She rinsed out her coffee cup and set it in the sink. Jessie was forty-two now, a long way away from nineteen and glad of it. She had never been afraid to get old. Never contemplated facelifts, facials and personal trainers the way some of her city friends had. She didn’t particularly care what other women did to their bodies, but she knew that keeping seventy-plus head of horses, over twenty staff members and endless miles of fence and trails in good repair kept her too busy to contemplate how the years had used her body for a canvas. She would rather rise early in the morning and walk among the horses. It’s a sanctuary, her church, home and place of belonging contained within the horses’ soft wuffs as they nuzzle her hair, the way their hooves raise small puffs of dust as they mill around her, and she in the center of this equine universe.

Jessie was in good shape, the same size she was when she returned to the Lazy K thirteen years ago. She had a few more wrinkles, mostly around her eyes from being in the sun, and a few more freckles on her arms. She was more confident with people, having had to take over being the boss once her dad had been forced to bed by his illness. Then, she had the comfort of being able to go to him for direction with the staff. Now, she made her decisions by herself, sometimes doubting that she did the right thing. The horses and guests were, by comparison, easier. She was polite to both, listened to what they had to say, and then tried to find a way to get along with them while directing them the way she needed them to go. She had often wondered why it was not this easy with her staff, but she didn’t wonder long before she started thinking of Chad, again.

He came to the Lazy K three years before, a cocky thirty something who didn’t look or act his age. He claimed to have just gotten off the rodeo circuit. She hired him because she needed help, and it was plain he could ride as well as entertain the guests. Most of her help could do one or the other, but not both very well. Chad was different and he knew it. He had dozens of bronc stories, told with as much flourish as his bright, knee-length, red-topped buckaroo boots. He had all of his original teeth, rare in a bronc rider, not much hardware in his lean body, though he would boast of all the bones he had broken, and an infectious charm with the guests. She never heard him complain, and she found that she had less work to do because Chad had already taken care of whatever chore needed doing.

It took two years before he was having dinner with her, usually because he was the last one at the Lazy K finishing up with the work. He was more subdued then, helping her with dinner, carrying the plates to the sink after they were done eating, offering his compliments on her ranch and all she had done with it.