Outside, the evening sky burned orange across the wide Wyoming hills. The air felt cooler. Cleaner.
A wagon waited near the fence.
The cowboy climbed onto the bench, gathered the reins. He didn’t look back.
“You coming?” he asked.
The question — not command, not demand — nearly undid her.
She climbed up beside him.
The wagon creaked forward.
Behind them, the barn shrank against the horizon.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️