————WEEKS LATER————

Colt tugged the wide brim of his hat down low on his forehead to keep the early evening sun out of his eyes, and transferred the coil of rope to his right hand, holding the loop I his left. With Red at a walking pace, Colt swung the loop over his head, maintaining rhythm and gaining momentum as he took aim at the lone, wandering steer. Bringing his hand down, he released the rope, and it sailed through the dusty air past the steer to land in the dirt.

"Damn it," Colt muttered under his breath, frustration tightening his jaw as he pulled the rope back and coiled it at his hip. I watched him from atop Fiets, turning my attention to the steer. With a flick of my wrist, I sent my own rope sailing through the air, catching the steer around the horns with ease.

"How's your hand?" I asked, loosening my rope and letting the steer go. Colt stretched his right hand out in front of him, his scowl deepening as he studied the scarred and crooked fingers. He balled them into a fist, then relaxed them, turning his hand over to inspect the palm.

I couldn't help but feel a mix of relief when I noticed the pink cast was gone. As much as he had threatened to leave the ranch the moment he was able, Colt had stuck around, and his lingering presence had become...comforting, in a way. But there was also a frustration there, knowing how stubborn he could be.

"Hurts when it rains," Colt said, and when I nod knowingly, looking down at my own busted knee and taking in the scars scattering my body, moments later Colt added, "and when it doesn't."

"It'll heal. Give it time," I said, riding closer. "Isn't that what the doc said?"

Colt sighed, yanking the rope between his hands, testing his grip. It rubs over the calluses as it slides through his right fist, and I watch the steer walk along beside us. "Doc said it'll never be the same. That's why I'm tryin' to throw left-handed."

Like me," I said with a small smile, tipping my hat in his direction.

Colt grunted in acknowledgment, lifting the loop of his rope again. He spun it a few times before releasing it toward the steer, but it missed the mark once more. He cursed under his breath and pulled the rope back, his frustration palpable.

"Like you," he repeated, his tone laced with irritation. "Except my left hand is useless."

I rode closer, holding both hands out in front of him. "Let me tell you a story," I offered, stretching my fingers wide, then turning them over to show the scars that marred my own hands.

"Now?" Colt huffed impatiently, his gaze fixed on the steer meandering around the pen. I glanced at my phone; it's nearly 5 o'clock, which meant dinner wasn't far off. But Colt's focus remained on the task at hand, his jaw set. As much as I long for the comfort of a hot meal I couldn't help but admire his dedication to the job. It's a trait I've come to appreciate more and more, even if it meant sacrificing a bit of my own time.

Tex would have liked him.

"It'll be a short one," I promised, sliding off Fiets and starting toward the barn. "Over dinner."Colt hesitated, then with a resigned nod, he led Red behind me. "Alright," he muttered, his voice softer now.

We went through the motions of taking care of the horses, each of us slipping into the familiar routine. Colt was quieter tonight, his usual banter absent as we fed the animals. I handed out the last of the crabapples, the soft thud of hooves and the crunch of the apples filling the quiet between us. Colt hung up the tacks with a slow, deliberate motion, like every movement cost him more energy than he'd let on.

Inside, the smell of chili hung in the air, thick and comforting. I rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out bread and the sausages I'd picked up from the butcher. Colt, always practical, added a bit of water to the pot, giving it a stir to keep it from sticking. We'd fallen into the habit of eating together, something that had become a kind of unspoken ritual. Tonight was his turn to cook, but I'd done the shopping—seemed like a fair trade.

As I finished the last spoonful of chili, I set my plate down with a smirk. "You sure you don't want to make dinner every night?" I asked, more teasing than serious.

Colt gave a low chuckle, standing up and gathering our plates. "Not every night," he replied, dropping the dishes into the sink with a clatter. "But maybe next time I'll add a peach cobbler, just to show you how it's done."

I watched as he moved to the old black stove my daddy had installed back when winters were colder. He grabbed a few logs, stacking them inside with that same steady, unhurried way he did everything. The crickets had started up outside, their song seeping in through the thin walls, mingling with the crackle of the fire. It was the kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones, easing the edges of the day's weariness.

"My daddy didn't like me being a lefty," I said suddenly, the words slipping out before I'd really thought about them. I shifted where I sat, looking down at my hands. "He'd get real worked up about it, said it wasn't right. Swore he'd train it out of me."

Colt paused, glancing over at me, a faint smile on his face. "Didn't take, did it?"

I shook my head, returning his smile with a small one of my own . "It might've, for a time—felt like years, but it probably wasn't that long. He'd tie my left hand behind my back and make me work with my right." The memory brought a frown to my face. Colt hummed quietly, so I continued, "He quit doing it when Mama passed. Didn't seem to matter to him after that, but—"

"Don't much care for this bedtime story," Colt interrupted with a grin, his way of lightening the mood, but I just rolled my eyes at him. Typical.

"Let me finish," I said, raising an eyebrow at him before clearing my throat. "I found out after he died that my daddy was born a lefty too. His daddy trained him out of it."

Colt's smile faded as he listened, waiting for the rest. "That all?"

"Why don't you try it?" I suggested, and Colt threw his head back, laughing like I'd just told the funniest joke he'd ever heard. But when he saw I was serious, he stopped, a bit of that laughter still lingering in his eyes.

"Tying up my hand?" he asked, still chuckling.

"Training your left hand," I corrected, pointing out the obvious.

Colt held up his left hand, flexing the fingers. "That's what I've been doing."

"I mean let someone help you learn," I said, crossing the small room to stand beside him. He had settled onto the couch in front of the fireplace, his hat resting in his lap as he traced the brim with his fingertip. "When Daddy died, I was here alone with just the memories of Mama and Stella—and the man who taught me to ride."

"I don't need to be taught to ride," Colt said with a scoff.

I nudged him with my hip. "Need to be taught to listen."

Colt snorted, and said, "Yes ma'am."

We sat there for a moment, the warmth of the fire filling the room, the crickets outside a gentle reminder that life went on, even when it felt like it had stopped.

"You'd be willing to teach me?" Colt asked after a long silence, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. He didn't look at me, just kept staring into the fire.

"I'm not a teacher," I admitted, my voice steady but soft. "But if you're willing to learn, I'd be willing to try."

Colt didn't respond right away. He just kept watching the flames, his face a mix of emotions that I couldn't quite read. Finally, he nodded, almost to himself, like he was making up his mind about something.

"Think it over," I said, my voice softer than before. I turned to leave, but something held me back, a weight in my chest that wouldn't let me walk away just yet. I paused at the doorway, the words heavy on my tongue, but I let them out anyway, even though I wasn't sure how they'd be received. "You can stay here as long as you like, Colt. You know that."

The silence that followed was thick, full of all the things we weren't saying. I felt the air between us shift, the unspoken tension settling in. Colt's gaze met mine, those cobalt blue eyes searching, considering. For a moment, I thought he might brush it off, say something to deflect like he usually did, but instead, he nodded slowly, the gratitude in his expression subtle but there.

"Thank you," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he wasn't used to accepting help, let alone asking for it.

I gave him a small, understanding smile, ready to let the moment settle, but then Colt spoke again, his voice lighter, almost casual, like he was trying to ease the tension between us.

"I was thinking," he began, his tone careful, "there's this bonfire tonight. Nothing big, just a few friends getting together. I figured we could use a break—get out of here for a bit."

A bonfire. The idea seemed so far removed from everything that had been weighing on me, from the stress and the uncertainty that had filled every corner of my mind lately. I hesitated, the practicality of all the things that still needed to be done battling with the simple desire to just... breathe.

"I don't know, Colt," I said, my voice trailing off as I searched for a reason to say no.

"Come on, Lemon," Colt coaxed, his lips curving into that half-smile that was as disarming as it was rare. "It'll be good for us. We've been working ourselves into the ground here. A few hours off the ranch won't hurt."

His words hung in the air, tempting, and I could feel the weight of my hesitation beginning to crumble under the quiet sincerity in his voice. Colt wasn't one to push, but there was something in his eyes, something that said he needed this just as much as I did.

"Alright," I finally agreed, my voice soft but resolute. "I'll go."

The smile that spread across Colt's face was genuine, a glimmer of relief easing the tension that had been building between us for days. "Good," he said, his voice warm with approval. "It'll be fun, I promise."

I nodded, suddenly feeling a flutter of nervousness that I hadn't expected. "I'll go get ready," I murmured, turning to head to my room.

As I closed the door behind me, the reality of the decision settled in, and I felt a mix of anticipation and uncertainty wash over me. It had been so long since I'd gone anywhere that wasn't the ranch, so long since I'd allowed myself to step away from the responsibilities that seemed to have taken over my life.

I moved to the closet, my fingers brushing over the hangers as I searched for something that felt right. I settled on a simple white blouse, loose and airy, with faded jeans that hugged my legs in just the right way. The outfit was casual, comfortable, but it made me feel... lighter somehow. Like I was shedding the weight of everything that had been pressing down on me, even if just for a night.

As I dressed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and for a moment, I hesitated. There was a vulnerability in my reflection that I hadn't seen in a long time, a softness.

I took a deep breath, smoothing down the blouse as I turned away from the mirror. When I stepped out of my room, Colt was waiting in the hallway, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that made my heart skip a beat. He didn't say anything, but the way his eyes softened, the way his lips curved into a small, approving smile, said more than words ever could.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice low, steady.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Ready."