Page 41 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)
THE HOLLOW RIDE
~MARIGOLD~
T he morning air carried the promise of adventure as Marigold made her way to the stables, dew still clinging to the grass beneath her boots and the sun painting the sky in watercolor washes of pink and gold.
She'd woken early in the guest room, sunlight streaming through the east-facing windows, with the memory of falling asleep against Meadow's shoulder the night before creating a warm flutter in her chest.
The wine-loosened conversation about new experiences and rediscovered joy felt less like promises made in the dark and more like possibilities waiting to be explored.
Meadow was already in the barn when she arrived, his movements efficient and practiced as he prepared two horses for their ride.
The sight of him in his element—checking tack with careful attention, speaking in low, soothing tones to the animals—made something settle pleasantly in her stomach.
There was competence in every gesture, a quiet mastery that spoke to years of partnership between man and beast.
"Morning," he called when he spotted her, his smile warm and genuine in the golden light filtering through the barn's high windows. "Sleep well?"
"Better than I have in weeks," she admitted, surprised by how true it was.
The guest room had enveloped her in peace, the sounds of the countryside so different from the constant hum of city life that she'd slept deeper than she had since arriving in Willowbend.
"Thank you for letting me stay over. And for. .. everything last night."
A slight flush colored his cheeks at the mention of their evening together, the intimacy of their conversations and the way she'd trusted him enough to fall asleep against him. "Anytime," he said simply, but the sincerity in his voice made it clear he meant it.
"Are you sure I'm ready for a trail ride?
" she asked, eyeing the horses with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
Her experience was still limited to the controlled environment of the paddock, gentle walks and basic commands under Meadow's watchful supervision.
The thought of venturing beyond the familiar boundaries of the ranch property felt both thrilling and terrifying.
"You're more than ready," he assured her, leading a familiar chestnut mare out of her stall. "Daisy here knows these trails better than I do. She could navigate them blindfolded, and she's got the patience of a saint. Plus, I'll be right there with you."
The confidence in his voice and the steady presence he'd shown her time and again helped ease her nerves. Meadow had never pushed her beyond her comfort zone without ensuring she felt safe and supported. If he believed she was ready for this adventure, she would trust his judgment.
"Where are we going?" she asked as she accepted his help mounting Daisy, the process becoming more natural with each attempt though she still appreciated his steadying hand.
"The flower fields on the north side of the property," he replied, swinging himself onto his own horse—a powerful black gelding named Storm whose name seemed perfectly suited to his spirited nature.
"There's a trail that winds through the meadows where the wildflowers are at their peak right now.
It's one of the most beautiful spots on the ranch, especially this time of year. "
The promise of wildflowers made her heart lift with anticipation.
She'd always loved flowers—their delicate beauty, the way they transformed landscapes with splashes of color, the promise of renewal they represented.
The idea of riding through fields of them felt like something from a dream, the kind of experience her rigidly scheduled former life had never allowed time for.
They set out from the barn with Meadow taking the lead, following a well-worn path that meandered away from the main ranch buildings toward the rolling hills that stretched to the horizon.
The morning was perfect for riding—cool enough to be comfortable but warm enough to promise a beautiful day ahead.
A gentle breeze carried the scents of grass and earth and growing things, creating a sensory symphony that made Marigold understand why people chose this life over the concrete and steel of cities.
At first, she focused intently on her riding, concentrating on her posture and the rhythm of Daisy's gait, the gentle sway that was becoming second nature.
But as they moved further from the ranch and the trail opened up before them, she began to relax into the experience, allowing herself to truly see the landscape around them.
The countryside stretched endlessly in all directions, a patchwork of green fields and darker forests, punctuated by the occasional farmhouse or barn that looked like toys from this distance.
The sky seemed impossibly vast, unmarked by the towering buildings that had defined her view for so many years.
Here, she could see weather approaching from miles away, could track the flight of birds as they moved between distant trees, could feel herself existing as just one small part of something infinitely larger.
"It's incredible," she breathed, her voice carrying a wonder that made Meadow glance back at her with a pleased smile.
"Wait until you see the flower fields," he promised. "This is just the warm-up."
As they rode, Marigold found herself relaxing into conversation with an ease that surprised her.
The gentle rhythm of the horses' movement seemed to encourage a different kind of communication—less guarded, more flowing, punctuated by comfortable silences and shared observations about the world around them.
"Tell me about Storm," she said, nodding toward his horse. "He seems like he has opinions."
Meadow laughed, the sound rich and genuine in the open air.
"That's putting it mildly. Storm is convinced he knows better than I do about everything—which direction to go, how fast to travel, whether that rustling in the bushes is worth investigating.
He's been humbling me since I got him three years ago. "
As if to prove the point, Storm chose that moment to veer slightly off the trail toward a particularly lush patch of grass, requiring Meadow to gently but firmly guide him back to the path.
The brief battle of wills was conducted with such practiced ease that it was clear this was a daily negotiation between them.
"Sounds familiar," Marigold said with a grin. "Though Daisy seems more diplomatic in her rebellions."
"Daisy picks her battles," Meadow agreed. "She'll go along with whatever you want ninety percent of the time, but that other ten percent, she's immovable. Usually when she's right and you're wrong, which is the most annoying part."
The easy banter between them felt natural in a way that both delighted and surprised Marigold.
She'd forgotten what it felt like to joke with someone without calculating the potential consequences, to let her guard down enough for genuine humor to emerge.
The realization made her appreciate not just Meadow's company, but her own capacity for lightness that she'd thought might be permanently damaged.
The trail began to climb gradually, winding through a grove of oak trees whose leaves rustled overhead like whispered secrets.
Dappled sunlight played across the path, creating patterns of light and shadow that shifted with each step of the horses.
The air grew slightly cooler in the shade, carrying the rich scent of earth and growing things that made Marigold want to breathe deeper, to fill her lungs with this clean sweetness.
"I can see why you love it here," she said as they emerged from the grove onto a gentle slope that offered views of the valley below. "It's like... peace made visible."
"That's exactly what it is," Meadow replied, his voice carrying the satisfaction of someone whose life aligned with their values. "No rushing, no artificial deadlines, no pressure to be anything other than what you are. Just the land and the animals and the seasons changing in their own time."
The contrast with her former life felt stark in the best possible way.
Where she'd once measured days in hours at the barre and minutes of stage time, here time seemed to flow differently—measured in the growth of plants and the needs of animals, in weather patterns and natural cycles that couldn't be rushed or manipulated.
"Did you always know you wanted this kind of life?" she asked, genuinely curious about his path to this peaceful existence.
"Not always," he admitted, his expression growing thoughtful.
"I went to college thinking I'd end up in business, maybe move to a bigger city, follow the path that was expected of someone with my advantages.
It took a while to realize that what I thought I wanted was actually what other people wanted for me. "
The parallel to her own experience wasn't lost on her. How many people spent years pursuing dreams that weren't really their own, chasing approval and external validation while their authentic selves withered from neglect?
"What changed your mind?"
"Time spent here during summers," he said simply.
"Working alongside my grandfather, learning what it meant to build something sustainable, something that contributed to the community rather than just extracting from it.
I realized I was happier covered in dirt and horse sweat than I'd ever been in a classroom or office. "
The honesty in his response, the willingness to admit that his path hadn't been linear or obvious, made something warm unfurl in her chest. Here was someone who'd made the difficult choice to disappoint others in order to honor himself—exactly the kind of courage she was trying to cultivate.
"No regrets?" she asked.
"None," he said immediately, then paused to consider. "Well, maybe one. I should have trusted my instincts sooner instead of wasting time trying to be someone I wasn't."