The three months since the twins were born have passed in a blur of late-night feedings and summer sweat. Life on the ranch has a way of settling into a rhythm, even when that rhythm is dictated by two high-energy colts and a healing ankle. Axel, true to form, helped me pail-feed Malt today, but the second he was done, he was checking his watch. He's back on the road, chasing the next buckle, leaving the quiet of the ranch behind.
I, however, wasn't going to be alone for long.
My relationship with Cash and Colt had shifted from "it's complicated" to official the morning after the foals were born. They'd asked, and I'd said yes—it felt as natural as the sunrise. Last night, they called to tell me they were hanging up their spurs for the rest of the season. They're coming home to help Grandpa and keep the ranch running while I focus on the "nursery."
I finished up with the colts, letting them out to explore the paddock under their mother's watchful eye. The air was sweet with that post-rain scent, and the ranch felt peaceful as I moved into the three-year-old pens. My latest project, a sharp little cowpony, was finally ready for cattle.
Watching him work gave me an idea—a "pre-school" for the yearlings. If I could get them used to the sight and smell of cattle now, through a shared fence line with a common water trough, they'd be miles ahead by the time we started them under saddle. Grandpa loved the idea and told me to map it out.
I was out by the arena with a tape measure and a handful of marking flags, pacing out a fifty-two by sixty-foot pen, when the familiar rumble of a heavy diesel engine drifted down the drive.
I didn't turn around immediately. I finished my measurement, thanked the ranch hand who'd been holding the tape, and watched him head into town for supplies. Only then did I lead Whiskey and Malt—already standing a sturdy eleven hands high—into the arena to stretch their legs.
I sat down in the grass under the shade of a big oak, the two colts grazing around me. Whiskey was already showing that bold, slightly stubborn streak that reminded me so much of Colt, while Malt had the steady, sweet temperament of Cash.
The sound of boots on gravel grew louder. I looked up to see my boyfriends' truck parked by the barn, their trailer in tow. It had been a long month of missed calls and "wish you were here" texts. Between the foals and their travel schedule, I was two weeks behind on my own to-do list.
I stayed where I was, tucked between the two colts, a small smile playing on my lips. I knew they were looking for me. I knew they'd find me here, right where I belonged, in the middle of the life we were building together.
I didn't know exactly what they had in store for me now that they were back for good, but as the boys crested the hill and spotted us in the shade, I knew the extra help was going to be worth every bit of the wait.