fences, and spooked the animals. They worked tirelessly together through the night and the next day, ensuring everyone’s safety.
As summer stretched on, they endured the sweltering heat of the day, eagerly anticipating a pitcher of Dolly’s ice-cold strawberry lemonade or freshly brewed sweet tea, which she left out on the terrace alongside a plate of her homemade sugar cookies.
Without Barrett and Duchess, life had changed at Rio Verde Ranch. The next generation had picked up where they left off and made it a better work environment.
One Saturday morning, as the golden light of dawn illuminated the rolling hills, they set out to check on a new foal born during the night. As they watched from across the pasture, the foal stumbled unsteadily on its spindly legs while its mother nuzzled it affectionately.
“This is what it’s all about,” Savannah said softly. “This is why I love it here.”
Trent nodded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the sight. Moments like these reminded him of life’s beauty and resilience, even in the face of loss.
As they reached the crest of the next hill overlooking the ranch, Trent pulled his horse to a stop and turned to face Savannah. The sun glowed around her, illuminating her features in a way that took his breath away. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the land and the wind in their hair, he paused mid-sentence, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. He looked at Savannah, his gaze searching hers.
“You know,” he began slowly, “I never thought I’d find anyone who understood this place like my mom and dad did, like Barrett did. The way Tate does. It takes a special person to live this kind of life. It’s not for everyone.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
“Trent, I’ve never been happier than I am when I’m with you. I love teaching and don’t plan to give it up come the fall. Tate already knows that. When the kids go back to school, the riding lessons will become an afternoon or a weekend thing. I could manage both. But Tate says, come September, she’ll be busy with Painted Heart. She and Blake already have plans to go to Arizona to save that group of Mustangs someone found running wild. In a perfect world, if I could, I’d be outside with you, all the time, right here, right now, riding along the hills every day of my life.”
“Even with everything that’s happened?”
“Especially with everything that’s happened. I’ve never seen one hour when you wanted to quit or give up. When facing financial ruin, you figured out how to keep things going. It’s not in you to ever quit. I love that about you. This ranch is your lifeblood, your heart and soul. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Trent felt a surge of emotion well up inside him, a mixture of gratitude and affection for the woman beside him. She had become his rock, confidante, and partner in every sense of the word. And as he looked into her eyes, he knew he had found something rare and precious in her unwavering love.
Without another word, Trent dismounted from his horse and helped her down from Giselle. He took her hand in his. The warmth of her touch sent a jolt of electricity through him, grounding him in the present moment. With a tenderness that surprised even himself, he pulled her close and gently kissed her mouth.
“I love you, Savannah,” Trent whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Savannah’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she leaned into Trent’s embrace. “I love you too.”