Shelby’s an equine veterinarian, so she works with our stock and the animals on neighboring farms. She’s incredible at helping with difficult births—almost never loses a foal.

Grady handles most of the care of the animals and the land itself. He has ranch hands that he brings on a few months at a time, but he’s so industrious that he doesn’t need them often. He told me he’s been making hand-made saddles in his spare time, though I don’t know when that spare time might possibly take place.

Bo is good at training. Even though she’s impatient with people, she never loses her temper with the horses.

My mother is the same way. She may be small, but there isn’t a job she can’t do on the ranch. We were all taught to do every part of the work. She taught us, and so did my father.

Looking out my bedroom window, I’m thinking of him most of all. I can see the cherry trees he planted all along the side of the house, because he knew how much mom loved the blossoms. The cherries were sour. He made them into tarts.

I can almost see him sitting on the wooden fence around the paddock: long black hair. Sun-faded shirt. Jeans loose on his hips.

But I can only picture him from behind. I can’t see his face.

* * *

15

Riona

I wake up early in the morning. Even earlier than I do when I have to get into the office.

It might be because I fell asleep at eight-thirty the night before. Or it might be the birdsong right outside my window. It’s not louder than city noise—I can usually hear traffic sounds or muffled thumps from the neighboring apartments in my building. But I’m used to that.

The birds are shrill and insistent. Not an unpleasant sound, but one that cuts right through my sleep because I haven’t heard anything like that before. Not right outside my window, first thing in the morning.

The sunlight seems different, too. Brighter and more direct. Not filtered through buildings. Pale yellow.

There’s a certain energy that comes from waking up in an unfamiliar place. I feel alert and curious. Wanting to see more of everything in full daylight.

I slip out of bed and put on some of the clothes that Bo lent me the night before. She’s almost as tall as me, and close to the same build. There’s definitely more muscle on her frame. The ranch is more strenuous than the gym, I guess.

I pull on Bo’s jeans, worn comfortable. Her shirt is likewise soft and clean, with that fresh laundry smell. I pull my hair into a ponytail. I don’t have any of my usual supplies—my four-hundred-dollar hair-straightener is probably a lump of melted metal now, so I can’t make my hair sleek and smooth like I usually do. In fact, in the humidity, it’s heading past wavy into almost curly.