Page 46 of Broken Reins (Whittier Falls #4)

Lily

Five months later

I used to think the sun didn’t care about people like me. If anything, it tried to scorch you out, or else ignore you entirely, blanketing the earth with enough gray to match your mood. But on this afternoon, the light was determined to prove me wrong.

It found me astride Pebbles—the beautiful, fuzzy creature with the patience of a saint and the eyes of a grumpy librarian. It found me squinting into the gold, my hair (now with renewed streaks of blonde) fanned behind me like some kind of backwards comet tail.

I rode with my back straight. I rode with my heels down and my hands loose on the reins. I rode like a person who wanted to be seen, which was probably the strangest part of all.

Ford rode beside me. His horse, a rangy red gelding named Tater Tot (because of course it was), carried him with the bored swagger of a professional.

Ford was more at ease in the saddle than I ever imagined, especially considering he spent two decades in Silicon Valley and was allergic to exercise unless it involved moving a server rack.

Now, he looked every bit the Montana cowboy again—boots muddy, hat pushed back, a worn flannel rolled to the elbows and sleeves peppered with sawdust and dog hair.

He watched me with the faintest of smirks. Not to judge. Just to marvel, maybe. Or to see if I’d eat dirt.

“Your heels,” he called, and I angled my toes down like a pro.

“Is that better?” I asked, fighting the urge to hunch into myself.

“Looks perfect from here,” he said, and he meant it.

Behind us, the yard was a symphony of animal drama.

Chickens bustled in their newly upgraded coop, tripping over each other to get to the half-moon of seed Ford scattered that morning.

Three cats sprawled on the patio in a tangle of fur, pointedly ignoring the cows that mooed from a distance.

A stocky cattle dog—technically named Jerry, but mostly called “Dumbass”—trotted along beside the horses, tongue lolling, so happy in his own skin that you almost forgot he’d eaten an entire sock last week and survived to tell the tale.

From this vantage, the ranch seemed infinite.

Pastures sloped away toward the river, where the grass met scrubby willow and the sky dropped down all around you.

Beyond the back field, the mountains heaved themselves up in a mess of granite and snow.

It was the kind of place where you could lose yourself and still find a better version waiting.

Pebbles flicked her ears and grunted, offended at being made to walk in a straight line.

I patted her neck with the awkward confidence of a person who learned how to ride by watching Ford’s YouTube recommendations and then surviving three lessons with Walker and Ford both hollering directions over each other’s voice.

Ford always said Pebbles was “anxious, but sweet, like a therapy dog for people with imposter syndrome.” Maybe that’s why we got along.

We rode toward the little rise Ford called the Lookout, because you could see all the way to downtown Whittier Falls if you craned your neck. I didn’t have to look back to know the old house was glowing in the late sun—white siding, windows open, laundry flapping on the line.

Pebbles huffed. The saddle creaked. Jerry zigged in front of us, then zagged, nearly tripping over his own paws. I laughed without meaning to, and Ford caught the sound with his eyes.

“You’re getting good,” he said.

I wanted to tell him that I never thought I’d make it this far. That I’d been so sure I’d fail at riding, just like I failed at all the things I was supposed to be. But today, the words didn’t come out as confessions. They came out as facts.

“Pebbles is the real pro,” I said. “I’m just here for the ride.”

Ford grinned, his face open and relaxed in a way I rarely saw with anyone else. “I’m just happy you gave her a chance,” he said, his hand resting easy on the horn of the saddle.

We kept riding. The grass was dotted with early wildflowers, tiny and purple and stubborn as hell. There were bees everywhere, but they left us alone. The cows chewed their cud and ignored our parade.

We made it to the top of the hill, where the sun dipped lower and cast everything in long shadows. Pebbles slowed to a stop, and Tater Tot did the same, nosing at the ground like he expected a treat for his troubles.

I glanced over at Ford. “You think this is how people are supposed to live?” I asked. “You know. All this sky, all this air. Seems excessive.”

He tipped his head back and let out a laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe we just spent too long in places where everything was artificial.”

I nodded. He didn’t have to explain. I’d seen what his version of “normal” looked like—expensive glass, expensive coffee, expensive noise. Even when he lived there, he’d always seemed restless, he’d admitted. Now, the restlessness was replaced with something else. Peace, maybe. Or the hope for it.

Ford watched the clouds for a while, then looked at me sideways. “You’re quiet,” he said. “What’s in your head?”

I shrugged. “Trying to figure out what’s next.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that said he’d been waiting for the question. “Next is whatever you want.”

It was corny, but he was right. For the first time, the idea didn’t terrify me.

We sat there, horses shifting beneath us, until the world went gold and everything softened at the edges.

I thought about how much had changed since I’d gotten away from Jim.

How I’d been afraid to stand out, afraid to ask for help, afraid that if I took up too much space, the universe would slap me back down.

Now, I didn’t care if the universe noticed. I wanted it to.

“You know what the best part is?” I asked, more to Pebbles than anyone. “I get to decide what’s worth holding onto.”

Ford cocked his head. “And?”

“And today,” I said, “I decided to keep this.” I swept my arm around, catching the house, the dog, the sky, and, most of all, him.

He grinned. “I’ll try not to let you down.”

I looked at him, really looked, and realized he had no idea how much he already meant to me.

“You won’t,” I said. “Not ever.”

He seemed to believe me.

We turned the horses, heading back toward the house. The wind shifted, cool and sweet. I felt the warmth of the saddle, the flex of muscle under me, the steady thud of hooves on dirt. I felt alive, and for once, I wasn’t afraid of it.

On the way in, Jerry managed to find a dead vole and presented it to us, wagging so hard he nearly fell over. Ford dismounted, took the vole, and praised the dog like he’d just brokered world peace.

“Good boy, Jerry,” Ford said, scratching behind his ears. “You’re a menace.”

“You want help getting down?” he asked, half-teasing as he threw the vole as far as possible.

I considered, then swung my leg over and slid off Pebbles, landing with a not-entirely-graceful thump.

“I’m fine,” I said, dusting off my jeans.

He watched me, proud in the dorkiest way possible. “Damn right you are.”

He led the horses back to the hitching post, me trailing behind, and then we stood together in the late sun, shoulders brushing. For a long time, neither of us said anything.

I reached up, letting my hand rest on his arm. “This is what happy looks like,” I said, surprised at how true it felt.

He looked at me like I’d just solved a riddle. “I’m just so happy you gave me a shot,” he said.

I leaned in, let my head rest against his chest. He smelled like hay and sweat and something sweet I couldn’t name. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close but never too tight.

I closed my eyes and let the light and sounds soak in.

We stood there, just listening. The wind pressed the grass in waves, setting the white and yellow flowers bobbing.

Bees did their thing. Far off, a crow barked at something that must have offended its delicate sensibilities.

Our horses—now best friends, united by snacks—dropped their heads and started mowing down the nearest patch of clover.

Ford squeezed my hand, then let go and stepped in front of me, blocking the sun for a moment.

“I know you hate surprises,” he said.

“That depends,” I shot back. “Is this a dead vole or a surprise cake?”

His face twisted in a battle between laughter and nerves. “Neither, I promise.”

He took a breath, and the shift was immediate—gone was the easy smirk, replaced by a look so serious it made my chest constrict.

“I had this whole thing planned,” he said, scratching at his jaw like the words were stuck there. “Some big speech. Maybe I was going to hack a plane banner or bribe the bakery to spell it out in eclairs. But I’m not good at those. And I don’t think you want a performance.”

He moved closer, just enough that I had to look up at him. I could feel his pulse through my palm.

“What I’m good at,” he went on, voice low and certain, “is recognizing a miracle when it smacks me in the face.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not very romantic.”

He smiled. “I disagree. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever said.

” He took both my hands and held them together between us.

“I spent a long time thinking I didn’t deserve any of this.

Not you, not Noah, not even Pebbles, and she’s the world’s most forgiving horse.

I thought maybe if I fixed enough things, if I built enough, or earned enough, or atoned enough, the universe might balance the books. ”

He looked away for a second, squinting at the sun.

“But then you showed up. And you didn’t just accept me. You changed me. You made me want more, even when I was sure I shouldn’t.”

I had a joke ready, something to break the tension, but my throat was too tight to say it. The look on his face was too raw. He looked down, shaking his head. “You’re the only thing in my life that was never broken.”

For a moment, we just stood there, fingers tangled, feet buried in the wild grass. I was aware of everything: the way his hands trembled just a little, the clean sweat scent mixed with aftershave, the catch in his breath.

He went to one knee. Not with the kind of grace you see in movies—he nearly lost his balance on a root, had to steady himself—but the intention was unmistakable.

Suddenly I understood why people always say time stands still.

The world did a slow, syrupy shift, and all I could see was the way Ford looked up at me, equal parts cocky and terrified.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny velvet box. It was a simple kind, no fancy branding, a little lopsided on one corner, and vintage looking, which made it even more perfect.

He opened it, and inside was a ring that sparkled in the sun. Big—not huge, not flashy, but elegant and spare, the kind of thing you could wear every day and never get tired of looking at. The diamond caught a fleck of sunlight and set it dancing.

I stared at it for a full ten seconds before I remembered to breathe.

“Lily,” Ford said, voice steadier than I expected, “I love you. I love the way you laugh, and the way you love Noah, and the way you keep going even when the world’s been an asshole to you.

I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, caring for you.

Proving to you that you made the right choice. ”

He paused, and for a split second, his bravado faltered. “And just so you know, I already asked Noah, and he said it was cool as long as he got to be a dinosaur at the wedding.”

I barked a laugh, the tears already wetting my cheeks.

“So, what do you say? Will you marry me?”

For all the times I imagined this moment, I never thought it would feel so easy. So obvious.

“Yes,” I said, voice shaky but loud. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

His whole body sagged with relief. He stood, picked me up, and spun me around before I had a chance to get embarrassed. I buried my face in his neck, laughing and crying at the same time, the ring already cold and perfect on my finger

He set me down, hands on my shoulders, eyes searching my face. “You mean it?”

“I mean it,” I said, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Even if Noah comes dressed as a T-Rex.”

Ford kissed me. Not rushed, not urgent—just soft and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

The sun broke through the clouds. The breeze rippled the flowers. The horses wandered closer, Pebbles nudging my arm as if to ask if she could eat the velvet box.

For the first time in forever, I knew exactly what came next. It would be loud, and wild, and messy, and ours.

I held Ford’s hand, and together, we walked back home.