Mornings had a way of bringing clarity, and today, it was more than welcome. The light filtering through the curtains wasn't harsh; it was gentle, wrapping the room in a warm glow that seemed to soften the edges of everything that had felt so sharp the night before. I shifted under the quilt, the memories of the previous night washing over me like a wave.

Colt was still beside me, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his breathing slow and steady. We had finally talked—really talked—and for the first time in what felt like forever, I knew where we stood. The tension that had been between us, all the misunderstandings and unsaid words, had been stripped away, leaving something raw but real in its place. And then we kissed. A slow kiss that had sealed whatever it was that had been building between us for so long. It wasn't just relief I felt this morning; it was a quiet kind of happiness, a certainty that whatever came next, we'd face it together.

But with that clarity came other memories, ones that weren't so easily pushed aside. Rhett. The kiss I had shared with him lingered in my mind, a confusing mix of guilt and something else—something I didn't want to name. It had felt wrong, of course it had, but why had it also felt so right in the moment? I blamed the alcohol, the loneliness, the way I'd felt so lost. But even now, in the clear light of day, I couldn't entirely shake the way his touch had made me feel, the way he'd looked at me as if he understood everything I was going through.

The sharp ring of the phone broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. I reached for it, my heart giving a little jump, half expecting the weight of everything to come crashing back down on me.

"Hello?" I managed, my voice still rough with sleep.

"Is this Lemon Odell?" The voice on the other end was crisp, professional, but there was a hint of something else—urgency, maybe, or worry.

"Yes, this is she," I replied, already bracing myself for whatever was coming. Early morning calls rarely brought good news.

"This is Sarah from the Wyoming Rescue Coalition. We've just received a wild mustang that was rescued from a dire situation. Most of our regular foster locations are full, and we're reaching out to see if you might have room to take her in. I know it's short notice, but you're on our volunteer list, and we're running out of options."

A wild mustang. The words hit me like a splash of cold water, pulling me fully into the moment. I glanced over at Colt, still asleep, his face relaxed in a way that made me want to crawl back under the covers and pretend the world outside didn't exist. But it did, and this call was a reminder that life didn't pause for anyone's personal dramas.

I stood up, moving to the window, where the morning light painted the world in soft pastels. The ranch was quiet, peaceful, but I knew how much work it took to keep it that way. The thought of adding a wild mustang to the mix made my heart race a little faster, but there was also a tug, a familiar pull that I knew I couldn't ignore. This was what I did—what we did. We took in the broken, the lost, and gave them a second chance.

"Can you tell me more about her?" I asked, needing more details before I made a decision.

"She's a five-year-old mare," Sarah explained, her voice softening. "She was part of a herd that was rounded up a few months ago. She's been through a lot, and she's skittish, but she's not aggressive. She just needs a quiet place where she can start to heal, where someone can work with her slowly."

The weight of responsibility settled over me, familiar but still daunting. I turned back to Colt, watching him for a moment, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. We were finally in a good place, and I didn't want to jeopardize that by taking on more than we could handle. But I also knew that if we didn't take her in, who would? And what would happen to her if no one did?

"We have two open stalls," I said finally, the decision made even as doubt lingered in the back of my mind. "I can take her."

There was a pause on the other end, and then Sarah let out a breath that sounded like relief. "Thank you, Lemon. You have no idea how much this means. We'll arrange to have her brought over this afternoon."

"I'll be ready," I said, and hung up the phone.

I stood there for a moment, the quiet of the room wrapping around me like a blanket. There was no going back now, no second-guessing. I had made a choice, and I would see it through, just like I always did.

Colt stirred, his eyes blinking open as he woke. He looked at me, and I saw the question in his eyes before he even asked it.

"I just got a call," I said, crossing back to the couch and sitting down beside him. "They need us to take in a wild mustang."

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised, but he didn't say anything right away. He just nodded, waiting for me to continue.

"She's been through a lot," I added, trying to convey the seriousness of it. "They don't have anywhere else to take her."

Colt sighed, running a hand through his hair as he processed what I'd said. "We'll make it work," he said finally, his voice rough but certain. "I'll take care of everything else today. You just focus on her."

The relief that washed over me was immediate, but so was the warmth, the deep, aching gratitude that I didn't know how to put into words. Colt had always been steady, always there when I needed him, even when I didn't know I needed him. But this—his willingness to shoulder the burden without a second thought—made something inside me soften, even as everything around us felt like it was unraveling.

"Thank you," I whispered, the words barely more than a breath, but they carried so much more than just gratitude. They held all the unspoken emotions, the feelings I wasn't sure how to express yet. For a moment, I wanted to say more, to tell him how much it meant to me that he was here, that he was always here. But the words tangled in my throat, and I let them settle there, unsaid but understood.

He gave me a small, tired smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes but was full of a quiet strength that I had come to rely on. "We've got this," he murmured.

The rumble of the truck's engine died as Sarah brought it to a stop near the barn, and I could feel the tension in the air as the trailer swayed slightly, the mustang inside shifting nervously. Colt's hand rested on my shoulder, a reassuring squeeze that steadied me as I took a deep breath and stepped forward to meet Sarah.

She climbed out of the truck, looking tired but managing a warm smile when she saw me. "Morning, Lemon," she greeted, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I can't thank you enough for doing this. I know it's a lot to ask."

I nodded, returning her smile though my stomach twisted with nerves. "We'll do what we can," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "How's she holding up?"

Sarah sighed, glancing back at the trailer. "She's terrified. But there's still some fight in her. I think she just needs someone who's willing to give her a chance."

I followed her gaze to the trailer, where the mustang stood, barely visible through the slats. My heart squeezed at the sight—her dark coat was matted with sweat, her eyes wide with fear. Even from a distance, I could see the way she trembled, as if she might bolt at any moment.

"Let's get her into the round pen," I suggested, hoping it would give her some space to calm down. "We can move her to the stall once she's had a chance to settle."

Sarah nodded, and together we moved to the back of the trailer. As soon as the door creaked open, the mustang reared back, her eyes wild as she fought against the confines of the small space. She was a sight to behold—sleek and strong, with a fierceness that hadn't been dimmed by whatever she'd been through.

"Easy, girl," Sarah murmured, her voice soothing as she coaxed the mare out of the trailer.

Colt joined me at the fence, his expression thoughtful as he observed the mare's erratic movements.

"She's strong," he murmured, his voice filled with quiet admiration. "You can see it in the way she moves."

The mustang hesitated, her hooves clattering on the metal floor, but eventually she stepped out, her muscles coiled tight, ready to run.

And run she did. The moment her hooves touched the ground, she bolted, galloping in tight, frantic circles around the pen. Her eyes darting to the fence as if seeking an escape that didn't exist. The power in her movements was undeniable, but it was the desperation that caught in my throat, making it hard to breathe.

The round pen was built strong, but even it seemed to tremble under the force of her panic. The wooden boards groaned, the sound reverberating through the air, each creak a testament to her strength and fear.

"What are you going to call her?" he asked quietly, his voice cutting through the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the dirt.

"Spice," I said, the word slipping out before I had the chance to overthink it. "She's got fire in her, you can see it."

Colt nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the mare. "Yeah, she does."

I held my breath as I watched her, every muscle in her body tense, her movements driven by pure instinct. The round pen was sturdy, but it groaned under the force of her kicks, the wood creaking ominously as she threw herself against the boards.

"She's going to hurt herself," I said, my voice tight with worry.

Sarah nodded, her expression grim. "She just needs to know she's safe. But that's going to take time."

The mare kicked out again, and this time one of the boards splintered under the force of her blow. The crack of wood breaking sent a shiver down my spine, and I saw the mare pause, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the gap she'd created. For a moment, I thought she might make a run for it, but then she backed away, her chest heaving with the effort of her escape attempt.

"She's testing the boundaries," Colt said quietly from beside me. "She needs to know where they are, but she's not trying to get out. Not really."

I nodded, understanding what he meant. She needed to know that she wasn't trapped, that there was room to breathe, even if it was limited.

"Let's move her to the stall," I said, already heading toward the gate. "She'll be safer there, and we can start working with her slowly."

Colt and Sarah exchanged a glance before nodding. With careful, deliberate movements, we guided the mustang into the barn. She was still skittish, her eyes darting around as she tried to make sense of her new surroundings, but there was a flicker of something else in her gaze now—something like curiosity.

The stall was ready, clean and welcoming, with fresh hay and water waiting for her. As she stepped inside, I noticed the small carvings in the wooden beams—flowers that Stella and I had etched there years ago, back when the world was simpler. The sight of them brought a lump to my throat, a reminder of how much had changed.

The mare hesitated at the entrance, her muscles still tense with tension. But then she took a small step forward, her ears flicking back and forth as she sniffed the air. When she finally crossed the threshold, a wave of relief washed over me.

"Welcome home, Spice," I whispered. "You're safe now."