Coming Home by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQN Books
Published: 2022-07-19T11:56:24+00:00

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EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, rested and incapable of staying in bed, she rose, dressed, and crept out of the house, headed for the barn. In the shadowy predawn light, she greeted each of Duke’s horses by name, pausing to stroke their impossibly soft noses and listen to their nickered “hellos.” She’d ridden all of them, at one time or another.

That day, she chose Skye, a dapple-gray mare, sure-footed and agile, but gentle, too. “Not today, old girl,” she told a watchful Pidge. “You get to sleep in until room service arrives.”

With that, she fetched the appropriate gear from the tack room, placed everything within easy reach, led Skye out of her stall, and saddled her in the dim breezeway. The ordinary, earthy smells of horse and straw and even manure heartened Cassidy, just because they were so familiar.

When the mare was ready to ride, Cassidy led the animal outside and mounted up. Annabelle’s car, an elderly station wagon, was parked over by the woodshed. She smiled, reining Skye toward the open range.

When she looked back at the house a few moments later, the kitchen light was blazing, too. The sun was just beginning to stain the eastern sky, but on ranches, morning arrives early. Cassidy imagined Duke and Annabelle brewing coffee, making breakfast, talking over their plans for the day. Annabelle usually opened the Gas & Grab by six, and today would be no exception.

There was considerably more daylight by the time Cassidy and Skye splashed across a narrow spot in the creek and started up the bank on the other side. She was on G.W.’s land by then, since the creek marked the border between his place and Duke’s, but she wasn’t worried about running into him. He was probably up and around, but he’d be close to the house, either making breakfast for himself and Henry, or feeding his horses. Like Duke, G.W. ran cattle, but, also like Duke, it was more about heritage and habit than paying the bills. It was hard to make a living, just by ranching, unless the operation was big enough to be called a corporation.

Breaking through a line of cottonwood trees, Cassidy saw G.W.’s low-slung log ranch house in the distance. Sure enough, lights glowed in a few of the windows, and the barn was lit up, too. Cassidy drew back on the reins, sat still for a little while, taking in the scene. In winter, there would be acres of glittering snow draping the countryside, spilling from the roofs of the house and barn, lining the rough-hewn windowsills, cloaking the rural mailbox at the base of the gravel driveway.

It would be like stepping into a living Christmas card.

Cassidy felt her throat tighten even as something softened inside her. She’d missed this place, and the people who lived here—not just Duke, not just Shelby and Annabelle and various other longtime friends, but everybody who called Busted Spur home.

She thought about what Shelby had said the day before, in her kitchen. You came home because you wanted to be home.

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