Page 10 of And Forever (The Riders and Rings Duology #2)

CHARLOTTE

EVERS RIDGE, MONTANA — LATE MAY

“ R oo,” I coo from the entrance of the stable.

My beautiful boy pokes his head through the half door of his stall almost immediately.

He gives me a responding call, and the impatience of his hooves makes me laugh.

My horse continues to shuffle and chuff behind me as I turn to the wall where his reins, headpiece, and bit are located.

It’s early morning, the sun barely cresting the horizon. The ranch feels sleepy and small at this time of the day, and I feel like a thief stealing a part of it for myself.

Ada came over an hour ago, yawning and clutching her travel cup of coffee. She waved me off when I told her I didn’t need this, then pushed me out the door when I tried taking my boots off.

“It’s your birthday, and you wouldn’t let me get you a present,” she announced as she blocked the back door.

“You’re going to go for a nice long ride, and I’m going to let my goddaughter watch far too many episodes of Bluey while eating her weight in pancakes.

Get out of here before you wake her up and ruin our plans. ”

My best friend promptly thrust a jean jacket at me and closed the door. When the lock clicked, I turned around and headed to the barn, shaking off the tendrils of guilt that reached for me.

I don’t like leaving Winona in the care of others—even my family.

From the moment I learned of her existence, the responsibility for every aspect of her well-being flared to life deep in my soul, branding itself in an inexplicable and unbreakable way.

It takes a lot of mental gymnastics to remind myself that I’m only my best version for her when I’m the best version of me .

And that means taking time to do things I love.

My birthday is a perfect excuse to embrace the few hours Ada gifted me to take Rooney for a long ride through the ranch.

I don’t get to ride nearly as much as I used to, but I still make the time a few days a week.

Dad shows up on the front porch, asking Winona to help him look for the “green-toed gopher” that terrorizes the garden.

Or Mom hauls her to town for an ice cream.

When no one is available to play with her, sometimes I’ll bring Winona to the ring and let her ride small laps with me.

It’s a bittersweet experience on those occasions.

I usually have to leave Rooney in the barn and take Vesper, my red roan is too competitive to loop lazily for a toddler’s amusement.

But the majestic onyx beauty responds to Winona’s every command, seemingly content to follow a tiny human’s lead around the dirt ring and walk at a glacial pace to keep Win comfortable in her toddler saddle.

Today, however, I’ve planned a long trail ride through the big meadow and up to the lake at the back of the property.

In another month or two, the same ride would result in a swim at the hidden gem, but there’s too much chill to make it entirely comfortable right now.

It doesn’t dampen my excitement, though; I need the physical and mental space to breathe, and Rooney needs the opportunity to run.

With all necessary tack in hand, I spin toward my horse.

Rooney is still in the prime of his active years, a fact reflected by the way he shakes his mane and flutters his lips in anticipation of getting out of the barn.

I hook the tack on a peg next to the stall door before reaching out to stroke along Rooney’s snout.

He’s soft and warm under my touch, and I can’t resist stepping closer to give the side of his head a kiss in greeting.

When I pull back, my eyes snag on his mane.

“What’s this?” I ask the horse, holding a braid between two fingers.

Its parts are uneven, and the weave is unbelievably wonky.

It’s definitely some amateur work, but as I look through Rooney’s shiny hair, I can see three more, each progressively better than the last. They’re all tied off with simple twine, the bows lopsided or half undone from Rooney’s head flicks.

But there’s something endearing and sweet in the way the tan stands out against the currant-colored strands, as though begging to be noticed but not fully wanting to be flashy. “Who dressed you up, hmm?”

Of course, my horse doesn’t offer up the name of his stylist, and I shake my head at the absurd thought that he would.

I really need to get out more, I think as I go through the motions of getting us ready to ride.

It doesn’t take long before I lead him through the barn and into the early golden light.

The sky is going to be a bright, clear blue today, making everything feel bigger than it is.

Rooney pulls at the reins, eager to get past the buildings, but I hold him back.

This creature has never been aware of his size, and galloping between my cottage, the main house, and the various bunkhouses will make more noise than he realizes.

We ease between them until we clear the first twenty yards of the meadow, then I turn him loose.

“Hi-yah!” I snap, letting out some slack on the reins and squeezing my thighs around his thick body, hitting behind his ribs with the heel of my boots in a pointed but gentle nudge.

Rooney reacts like a bolt of lightning. He streaks through the sea of olive grass, charging so quickly I can’t restrain the laughter that bursts from my chest. It’s a giddy thing to have the wind whip through my hair, the world blurring past me.

Joy blooms inside me at the weightless sensation riding like this gives.

I almost stick my arms out to the sides and pretend I’m a bird soaring through the sky.

Instead, I lean forward and urge Rooney to find another gear. Effortlessly, he does.

I pay attention to him as we near the far tree line about three hundred yards from the center of the ranch, guiding him to slow his gallop until we’re in a comfortable trot.

The sun’s over the horizon now, adding some warmth and light to the world except where shadows still cling.

I relax in my saddle, dropping the reins to my lap, signaling to Rooney to walk, which he obeys instantly.

He whinnies in a satisfied way, and I make a mental note to ask Cooper to take him out more this summer when he gets here in a month.

I’ve known Cooper practically my whole life.

In elementary school, Cooper was my adversary in every game of freeze tag because he could run faster than me.

He was also the nicest boy I knew; he’d get a second chocolate milk from the cafeteria and save it for me because they almost always ran out by the time I’d get to the front of the queue.

He lived in town, where his family owned the bookstore.

Then, the summer before my freshman year of high school, Cooper showed up here, asking for a job.

He had zero experience, but a lot of determination.

Something about that tenacity struck a chord in my dad’s gut.

He hired him to muck out stalls, haul hay bales, and clean the common areas the guests used.

It was grunt work—the kind our ranch boss and regular employees loathed to take on, but Cooper did it without complaint.

Along the way, he grew into himself, the physical labor changing his entire physique.

When a few temporary ranch hands began showing him how to steer wrestle, I was helpless at keeping my crush at bay.

When school started in the fall, I worked up the nerve to ask him to homecoming.

We were together until the start of my senior year.

Cooper has worked at the ranch nearly every year since.

We managed to avoid the awkward period after our breakup when Coop took a season off to try the rodeo circuit.

Once he came back, he slowly took on more and more responsibility.

When I left for the rodeo, Dad promoted him to ranch boss.

And when I came home, there was something reassuring about him still being here.

It made my transition to overseeing the business side of the ranch easier.

The lake comes into view as I continue to think about Cooper’s arrival and Wilder’s current role as ranch boss.

Wilder has seamlessly taken on the job, and the incoming staff for the busy season appear to respect him.

There was a lot of buzz about his background as a champion bronc rider, but some of our employees also know him from the work he did at the Carvers’ place in Wyoming.

It was news to me, but it reminded me of when Wilder bought Vesper for me, and I couldn’t stop the way affection flared at the memory.

We officially open for guests this week, and the ranch is ready to go.

Between introducing Wilder to his daughter and the realization that my parents orchestrated the entire thing to bring him here, this year’s prep has been harder than normal.

The day I asked my mom about it, she shrugged and told me it was for my own good.

When I pushed for more of an explanation, she confessed she knew I was more unhappy than I let on.

“No one’s saying you have to make anything of it.

” Mom held my hand and wiped a tear from her cheek with the other.

“But you’re not the same Charlotte you were when you were racing.

When you were with him. Your father and I were wrong to try and get you to leave that life.

When Curtis heard that the Carvers had been employing Wilder and were selling their ranch, it seemed like the chance was there. For Winona. For you. Even for Wilder.”

Mom’s words have stuck with me, reminding me that having Wilder in my life again was never something I thought was a possibility. Even if I’ve wished for it every day since climbing into my truck and forcing myself to leave him.